The Four Women of the Apocalypse.

Acknowledgements.

I know this is a very ‘writery’ thing to do and I also know that most people will skip over this, and that’s fine.

But I hope that the ones who do read this will join me in thanking a few people that helped put all of this together.

Firstly, I have to thank Angela Smith.  What a driving force this woman is! This lady took my first little short story and embroidered her ideas around it and encouraged me to do more, and more. Thank you, Angela.

Secondly, I have to thank Gillian Downing. If she had not had the faith to pass my story on to Angela, it would still be sitting gathering dust. Thank you, Gillian.

Thirdly, I was fortunate to win the chance to have the following words edited by Sheila Shedd at Swift Creative. Thank you, Sheila.

Fourthly, I give a huge thanks to Matt Hay. An author, and friend who simply inspired me to have a wee go at writing something. Thank you, Matt.

Fifthly, I must say a big thanks to Aaron O’Neill for my cover art. It’s amazing. Thank you, Aaron.

Lastly, I need to thank my husband Rob. He is just the most supportive guy I know. Simply anything I want to try, he is there for me. Thank you, Rob.

If you have lasted to this point, then I would like to also add a massive thank you to all of you too, for buying this little novella to read. 

I hope you like it. 

Now, go on…get reading.  If you like it leave a review….please and thanks.

INTRODUCTION

“We’ll be right back after this short commercial break.” Abigail smiled sweetly at the lens of the camera until she had the ‘all clear’ shouted around the studio. 

The make-up artist swished in and turned Abigail’s swivel chair to face her whilst she repaired whatever damage had been incurred within the last fifteen minutes.

Abigail was used to this routine now and kept quiet and poised for her return to the airwaves without a fluster to show.

“Okay, um, Abigail, we are going to have to break from the script now, we have some breaking news. Stand by…”  Neill, her producer, spoke into her ear.

“One minute to air!”  The shout in the studio from one of the production assistants, brought about the usual flurry of activity.

Touching the earpiece in her right ear, Abigail looked up to the gallery and said, “what’s the breaking news?  I need some information if  you’re asking me to report it!”

“Just read the autocue, Abigail.” Neill sounded slightly panicked now. “This is crazy to the max!”

Abigail could hear raised voices and lots of phones ringing in the background and squinted against the studio lights to see if she could spot what was going on up in the suspended mezzanine but the lights against her were just too strong.

Okay, Abigail thought to herself, if this is the big one, a disaster or attack, my face will always be associated with this news…pucker up girl!  She stretched her neck to the right and left and tilted her head back and forwards. 

The countdown started “10,  9,  8,…”

Abigail took a deep breath in, held it for a two-count, then let her lips relax and flip together on the out-breath. She sounded like a horse asking for sugar, but no one took any notice.

“5,  4…”  The silent hand signal counted down the final three seconds, and the light blinked to red on top of the camera.

Smiling her most practiced genuine smile, Abigail began.

“Welcome back to WKOS Sunrise News. We have some breaking news now to share with you…”

The large words started scrolling down the invisible screen in front of the camera.

“Following on from our story yesterday regarding the flu epidemic in Germany, we can now report that this virus has spread at an alarming rate and is now upon our very own borders. The whole of Germany has been in a state of emergency since last Tuesday.

An effective news block has blanketed any information leaving the country until now, but we can report that this is far more serious than initially thought.”

“German officials remain silent, but we have received information from just across the German/ Swiss border, which we can see has been closed and barricaded.”

A picture flashed up on her computer screen, inset into her desk. It showed the border crossing completely cut off and blocked with army vehicles. No personnel seemed to be there.

“We have been in contact with our source who has managed to pass the following information on to us. 

The flu virus is highly contagious and is resulting in death in the majority of cases. However, this is not the end, the virus then restarts the vital functions, creating a reanimation of the body. There is only one purpose for this: to continue the spread of the virus. 

“This is accomplished through biting the flesh of the uninfected.  The only way to stop these reanimated corpses is to damage the head or the br… the brain…”. Abigail waivered and looked into the camera, unblinking, trying to take in the words she had just spoken.

“Abigail!! Don’t stop! Keep going!!” Neill’s voice shouted down her earpiece.

Paling underneath her makeup, she took a deep breath and continued. “If...if the initial infection is survived, the host will likely be immune to further infection through bites.”

Oh my god!! William! She thought, he stayed in bed this morning saying that he wasn’t feeling too well...he thought he was coming down with the flu or something!! Shit. Next break, I am calling him! 

“Our source has retrieved an information leaflet that was distributed to each home throughout the German State. The following is a translation of what was on that sheet.” A rolling transcription obliterated Abigail’s face on-screen.

WARNING

●    Virus is passed through close contact, inhalation, bodily fluids, or breaks in the skin.

●    Stay indoors.  Lock and barricade doors and windows.

●    Store food/water/medical supplies

●    If bitten, stay inside and treat as flu; hospitals are overrun.

●    Flu like symptoms may progress to point of death. Quarantine the corpse as soon as possible.

●    Watch for reanimation and rabies-like aggression. Take all precautions necessary.

●    The only way to stop the infected is to damage the head/brain.

FLU SYMPTOMS

- General lethargy/fatigue                                                            - Heaviness in extremities

- Sharp rise in temperature                                                               - Nausea

- Headache                                                                                         - Unconsciousness

- Skin irritation/sensitivity                                                             - Pain in and around eyes

Note:

Survival of initial symptoms, may produce immunity to further infection from contact with the reanimated.

BITES

- Treat bites as you would any injury.    

- Clean and dress the wound.

- If patient is unconscious, continually monitor for loss of pulse.

- Upon death, reanimation is rapid.

Abigail's face replaced the words on the screen. No smile showed this time, a very worried look took its place.

“This virus is now here. We have been informed that hospitals in France are overrun and several cases have already been reported along the south coast of England. We are urging all members of the public to take extreme caution and to take steps to prepare for a major event…”

A single tear grew and dropped over Abigail's bottom eyelid. It rolled down her cheek leaving a track through her thick cosmetic layer. She made no attempt to wipe it away, as she stared into the lens and said “This is Abigail Forrester on WKOS News Network. We shall now go for a commercial break.

- Susan -

Susan’s phone buzzed. She ignored the alert. If she didn’t get the hoovering done now, she never would. Her two dogs saw the vacuum being readied for use and darted out the front door. 

For fucks sake! So much for protection! If an attacker came at me with a dustbuster they would let him do what he bloody wanted to me! Yeah, Thanks girls! she shook her head.

The mobile phone buzzed again. This time with a sharp ‘ting’ telling her she had a private message too. “Fuck me! I’m popular today!” Smiling, she picked up her phone to see who messaged her. Her smile grew wider when she saw it was from her self-adopted sister, Gilly. Well, I’ll just see what she says, and then get on with the hoovering.

‘Hey sis’ the message started. She read on, ‘wtf is going on? Have you seen the news? Everyone in the group is talking about it!’

Curious, Susan decided to check into her regular group on Facebook. A mixed bag of people from all over that could just shoot the shit and have a laugh. But, an underlying love of zombie literature had originally brought them all together. She felt closer to some of these people than one or two members of her own family! This was how she met her good friend, Gilly. They’d hit it off straight away and soon felt like family to each other. As it turned out, Susan and Gilly only lived about forty minutes from each other and as their friendship grew, they often ended up in each other’s houses, popping the kettle on and having a cuppa and a chat.

A quick check in the group didn’t give her any answers except how to correct her grammar or how to shag a sheep! Sniggering, she quickly typed back ‘Morning to you too, sis. Nope, can’t see anything odd in the group and I’ve not heard anything! Why?’

Putting the phone back on the table, she plugged in the hoover and started in her quest to scare the dogs witless whilst cleaning the carpets at the same time.

After she was finished, she emptied the cylinder and put the cleaner away.  Feeling less guilty now that she had actually done something in the house, she put the kettle on, got her mug out and put a tea bag in. Then she sat down heavily at the kitchen table whilst waiting for the water to boil. She picked up her phone again and saw that she had another message from Gilly, and a long list of alerts from all over Facebook.

Holy moly! Well something must be occurring, Susan mused as she started to open up the notifications.

A different alarm sounded, announcing a text message arrival. Tapping on it first she saw it was from her husband, Michael. He was working away and would often send text messages to relieve his boredom of being away from home. These conversations could go on a while, so Susan decided to make her tea first and then settle in for the goss.

Letting the tea-bag soak in the hot water, Susan opened Michaels text message first.

‘Hiya love…Listen, I don’t want to worry you and I’m not totally sure what’s going on, but there is something happening here. Lots of people are getting sick. I’m okay, but, I am going to head back home early. It’s pointless me staying in the city when there is hardly anyone in the offices! I love you. Please stay inside. I don’t want you getting this thing on top of everything else! See you in a couple of hours or so. Xxx’

Her face expressed the sequence of his message, first with a frown and then a smile.  She started to message him back.

‘I love you too! I’m fine and can’t wait for you to come home. You can leave that bug there please! I’ve even just hoovered...perfect housewife that I am! Lol xxx’

Whilst waiting for his reply, she finished making her tea. She added a small dash of milk and a quick stir. She sat back down at the table, and sipped from her cup carefully as it was still scalding hot and her mouth ulcer was throbbing. She swiped screens and read Gilly’s message next.

‘I can’t believe what I am reading sis!  You’ve got to check out the news.  Go on! Channel 101 is covering it now. I think this is it…’

A wave of fatigue washed over Susan, and a hot sweat started under her headscarf sweeping down over her face, causing perspiration to bead over her brow and nose. Sighing, she plucked a tissue from a box at her elbow, reached up and removed her scarf. Her short hair was fine and downy. The chemo really did a trick on her this time.  Even her eyebrows and eyelashes had deserted her. She wiped the sweat away. The flush slowly passed and she felt much better. Could it be the menopause? Or was it the cancer? Either way, it was just one more symptom that she could, and would, have to bear.

She checked her watch and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock. Ugh, time for her morning tablets. She opened up her cupboard and removed the Tupperware box containing all of her medication. 

Her phone informed her she had a text message waiting and she glanced over her shoulder to see a return message notice from her husband.

Her mind wandered as she automatically started popping pills from their blister packs. She remembered the young doctor who had assumed that she had already been told that her cancer had spread. He was huffing and awkward and said that he was sorry about the prognosis. How the nurses and doctors in the palliative care unit would be so proficient at looking after her needs from here. Watching her confused expression, he realised the blunder he had just made, and an hour later she found herself sitting in a stark office alone, with the new knowledge that she was not going to beat her breast cancer. It was now in the bones. It had spread too far. Words. Words. Words. ‘Did she want a cup of tea?’ ‘Six months, maybe a year’ ‘Should they call someone?’

It was left up to Susan to break the news to Michael. That was one of the hardest conversations she had ever had. The tears and silences along with the slow acceptance of what this meant was heartbreaking. She had been with this man for nearly thirty years. He was her soulmate, her other half, and, as they joked, only whole when they were together.

She shook herself out of the daydream, realising with a sad smile that that whole conversation had been just over two months ago. Tick-tock. Her mind taunted her. With a cupped hand holding the twelve different, multi-coloured pills she raised it to her mouth and took them all in, swallowing them with a glug of her now cooled tea.

She made her way into the living room with her mug and phone, and using the remote control, put the TV on. 

She sat down on the sofa and was immediately surrounded by her two black dogs, one on her lap, and the other at her feet. Smiling, she let the warmth of their body heat comfort her.

She opened the message from her husband. ‘I wish you would leave the housework alone, sweetheart, I will do it when I get home. Just rest and put your feet up! Honestly...I enjoy doing it!! xx’

She quickly replied ‘Stop worrying.  I’m fine. And you’re a crap liar...you hate doing any housework! I will see you later. X’ An immediate response of an emoji kissing the air returned.

The TV was already on the WKOS news channel, and there looked to be a lot of words rolling across the screen, with little pictures dotted around the perimeter, framing a nervous looking newscaster as she tried to video call an expert. Abigail Forrester was normally a very calm, cool and collected newsreader and was Susan’s favourite, especially when she started to quiz one of the many politicians on some shameful story in their past that had just leaked. It was strange now to see her without that smile, a decided lack of confidence reaching through the screen. She was apologising that the following images may be offensive to some viewers, due to their graphic nature. 

A blurred video showed what looked like a mob fighting in the street; a car seemingly running over a body and dragging it along the road until it rolled free. Then the picture shaking and loud swearing bleeped out as the body of the man awkwardly gets up and makes his way over to the cameraman. Oh my god! How is he walking? His leg is completely smashed! Susan thought, unable to wrench her eyes from the screen. Unintelligible words were shouted as the injured person limped and shuffled beyond the camera and attacked the person behind. A fleeting shot of pure white eyes was caught as the figure stumbled past, then the picture cut off.  The video immediately started to repeat itself on a loop.

Susan’s jaw had dropped, causing her mouth to hang open forming a silent ‘O’.  She started to channel hop. All of the news stations seemed to be buzzing with similar stories. Yet not one of them said how, or what was going on, or what to do. She decided to leave it on her original channel and let it run in the background.

She picked up her phone and quickly typed to Gilly, ‘What is happening sis? Is this real? Are my drugs making me see things?’ and pressed send.

Removing the little dog from her lap, she made her way to the front door, left open, as was usual in these parts. The garden in the front was nothing special, but she loved everything about it and the rural setting the house was in. The sea and mountains made this a paradise that she had never once regretted moving to almost sixteen years ago. Her two boys, now all grown up and working with lives of their own, meant that this was the time she should be looking forward to, relaxing and retiring with her husband. But, God, Mother Nature, that bitch karma, or whoever it was that controlled the universe, was playing a cruel trick on her now. She never really got maudlin, often reflecting that she’d had so much, and she had accepted that she would never see any grandchildren. She was more worried about what would happen to her family after she was gone.  Would Michael be okay? Would the boys look out for him? Would he find someone else? She took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. It still amazed Susan how her mind wouldn’t let things rest; at every opportunity her imminent demise entered her head.  

With nothing extraordinary showing itself outside the house, she sat back on the sofa and tried to make sense of the news channels. Cities and large towns seemed to be in chaos. Shaky and blurred videos were showing different versions of similar devastation. Studio reporters were now interviewing viral experts with letters after their names, and bullet points started appearing on screen, saying that human bites are spreading the unusual, flu-like infection and the public should avoid getting bitten! No shit, Sherlock! Now the headline banners were shouting out captions such as: ‘DEAD RISING!’ and ‘CANNIBAL RIOTS!’ 

Feeling a little light headed, Susan picked up her phone and dialled Gilly’s number. It was answered on the second ring. She was crying. “Gilly?” Susan gently asked. “Hey, Gilly...what is it?  Is it the news? It’s fucking scary alright!” A huge sniff and a throat clear and Gilly shakily replied “I…I think I have just heard my sister Helen get killed!” Another bout of sobbing. “I was just talking to her...and you know she is in the capital for her job? Well, she was telling me that there were some mad yokes trying to get into her office building...that their eyes looked all funny? I tried to tell her what was on the news and to stay away from them…I...I heard the sound of glass breaking then...then she was screaming. I think she dropped her phone. Oh my God, Susan! The noises I heard…It sounded like she was eaten alive…” The sobbing started again. 

This is getting serious, all too fucking quickly! Susan thought. “Listen, Gilly, do you want to come over here? You know it’s quieter round here. We can figure something out. Michael will be home soon. Shit, if this is the apocalypse or whatever, we will have to get our shit together, eh?”

“I…I just don’t know…can I give you a ring back? I need to get my head together.  I’m gonna try to find out about Helen, you know, call the office or something.”

“Of course you can. I will be here,” she said and hung up.

On Susan’s phone, the notifications from her group were overtaking her screen.  She clicked to open the top one. The joking had stopped now. Reports from all the areas were being put in and the stories seemed to all be the same. Many of her friends were now reporting a fever and illness. A long and emotional message from Andrea, the group’s founder, posted stating that she will not be closing the page, and urged everyone to keep in touch for as long as they could, that she was feeling this flu come on and was going for a lie down, she would check in later.  She, and many of the group, were assuming that this was it; heartfelt goodbyes were being posted. 

No! This can’t be happening! Susan thought. Tears started to roll down her cheeks at the messages emerging. These were her friends, her adopted family, all starting to realise that the books they all loved to read and that had gladly terrified them, had actually been a foretelling account of what was to come. Some of the hardiest souls were giving all the advice they could, like what to put in a bug-out bag, or the best supplies to start stocking up on in your home. Letting the phone rest on her lap, Susan let a sob escape. She had been mentally preparing for her own departure, but not for all of this!

“Shit!” she said to her dogs. “Maybe I need to start getting some stuff organised too?” They replied as usual, by wagging their tails. Living as she was in a small, rural village, any shopping needed was a car ride away. She ran into the kitchen and started looking through all the cupboards. “Well, I could be worse off” she said, but still thought it would be prudent to go to the village shop, which was a five minute drive away. 

Grabbing her headscarf and wrapping it around her head, she snatched her purse and phone and told the dogs to be good. She locked the house up and got into the car.  She put the radio on and heard the local station chatting to councillors and locals about the trouble with the poor water supply in their area. Nothing was mentioned about the growing crisis. Typical! Susan thought, shaking her head. 

Arriving at the local shop, she grabbed a basket and went inside. “Hello Susan!” the friendly shop assistant called out. “Err...hi” she replied. She could never remember the name of any of the shop staff, a curse she had always lived with.  Great with faces, shit with names.

“Turning cold out there isn’t it?” 

“Uh yes, yes it is.” Susan hurried into the first aisle to avoid any more chit-chat. She could hear the same radio conversation being discussed over the shop’s speakers.  She started to grab things off the shelves. Tins of stew, vegetables, fruit, dried foods and all the pot noodles she could fit into the basket, which was now brimming with stock.  She returned to the doorway to get a fresh basket. She popped the full one by the counter and the girl gave her a confused smile. 

“Ha-ha, yeah, um, I’m not done yet. Is it okay if I leave this here for a mo? Thanks!!” The clerk nodded at her. Back in the aisles she picked up batteries, candles, toilet paper, and bottles of water that were just too heavy. She brought two of them straight over to the register, and scurried off again. Dog food and snacks were all gathered, and another basket was filled. 

“Ehm, is everything okay Susan? You planning something are you?” 

“Oh you know…it’s for someone else that can’t get out of the house kind of thing”  Susan mumbled.  Kind of thing? What the fuck, Susan! You sound like a bloody teenager!  Mentally kicking herself, Susan simply smiled at the girl and waited. 

“Right-oh, shall I start ringing up this lot then?” 

“Yes please that would be great.”

“Do you have any bags with you?”

Shit! “Actually, no, I don’t. Can I get some of those too please?”

The girl started scanning the goods across the till. As she was doing that, Susan darted off and kept adding bits to her order. 

“Oh and can I get some of the paracetamol there behind you please?” 

“Of course! Any brand is it?”

“Yup. That’s fine. I will have as many packs as you have there, please”

Embarrassed, the girl looked at Susan and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m only allowed to sell you one pack.”

Susan played the only card she had, and briefly raised her hand to scratch an imaginary itch under her headscarf and then catch a stray cough in her returning hand.  Staring at the girl without blinking made her eyes start to water. This was the last straw for the young lady.  “Oh, look...I’m sure it will be fine just this once!” she mumbled, and put four packets in the shopping bag. “Th..thank you” Susan replied shakily.                                                                                      

Ohh you are bad Suse…playing the cancer card there, eh? Another few steps down rather than up on your final reckoning!! Leaving her purse on the counter, she started to pick up the grocery bags and load them in the car. The last bag was waiting and the bill was paid. Thank god for credit cards! Just as she was leaving, Susan turned at the door and said “Can you change the radio channel?” The girl looked up “Because if you can, you may want to check out some of the newscasts okay?”  Smiling sadly and without waiting for any answer, she hurried to her car and hopped in. 

Just as she started the engine, her phone rang.  She looked at the display and saw it was Michael. Stabbing the green answer button, she brought the unit up to her ear.  Before she had a chance to say hello, she heard shouting coming from the other end. Unable to make any sense of the noises, Susan shouted “Michael! Michael! Can you hear me?” Shit, shit, shit…! “Michael?!”

After much rustling and crackling, Michaels breathless voice came back on the line. “Jesus Christ! Susan! You are not going to believe what I’ve just seen!”

Thinking he was in some kind of accident, she replied, “Michael, are you alright? Have you been hurt?” 

“No, no...I’m fine.” Susan let out a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding.  “But, I was just driving through this town, and I saw a commotion outside a shop. I pulled over to see if I could see what was going on. There was a crowd, shouting...a real commotion. And then I heard a scream. I stopped the car and.. oh my god, Suse, you’re not going to believe this. But there was this guy, he was dressed like a hippie, you know? The long hair and beard and a kaftan? You know the sort. Anyway, he had one of these poles that they use to catch dogs, but at the end of it there was this young guy with the noose part around his neck. Jesus, you couldn’t write this! Everyone was telling him to let the feller go.” There was a shuffling noise and a muffled voice and Michael answering “yep, you’ll be okay mate, just hang on…”  

“Michael?”

“Yeah sorry...Um, look, I think this young guy had this sickness that’s going around. His eyes” there was a shaky sigh expelled, “his eyes were pure white!” The hippie guy was shouting out to anyone who was listening that God was choosing who would live, who was righteous, that the end had cometh and all that bullshit. He was pushing this young guy into people and he was letting him fucking bite them, Susan!”

“Did you get bitten, Michael?” Please say no…Please!

“No! No, hun, I’m fine. But, this other guy was, um, ‘resting’ in a doorway and he got a nasty bite on his hand. I got him into the car and I’m going to take him to the hospital now, so I am going to be a bit later than I thought, okay?”

“Listen Michael, the news said that bites are spreading this virus. That guy in your car could have it right now and you are breathing it in! Cover your mouth up, get a mask or something!”

“It’s okay, Susan, calm down! I’ll just take him to the hospital and drop him off, okay?  Poor guy. He must be in shock, he is shaking like a leaf, and that hand is really bleeding!”

“No! I don’t like this Michael. Can you call me when you get him there and are back on the road? Please?” 

“Of course I will. I love you!” The line went dead. 

Shaking, Susan put the car in gear and pulled away from the little shop, it’s doors now shut and locked, and onto the quiet roads and made her way home.

With the car unpacked and the dogs having had their pee in the garden, Susan locked the front door and ran the rusty bolt at the top into its cradle. Unsure if she had ever used the bolt before, she was glad it was there now.

Feeling a little woozy, either from her exertions or the developments outside, she decided to sit and rest for a small while. She put the TV on again to see if there were any further developments. She plugged her phone into its charger to keep it topped up as it had been a busy morning so far.

She quickly sent a text to Michael. ‘Are you okay? Did you drop the man off?’ She also noticed the alert for the family group chat. Both her sons had put messages on saying they were okay and safe within their homes. Thank God! Susan typed in that she was okay, their dad was on his way home, and to keep in touch, not to go out and keep the doors locked.

The news was still showing chaos around the country and seemingly around the world. Abigail Forrester and all the newsreaders were looking haggard now, and the usual polish of their performances was slipping. 

Bullet points appeared on the screen:

●    Virus is passed on through close contact, inhalation, bodily fluids or bites.

●    Stay indoors.  Lock and barricade doors and windows.

●    Store food/water/medical supplies.

●    If bitten, do not seek medical attention- hospitals are over run.

●    Flu like symptoms progress to point of death with rapid reanimation to follow.  If death does not occur, immunity is possible. More information to follow.

●    If someone is bitten and dies, prepare for reanimation and likely aggression.  Take all precautions necessary.

●    The only way to stop the infected is to damage the head/brain.

            Unbefuckinglievable!! This is really it? All the chat, all the books, all the films! And now, it’s really happening? Susan was having a hard time getting her head around all of this.

Another expert appeared on screen to be interviewed, a nervous looking, typical geek that spent most of his day in a laboratory somewhere. No, he had no idea how this had started. No, he had no idea if there was a cure. This was an unprecedented event.  Immunity was showing up in some individuals, as yet it is undetermined as to why. Tests are underway. What a load of shit! Susan thought, and turned the sound off. 

No further word from Michael set a small alarm ringing in her head. She sent another message to see if he was okay. 

Watching the horrific images on the screen in front of her had a hypnotic effect and Susan’s eyelids started to droop. The medication was a mixture of magic, designed to dull her pain and aid relaxation. Without any further say in the matter, her head fell forward onto her chest and she knew no more. 

Dogs barking! Banging on the door...urgent banging on the door and shouting!

With a start and a sore neck, Susan woke up and tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Jumping from the sofa, she made her way to the front door, tripping over the dogs as they bounced around, letting her know there was a visitor. As she reached the door she heard the unmistakable voice of Gilly crying and calling and begging to be let in. Susan rapidly unlocked the door and released the bolt. As she turned the handle, the door pushed in nearly sending her flying. Gilly rushed back to the door and slammed it shut, locking and bolting to secure it. Out of breath, she turned and leant her back to the door. Tears marked tracks down her face. She was breathing like she had run a marathon, and the look on her face was one of pure terror.

Leading Gilly to the sofa, Susan glanced out the window and saw nothing. Before any words were uttered, she ran to the kitchen and grabbed a glass and filled it with water. She swiped a box of tissues and tucked them under her arm. Glancing at the clock on her way past, she rushed back to Gilly’s side, shocked to realise that she had been asleep for nearly two hours! The dogs still upset at the intrusion, were whimpering and barking, just adding to the furore.

Gilly was up pacing, furtively looking out the window, wringing her hands together as she looked up and down the small road. 

“Gilly, here, drink this. Come on, sit down and tell me what’s happened. Where is your car?” a very confused Susan asked.

After another look up and down, Gilly came away from the window and gulped her water down, not leaving a drop in the glass. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose, used another to wipe her face, and took a long, shaky breath.

“My road was clearing out.” Gilly started. “Everyone was leaving. I had no luck finding anything more out about my sister. I started to pack everything in my car and thought I would take you up on your offer. Before I got going, I started to see guys wearing bandanas around their faces, breaking in and looting the houses that had been left! Can you even believe that?!

“I never finished packing, I just got in my car and started driving. I was just leaving town over the bridge and saw that there were a few cars lined up. I thought maybe there was an accident or something. Oh, Susan! These men were just helping themselves, taking stuff out of the cars. They even had guns!” She continued, “Guns Suse! They were telling people that they were setting up a safe zone somewhere and needed as much food and supplies as possible. They were just taking everyones belongings...saying that they would provide ‘protection’ they said.

“I knew something wasn’t right, Susan. I saw one family, the guy said no to them and….Oh my god.” Tears started to well up in Gilly's eyes. “They beat him up. Like really beat the shit out of him. Three guys against him alone, and egging each other on they were. I think they killed him, but still, they put a gun to his head and shot him. They took his wife and a young girl, their daughter I guess, and put them in the back of a van. 

“There was a guy just standing watching, smiling. A big fucking ugly scar running down over his eye...” she shuddered. “I got out of my car, Susan, I just left it there. I ran. I ran as fast as I could. But one of them saw me...he chased after me. He was on a motorbike. I came round the back way...I think I lost him, Susan!”

“Jesus, Gilly!  That’s bloody miles away! Did you run all the way?”

“Yes. I ran for as long as I could. I hid when the bike got too close.”

Susan took Gilly in her arms and gave her a hug. “You are safe now, sis.”

Breaking the embrace, Gilly got up and scanned the window again. “For fuck’s sake! We are not even over day one yet and already this kind of shit starts!”

Deep in thought, Susan grabbed her phone to see if there was any further word from Michael. Nothing. A cold fear flowed down Susan’s body. Nothing since her last message to him. This wasn’t right. Something is wrong. She tried to call him. The ringing tone taunting her without any pick up. She tried again. No reply.

“Susan? What is it? Who are you trying to call?”

“Michael. I haven’t heard from him in hours.  He was meant to let me know he was okay.” She ran her hands over her face. “He should be more or less home by now. What should I do, Gilly?” 

“Well, I hope he wasn’t coming back the way I came,” Gilly said without thinking.  Susan hoped so too, fearful now of the world outside.

Early evening arrived and the two women stayed safely indoors. After the dogs were fed they were quickly let outside and urged from behind the door, to “hurry up and pooh for God’s sake!” They ate some hastily prepared food and kept an eye on the news channels. There was no change in the news, except one or two stations had now gone off air. 

Susan was in pieces worried about Michael. Something must have happened. He hadn’t made it home, and he hadn’t called or sent any message. She wanted to go out to find him there and then, but Gilly frightened her into waiting at least till morning. Her boys wanted to look for him too, but Susan told them to stay put. She couldn’t worry about losing them, too.

A restless night passed and Susan was up before 6 a.m. It was still dark outside as she quietly moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She needed to come up with a plan to go and find out what happened to Michael. She would not rest until she did. She laid out all of her tablets and realised that this was it. Unless she broke into a pharmacy, this was all the medicine she would have left. So be it. She had nothing to lose now.  Popping the pills for the day into her hand, she swallowed them down with some water.

She called Michael again, this time he picked up.                 

“Michael?! Is that you? Michael?” There was just a grunt in reply. “Michael, please just answer me, are you okay?” she shouted down the phone. 

“I can’t come home Susan.” The words sounded forced and weak. “I have this fever. I don’t think I have much longer. I have locked myself in the car. If the worst happens, at least I won’t be able to harm anyone else. Susan, I love you. You know that don’t you?” 

Tears coursed down her cheeks, as Susan softly said “Tell me where you are Michael. Please?”

“NO! You were right, love. That guy I helped probably gave it to me, or maybe he didn’t. I could have caught it at the hospital, I don’t know, but I do know that I don’t want you to see me like one of those things, Susan. Just let me go.” He sighed deeply.   “I will see you in a much better place. I love you so much” The phone went dead. 

Gilly came into the kitchen, and saw Susan crouched on the floor with her arms around her legs, crying. 

No words were needed between these friends. She sat on the floor beside Susan and simply held her. Eventually the sobbing eased. Susan told Gilly about her conversation with Michael.

After several deep breaths, Gilly heard the words she was expecting from Susan:   “I’m going to get him, I’ve got to find him!” She knew that it would be fruitless to argue so she simply and softly said, “When do we leave?”

The dogs were safe in the shed with plenty of food and water, a pet flap in the door to let them out when they needed to toilet.  

The women had bags ready with water and energy bars. It struck Susan that she would need something to protect herself with, and had precious little to work with in this regard.  She had never really given much thought to using weapons before. She ended up taking the fireplace poker, and Gilly took a knife from the kitchen.

The small road was still and quiet as the women got in and started the little car.  Susan knew that Michael was somewhere between the hospital and the house. She would search until she found him. 

Gilly was quiet, continuously looking around her for any threat. Nothing showed itself to her and she started to relax. Everything actually looked pretty normal. If she let herself, she could just imagine that they were going into town to get some shopping and have a cup of tea in the café across the road, like they had done so often before. But one look at Susan’s face put a sharp end to that daydream. Her friends face was pale and pinched, her lips pursed so tightly that her mouth was just a thin line across her face. She was way past being anxious. Susan was a great friend, and Gilly was still trying to come to terms with how sick she was. She was going to miss the hell out of her when the time came. She’d always felt it was so unfair that this disease was taking her away.  She had shed many tears at the simple sadness of losing such a good friend. Catching her thoughts made Gilly start, but now the game had changed, hadn’t it? Nothing was making any sense anymore. She didn’t know that the sickness in Susan was the very thing that was making her strong.                           

Susan knew she had nothing left to lose, and after all these months she could shed her fear for herself, and this was utterly liberating. 

“HOLD ON!” A cry from Susan made Gilly jump, and before she could look around, there was a huge bang and the car jolted sharply to the right. Susan was pumping the brakes to bring the car back under control.  

“What in the fuck was that?” Gilly shouted as the car slid to a stop on the opposite side of the road.

Susan was breathing fast and gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles looked like they were going to bust through her skin. “We hit something. Oh my God! We hit someone. I think it was a person, Gilly! Shit. I’ve hit someone! Was it a kid?”

Gilly could hear the panic rising in Susan’s voice.  “Okay, sis, relax. I will check it out! Stay here.”

Gilly got out of the car and turned back towards a small lump in the road. It was impossible to see what it was from this distance, but she let out a breath when she saw it was covered in black fur. Okay, so not a person, she thought. But even so, she knew she would have to check it out. She drew closer and could make out the sound of panting and a soft whine coming from the black dog. Oh no she thought, poor thing!  She slowly put her hand out to touch the dog’s head. It was lying on its side, panting rapidly, and Gilly could see blood seeping through its fur, starting to pool on the road surface near its head. She crouched down and saw that the dog had something pink lying beside it. Oh my god, what is that? Is that a puppy? Gilly thought.  She lifted the dog’s paw and jumped back when she saw that it was not a puppy at all, but a human hand. Complete with nail varnish and rings on the fingers! Feeling the bile rise, she turned away and threw up the small amount of food in her stomach. She stood up and turned back to the dog that now had his head up and was staring at her with pure white eyes.

“Ohh...fuck no!” she shouted out and  ran back to the car. 

Susan was still sitting the same way, gripping the wheel and shaking like a leaf.  “What did I do?” she asked Gilly tightly. 

“Just drive, Susan! Get us away from here now!” As they left tyre marks on the road, Gilly filled Susan in on her findings. Had they looked behind them, they would have seen the dog try to raise itself up on broken limbs to follow the enticing smell of fresh meat.

The car screamed down the road, calling for a gear change that Susan was incapable of making. As they made their way through the town, the car quietened down with the reduced speed needed to get past the unbelievable carnage left on the roads. They faced bizarre scenes that needed to be navigated, abandoned cars, debris, even a pram, all left in the road. Windows of shops were broken, but there was no sign of life anywhere. Where is everyone? Susan thought as she made her way slowly through the street. Rounding the corner, she stopped wondering, as she saw ahead a rather efficient road-block stopping her progress. Three vans completely blocked the road. Susan jammed on the brakes and looked in her rear-view mirror only to see another van pull up behind her. She was boxed in now, no way out. 

Shit. Without trying to move her lips, Susan said “hah you got your knihe? Gilly?  Get your knihe out” She saw Gilly hide the knife in her pocket. She reached down to get the poker from the foot well. The door of the van behind her opened and a man got out and sauntered up to Susan’s door. She saw in her side mirror that he had a big build and carried a baseball bat. Not exactly a good sign, but at least there is no barbed wire wrapped around it! she thought.

Gilly had started to breathe rapidly and was looking briskly around her. “Just stay calm sis. We’ll be okay” Susan whispered, but Gilly was not calming down. Now she was whimpering, as she saw a man round the blockade in front of them, the same man she had seen the day before with the nasty scar down his face. 

“That’s the guy from yesterday! Susan! Get us out of here! Please!” But Susan couldn’t get the car out of the tight spot, it was impossible. The women looked at each other.  A long look that spoke volumes; they grasped at each other’s hands. They both knew that this was not going to go well. A moment of love, respect, and sisterhood passed between them that needed no words. Taking a deep breath, Susan opened the door and got out to face the big man approaching. 

“Can you let us pass? Please? I need to find my husband.” 

With a sideways smile, the man walked right up to Susan, causing her to look up into his face. “Why? What’s so important about finding him? Won’t I do?” he grinned down on her. 

“Look...please? We have nothing.  Just let us go, will you? If you want the car you can have it! We just need to get going. Please?” 

“Nothing? I wouldn’t say that exactly, now would I? For a start off, you can give me that poker you have on the seat of your car there. Oh, and tell your little friend in there to get out, too, would ya?” He raised his bat up to rest on his shoulder, not only to intimidate but to also show the blood stains decorating the large end. He looked over Susan’s head as Gilly got out of the passenger side and slid his gaze over to the man standing by the barricade. “Hey boss! You want to come and check out the stock here?” he shouted, giving a leering look up and down Susan’s body. She knew that from his look that ‘the stock’ was not referring to the car.  She felt cold inside as he pulled the poker out of her hand. 

The scarred man slowly made his way to the car. 

Gilly stood straight and faced him as he approached. Susan had an idea what her friend was about to do, and knowing that this was a bad idea, a very bad idea, she forced out: “Gilly, don’t…”  But Gilly walked up to the man, took out the knife from her pocket, and pointed it at him, the tip shaking.

The man stopped walking, and with a smile, he put both of his hands in the air.  “Woah there! What’s that for? I haven’t done anything to you!  Why the hostility?” 

The man next to Susan started to laugh, and shouted out, “Hey JC!  Looks like your reputation has spread already, eh?” 

JC did not even glance away from Gilly and her knife. He made a mock lunge towards her, and as she extended her arm, he grabbed it with ease and squeezed her wrist so tightly that she could not control her hand, and the knife dropped to the ground. He didn’t release his grip on her but drew her closer into him and brought his other arm around to embrace her, pinning her to him. He leant down, put his nose to her hair, and took in a long breath. Inhaling deeply, he murmured, “Mmm...you smell so good! I tell you what, I have a place nearby that you and I are going to go to, and you will be safe, and you will be fed, and you will be grateful.  Whaddya say? Hmmm?”

“Fuck you!” Gilly shouted into his chest. JC liked his women with some fight in them, and his smile grew. “You know what Francie?” he looked over to the man by Susan, “I think I’m gonna ‘try before I buy’ with this one!” and started laughing.

Susan had seen enough. She was still facing Francie, and his distraction with his boss gave her the perfect opportunity to take one step back and kick out with all her might into his groin. He blew out, and his eyes bulged, as he doubled up and cupped his hands over his throbbing balls. A whimper keened from him as his voice had stopped working. Susan grabbed her poker from his loosened fingers and ran at JC. 

Seeing the events unfold didn’t really faze JC. He simply turned to Susan’s approach and held Gilly in front of him as a shield. Unused to any violence, Susan stalled, and was unsure of what her next move should be. “Let her go!” she shouted.

Smirking, he simply said, “Nope” and Susan saw his eyes settle over her shoulder and felt the blow from an open hand across the back of her head. The strength of the hit took her off her feet and she dropped the poker as she landed on the road surface, scraping her hands on the rough covering. She turned her head to see the man called Francie still cupping his testicles with one hand and advancing towards her. He stopped short and looked at her closely. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Where’s all your hair? You sick or something?” Susan lifted her hand to her scalp and felt the headscarf had fallen off. 

Without another word, Francie looked over to JC and said “Nuh uh. Not taking this one. She’s broken. She will probably spread whatever it is she has, anyways.” JC looked down at Susan dispassionately and simply said, “Do what you want with her. I’m going to try this one out.” 

Susan, lying on the ground locked eyes with Gilly, and once more a look of pure sadness and love passed between them. 

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

“Don’t be. Love you, sis,” Gilly mouthed back as she was dragged away. The last thing Susan saw was her own poker arcing down towards her face.

The light was blinding her, even with only one eye that would open. Susan was lying outside and could feel the breeze on her head. She lifted her hand to her face and could feel the dent in her skull. an obvious fracture there, and the bleeding had been profuse. The blood had flowed over her so freely that now, having dried, her eye was welded shut with it. She slowly started to raise herself from the road, trying to remember what had happened. Slowly opening her eye again, she squinted around herself to try and gauge where she was. Rubbing the dried blood from her other eye, she felt the skin the blood had held release. She opened her eye slowly, and now with better focus, she could see that she was on the side of the road where they had been stopped. She had obviously been dumped like garbage after being given what was thought a killing blow. 

Gilly!! Her head swung from side to side to see if she could see her friend.  Thudding raged with every movement she made. Wincing with the pain, she could actually make out the outline of her car!  My car? Why is my car still here? She thought. On hands and knees, she crawled over to her vehicle now left at the side of the road.  Maybe she could find Gilly and still get to Michael? Reaching the front bumper, she used her hands to crawl up into a crouching stance. She checked inside the car and was amazed to see her keys still in the ignition. Automatically, she pulled them out and put them in her pocket. A noise took her attention towards the rear of the car, and she looked through to see the back window was broken, and shards of glass were glistening all over the back seat and shelf. A rope led in from outside and wrapped around the passenger seat. What the hell is that? she thought. The rope moved, making her jump.  She moved slowly down the side of the car and dropped to her knees. 

Susan gave up, at the sight of her closest friend, her sister, tied at the other end of the rope. She was naked from the waist down and both ankles were bound together. The clothes on her top half were shredded and shorn off in places, showing more of the raw, grazed flesh underneath. Being dragged over the harsh road surface, not much of her face was left intact, but Susan could see the beautiful dark hair, now with clumps missing, but the remainder still remarkably held in its elastic band. Her arms were splayed out behind her, and at her left elbow, one of the infected picked at what was left of Gilly’s bicep. The picture told Susan exactly what had happened to her friend.

Susan’s world was closing in on her. She slid down the side of the car and let the darkness envelope her. She was brought back to her senses when she heard the scraping of movement from the back of the car. The infected, smelling a fresher meal, had started to rise and move towards Susan. The pure white eyes, she figured, must cause problems with their sight, as in its haste to get to her, it tripped over the body it was just eating.  With a loud thud, the infected landed just beside Susan, its face turned towards her, and started snapping its teeth together. 

Susan had never really lost her temper in her entire lifetime.  She’d been blessed with a very clement existence. 

Until now. 

She completely lost any decorum, inhibition, or reticence within her, letting the white-hot fury explode behind her eyes. She saw her friend lying there, saw what had been done to her. The waste of her life. Her beautiful life. Susan let it go. She let everything go. The cancer, the waste of the treatment time she could have spent feeling well and with her family. The unfairness that she had this bastard disease, and yet these men, the ones who would do things like this, leading charmed lives. 

Susan didn’t feel the skull crack under her foot. 

She didn’t see the grey chunks of brain break off and mix with the spinal fluid and blood to spread out from the mess that was once someone’s face. 

The next conscious thought Susan had found her wandering away past the blockade of vans in the road. Her pulse, still racing pounded in her ears. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to rationalise what she had seen and done.  She just walked. She kept quiet and hid from any of the infected, and continued to put one foot in front of the other.

The day was moving into early evening, and ahead, Susan found what she had been looking for. Michael’s car was on the side of the road. A gasp escaped her dry lips.  She half-stumbled and ran to her end goal. She made her way towards the driver’s door, and crouched to look inside.

Michael was seated in the driving seat, and still wearing his seatbelt.  His head was forwards with his chin resting down on his chest. His chest wasn’t moving.       “Please, please…” Susan whimpered. She tried the door, but it was locked.  Remembering their last conversation, she recalled that Michael had said he was locking himself inside. She gently tapped on the window. No movement came in response. She fished her keys out of her pocket, and pushed the button to open the doors on the remote control fob.  The ‘thwunk’ of the locking mechanism releasing sounded. As she reached down to open the door, Michael’s head started to move. Susan’s pulse rose and she whispered Michael’s name. 

He turned slowly towards the window, but his milky white eyes could not make out much. The smell of meat nearby caused him to clack his teeth together, spit fell down his chin.

Susan rested her head against the cold glass of the window. Michael, her Michael. No. She couldn’t do this. First Gilly, now Michael.                  

 She turned away and sat on the road, her back resting on the door.  She wept and wept until she had no tears left to fall. She looked up and saw the sky turning a beautiful shade of lilac, and the hint of stars starting to display their shimmering beauty. 

Digging in her back pocket, Susan retrieved her mobile phone. She brought up her text message screen and started typing.

Twenty minutes, and many more tears later,  she pressed the send button to each of her sons. 

She stood up and walked around to the passenger side of the car.  Reaching down, she opened the door. Immediately, Michael turned his head around at the noise.  She slid into the seat and shut and locked the door. “Michael, I have found you at last,” she said as she slowly reached down and pushed his seat belt release button.

Michael reached over for their last embrace.

- Nicky -

Nicky was feeling so floaty. She smiled groggily and wondered at the way the lights bounced daintily around her. The distant noises of the hospital filtered through her drugged mind, giving an almost musical lilt in her head.

As her pre-med coursed around her body, greyness started to blur her vista. A nurse, smiling and saying something that Nicky couldn’t quite follow, drifted in and out of her vision.The tiles on the ceiling were all of a sudden the funniest things she had ever seen, and she got caught up in a hysterical bout of laughter. With tears still rolling from her eyes, she drifted off to sleep.

Waking up was painful. The sound of the clock ticking on her wall was like gunfire going off. She opened her eyes and the light attacked her retinas, causing her pupils to pinpoint after the darkness. The clock continued it’s relentless report tellin Nicky that it was 10:31 a.m. on Thursday, August tenth. All of her joints ached. A groan escaped her, sounding like gravel in her throat. She felt a wetness between her legs, and she nervously moved her hand down to feel what was going on. With trepidation she thought Had the operation gone okay?  Was she bleeding from the wound? Had something gone wrong? Questions flooded through her foggy mind.

Her therapist had warned her that not all gender reassignment operations went smoothly.

Taking the hormones had opened the door to her true happiness, and she had been living and passing successfully as a woman full time for just over two years.

The surgery was her final step. She had been saving for what seemed like forever. Never once had she wavered or doubted that this was the right thing to do. Despite all the bullying throughout her life, the depression, and the drug dependency, she still knew that this was the endgame.

Oh God, the doubts crept in; have I made an enormous mistake? Should I have just stayed as I was? Panicked thoughts ran through her mind.

Her hand reached between her legs. Expecting to find bandages from the surgery, but instead, her hand found the familiar lump there. The usual feeling of revulsion shuddered through her at the touch. A sob escaped her. Bringing her hand back from under the covers she saw there was no blood. She must have wet herself. Disgusted, she realised that the operation had not been carried out. Why? She wondered. What has happened? What could have stopped it from going ahead?

Nicky called out for a nurse. She needed to know what was going on, but there was only silence to her call-out. Sitting up sent a blinding pain shooting through her head, and she groaned whilst massaging her temples. Seeing her notes hanging at the end of the bed, she reached over painfully for them.

What she saw was, in the majority, unintelligible, mostly doctor talk. She could, however, see the graph showing a sharp rise in her temperature to just over one hundred and ten degrees.

The medicines were given to reduce it, and Nicky automatically checked the time the last medicine was administered against her super-loud ticking wall clock. Wait...this doesn't make sense! She checked again and shook her pounding head. Unbelievably, the last entry was from three days ago! Nicky felt a coldness drop over her. This can’t be right. Three days? Have I been out of it for three days? She thought to herself. She looked down at the sheets in front of her and confirmed to herself that no notes of any kind had been entered in the last two days.

Sitting in the hospital bed, Nicky tried to figure out what could be going on. She tried to recall all that had transpired; she remembered that she’d been all ready for surgery and had been given her pre-med, laughing a lot, and that wonderful floaty feeling. Nothing came to her after that. Where the hell are the damn nurses?!  Her panic was rising.

“Nurse!” Her voice was still croaky. She shuffled over to the edge of the bed and put her feet on the cold linoleum covered floor. She poured water from an unopened plastic bottle into a glass and glugged it down in one go. Not enough. Forgetting the glass she pressed the bottle directly to her lips and drank until the plastic cracked and popped, telling her it was empty.

She stood and felt a groggy pull causing her to swiftly turn and lean over the bed with her head buried in the blankets. Deep breaths in and out, in and out, slowly brought her back to herself. She looked over to the ensuite bathroom and straightened up. The water was just running through her now, and the need for a pee was pressing. 

Another deep breath to steady herself, and she made her way to the doorway stiffly, her joints putting up a fight after the prolonged inactivity. 

All I need to do now is groan and I will pass as a zombie! she chuckled to herself, as she awkwardly knocked through the entrance. The urge was strong as she landed heavily on the toilet seat, sitting instead of standing as she had been training herself to do for the last few years. Absentmindedly, she nudged her flaccid penis into the gap, not even registering the familiar loathing that it gave her to even have to touch it. Once relieved, she stood and leaned over to turn the shower on. Three days in a fever-induced coma had caused a stink that made Nicky’s nose wrinkle.

After a quick wash in the shower, she slipped into her ‘going home’ outfit of comfortable tee-shirt, sweatpants and sneakers.

A loud scraping noise by the door to her room caught her attention, and Nicky swung her head around the bathroom doorway to see what was making the sound. There was nothing obvious to be seen, but just as she looked away, a thud sounded against the door making the frame judder.

She made her way slowly from the bathroom to the small window set high in the thick wooden door, and pressing her forehead against the glass she peered out into the corridor.

What she saw made her blood run cold. 

What the fuck?! She started to feel nauseous as she made out the gory scene in front of her.

A gurney had been pushed up against her door. The occupant had a belt restraining them at the waist, but their top was half hanging over the side, their arms outstretched and holding onto the leg of what looked like an orderly lying face down on the ground. At his head, was a nurse kneeling, her face stuck in, and sucking at his neck. As she pulled her head back, Nicky saw a mouthful of flesh and sinuous trailings, that the nurse pushed hastily into her mouth. Her face was entirely covered with blood and her eyes were pure white. Slowly, she turned her head towards Nicky’s door.

Nicky quickly turned and dropped down below the window.

Shaking uncontrollably, she realized she had been holding her breath, and gasped to breathe in the air she so desperately needed.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod...”  the mantra was automatically mouthed.

What the hell is going on?

None of this made any sense. She slid away from the door and crawled slowly to her bedside locker. Her phone lay on the top, still plugged in to the charger. Reaching up, she grabbed it and pressed the ‘on’ button. The phone buzzed in her hand. Fifty-one new messages!

Some from friends wishing her luck with the operation. The ones remaining were mostly from Imogen, she was her older sister, and had been the only one to stay by her side and support her through the transition. They were as close as sisters could be; they shared everything.

‘Nicky… I don’t know if you will even see this - I hope to God you do, and that you are okay…But, I have just been bitten by one of these infected people. I just went out to call the cat in! Oh God this really hurts! The news said that if you are bitten you will die. Will I die Nicks? I’m so scared. They said that some people are showing signs of immunity with the flu like symptoms, but I don’t think I am, I didn't even have the flu. I have seen the videos of people that have died and getting back up and biting others. Will that happen to me?

Nicks, I love you. I always will. I am going to lock myself in my bedroom now, so if the worst happens I won’t be able to get out and hurt anyone else. My hands are shaking! If you can, and I hate to ask you, but could you check on me? If I have turned, will you end it for me? I understand if you can’t. It’s a big ask, and I’m sorry. You have been the best brother/sister (lol) a girl could ever have…see you on the other side, sis xoxox’

“Ohhh Immy…no…no….Please…I love you too.” Nicky sat on the cold floor staring at her phone for a long time. Tears streamed down her face. Her sister, her best friend, gone? She couldn’t believe it. She remembered, in a snapshot of scenes running through her head in a matter of seconds, herself and her sister throughout the years, and more recently, the most wonderful hugs she would give that seemed to make any pain or upset go away. 

The rejection of her parents when she’d tried to explain to them about her transgender journey nearly broke her, but her sister stood by her side, and even let her stay with her whilst she cried, and slowly became accustomed to the virtual loss of their parents.

She still held onto the hope that they would one day come around and love her once again; it seemed that would never be possible now.

More scraping at the door drew her attention away from the now darkened phone.

Wiping her face, she thought that she must try to get out of here without getting bitten. She was determined that she would abide by Immy’s last wishes and go to check on her. Turning back to her phone, she scrolled on and saw that there were no further messages from her sister since the last one. That didn’t bode well, and she felt the sorrow crashing over her once again.

As she was rising from the floor she thought, wait!  The high temperature and these aches, was that the flu like symptoms that her sister mentioned in her message? Could she be immune to the bites?

She couldn’t be sure, and with only one way to find out, Nicky thought it would be prudent to just assume that, no, she wasn’t protected from a bite.

But, if there was a slim chance? you never know, maybe Imogen is immune too!  She would have to go and check. She was determined to help her sister if she could, and she wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew for sure.

Nicky had seen the movies. She had even read some of the horror books. Though she was never really into any zombie stuff, she knew that she needed to get her shit together if she was going to get out of here alive.

Her backpack was stuffed in the bottom of her bedside locker. 

She would need water, food, a weapon of some kind too. What else? she mused. Oh Shit! I can’t do without my hormone patches! 

For the past two years she had been on hormone therapy to change her shape, skin, and hair. I’m not going back to having to shave everyday again! No sir! 

So, a trip to the pharmacy was in order, too.

Okay, she thought, with only the water crossed off her list so far, Nicky wondered how, and even if, she would get out of this room alive! 

She crawled over to the door again and looked out through glass. The gurney was still by the door, the patient still leant over with their head down, munching on the orderly’s leg. But, now the nurse was gone, and so was the orderly’s head!

Nicky felt the bile rise up her throat, the acid burning, as there was no food in her stomach to expel. She ran to the bathroom and spluttered out the noxious substance.  Leaning down and gulping from the tap, she swilled and spat.

She took a deep breath and went back to the door.

For God's sake! You will have to toughen up if you are going to survive this shitstorm! She gave herself a stern talking to.

Ignoring the corpse on the ground, she pushed her face up to the glass and looked as far to the right as possible. The nurses station looked all clear. That’s good. Then, she checked to the left. Oh fuck...Not clear. Nicky could see a cluster of people just standing there. Every single one of them just static, no movement except a slight head tilt as though listening for something, and just behind them: the required exit doors.

Oh brilliant! How the fuck am I going to get past that lot? She wondered.

She stared blankly whilst her mind whirled.

Then she had her ‘light bulb moment’. She went back to her bed and picked up the wired remote control attached to the frame. She pushed the assistance button, this immediately raised an alarm on the nurses station.                         

The ‘beep-beep-beep’ of the buzzer shouting from the crescent shaped desk, created enough of a distraction that the group of aimless zombies started to shuffle towards the station hoping, she assumed, that this was some kind of dinner bell.

Putting her backpack on and making her way back to the door, she peeked over the edge of the window and saw the group pass by her door. She held her breath as they passed by.

She gave herself a silent fist pump, and congratulated herself. Yes! That was a piece of piss!!

Now she was only left with the one obstruction outside her door, and what was strapped on top of the gurney.

Silently, she turned the handle on her door and pulled it towards her. No noise arose and she slowly dropped back down to a crawling position. The smell hit her, and it was toxic. Oh my God!  What is that?  She immediately started to breathe through her mouth, but this did little to quell the oily coating the pungent smell seemed to leave behind. The coppery odour of the blood mixed with urine and excrement made for a lasting taste. She actually felt herself going green.

To help distract herself, she concentrated on the job at hand.

The gurney was widthways in front of her door, so she slowly started to push away at the foot end until it was at a right angle to the wall and completely blocked the corridor. This was all done slowly and with such care that not even the undead patient on top noticed the movement.

So far, so good. Nicky couldn’t believe her luck. Please just let me get to the exit then I can worry about the stairs and the canteen and pharmacy...then back to find my sister. Jesus Christ! Not asking for much eh? She thought wryly.

Still crawling she made her way to the ward’s exit doors. Just before reaching them she heard a noise from a small room on the right hand side; someone was talking. Taking shallow breaths as she approached the room, she glanced towards the location of the voices. It was a television, still working and displaying what looked like an emergency broadcast.

“Stay indoors and do not approach anyone. This virus is highly contagious and passes on through close contact.

If someone is displaying flu-like symptoms, take precautions; use gloves and masks.

This is the initial form of the infection and it is extremely virulent. It is an unknown strain, and there is no vaccination.

If the flu is survived you may be immune from further infection. If you have not suffered these symptoms, avoid contact with others. Breaks in the skin through bites will lead to certain infection and death.

The virus will reanimate the body after death, presenting with stiffness in the extremities and loss of colour to the irises, causing the eye to appear entirely white. The infection will then be passed on through saliva, bodily fluids and bites. There appears to be no cognitive memory; any former connections are lost and the behaviour is uncontrollable. The infected are compelled to attack and bite and then consume whoever is in their path, furthering the spread of this vicious sickness.

To exterminate, one must damage the brain.

This is a pandemic event.

There is no treatment as yet; government agencies are working around the clock to develop a vaccine and a cure.

Areas of safety, and refugee camps are being planned and a list of these will be announced as soon as possible.

Until then, you must take steps to keep yourself and your family secure and safe.  God bless us all.”                                                    

“This is an emergency announcement….”

The message scrolled around again and again, holding the rapt attention of at least fifteen infected people in the small room. All of them stared blankly at the screen unsure of what to make of the noise emitting from it, but hoping it would somehow lead them to fulfilling their hunger.

Just as she was about to move past from her crouched position, she saw a small pair of legs in the middle of the group. 

Colourful little Hello Kitty socks gathered around pink shoes with LED heels that were still weakly lighting up with every sway back and forth, but the shine was dulled by the dark brown of dried blood. Moving her head, she saw that the little girl was still holding the hand of the grown up beside her. 

Sadness enveloped Nicky. Was this cognizant behaviour? Did they recognize familiar faces after all? Was comfort still required in some form? Still staring at the small child, she saw the hand holding was not as it seemed.

The little girl drew the adults hand down towards her mouth. But held within the grasp of that hand was the orderly’s head from the hallway.

Nicky watched aghast as the child brought the head to her mouth to work on the dull, sightless eyes.

For the second time she felt the bile rise from her stomach. With nothing left to eject, she fought to get herself under control.

Breathing deeply and with watery eyes, Nicky continued on all fours, wondering what cruel kind of sickness this was. It seemed to show no discrimination of race, colour, age, creed or persuasion. She finally reached the exit doors, and she checked around and behind noting it was still clear, so she stood up and grabbed the handle and tugged, now totally desperate to get out and away from this horror, she tugged hard.

The doors were locked. Shit! Locked? How...why are they fucking locked?!

The noise of the doors being pulled against the electronic mechanism drew a couple of the infected out of the TV room. They saw and heard Nicky yanking on the door handle and began to moan as they made their way over. 

Cold sweat started to drip down her back as she turned to watch their approach, as she tried to melt into the corner beside the doors. Her adrenalin was pumping causing her pulse to jump wildly in her throat and chest. Then she saw it. The little button with a lock release on it. Of course! She felt so stupid, but decided to save the self-reprimand for after she’d safely escaped.

Swiftly, she pushed the button and the click told her the door was now free. She grabbed the handle and pulled. The door opened and she slipped out and tried to get the door shut quickly behind her. Thankfully, the weight of an infected man pushed against the door and shut it rapidly and the lock click was heard.

That was too close for comfort. She looked back through the narrow window in the door and saw the man in a hospital gown trying to bite her through the glass. His milky white eyes fixed on Nicky without a blink. Such was the force that he attacked the glass, that his teeth cut through his top lip. He showed no pain or any sign that he was causing such damage to his face.

Nicky turned away and felt that there was something not quite right. She looked down at her groin and saw an erection showing through her sweatpants.

Oh lord! Not now! What in the hell?

She remembered reading the Patient Information Leaflet on her hormone patches and recalled that this was a rare, but possible occurrence in one in so many users. 

Great, so I’m the ‘one in so many’ am I?  Never happened before though.

Maybe, she concluded, fear and adrenaline mixed with the estragon is the magic combo!

“Oh...fuck me” she muttered to herself as she pushed the protuberance down and headed towards the stairs. She was on the third floor and she knew from previous visits that the pharmacy and the canteen were on the ground floor.

Nicky pushed the door to the stairwell open and stood still, listening for any footsteps or any other untoward noises. All was quiet surprisingly, and she entered and started down the steps as cautiously as she could.  Her hard on was deflating and completely gone by the time she reached the ground floor.

Nicky slowly pushed the door open. It was well used, and didn’t make any noise. She poked her head out and saw the canteen in front of her. It looked empty. Where had everyone gone? Was there an evacuation? She wondered. Maybe there is some great big gang of them somewhere? Well they are not here, so, fuckit I can live with that! 

Looking left and right, she made her way across the corridor and onto the open plan canteen. Tables and chairs were askew and blood was covering many of the seats and tabletops. The floor was slick in places with it. 

Nicky carefully stepped around all the puddles and obstacles until she came to the counter. The fresh food was congealed and dried up after being left out for so long. The smell was sweet and ugly. But even so, her empty stomach seemed to show no care for the spoilt fayre and it rumbled loudly.

Instead she went for the breakfast and protein bars displayed near the till. She opened one of the bars without even checking the label, and scoffed it down. The blueberry fruit flavour exploded in her mouth, instantly drying and glueing her tongue to her waxy palate. She went to the chiller, grabbed some water and immediately drank half of the bottle’s contents. Taking two more, she put them in her backpack along with several of the bars. Before zipping the bag back up, she reached in and retrieved one more slab of goodness. She ripped open the packaging, and hastily bit into the fruity bar, but she took her time chewing with this one.

She now had food and water. A weapon and her patches left to get, and she would be good to go. Making her way around the back of the counter, she nearly threw up her recent sustenance when she saw, rather randomly, a severed hand sticking out of the register drawer. The white bone was shining and ragged, broken as though a couple of breadsticks had just been snapped in half. 

As bad as it was, Nicky couldn’t stop the thought of somebody getting caught with their hand in the till flitting through her mind. A gruesome little smile passed over her lips, What the hell is wrong with me? She thought, first a stiffy because I nearly died? now I’m cracking jokes at somebody losing a fucking hand! Shaking her head, she turned away. 

She eventually found what she was looking for. The kitchen knives were all held magnetically onto the wall and there was everything from a cleaver to a cheese knife. After getting the feel of a few in her hand she settled on two knives with sturdy spines and rubberised handles that hopefully, would stop any slippage in her grip.

Nicky had never stabbed anyone before. Would she be able to stick a knife into a moving body? She tried to imagine a scenario where she would have to thrust her arm forward and sink a knife into somebody’s stomach. Even worse, she remembered that the broadcast upstairs had said that she must damage the brain to stop one of these things! She hoped beyond hope that she would not have to find out. 

She put the knives in the pockets on either side of her back-pack with the handles sticking out so she could grab them easily.

With weapons now ticked off her list, and feeling just a bit ‘Lara Croft’ she added a little swagger to her step. The last thing needed from the hospital was her patches. A luxury to some; but not to Nicky. She had come too far in her transition to start taking any steps back now. Besides, she wasn’t sure, but the old groin may start playing up more if she didn’t get her medicine.

She made her way out of the canteen keeping as quiet as possible, swivelling her head all around her. The green neon cross along the corridor was still shining brightly announcing the location of the pharmacy.

The quiet of the hospital was really unnerving Nicky.  She kept looking around her, waiting for a horde to approach. But, still, not a soul living or undead seemed to be around.

She arrived and pushed the door to the pharmacy open. She took one of the knives in her hand, and kept it up at chest height. But once again, an empty waiting room greeted her. The hatch to the pharmacy was closed and the door beside it looked more like a bank vault with locks and lights dotted all around. Maybe my patches are not going to be gotten in here, Nicky thought. I’m never going to get in through that monstrous  looking door. Tapping half-heartedly on the hatch window with the tip of her knife whilst thinking of her next move, she was interrupted when the hatch suddenly slid open and revealed a short, balding man with little round spectacles perched on his nose and wearing a pharmacists white coat.

“Can I help you?” he said.

Nicky stood at the hatch with her mouth gaping. 

“Hello!” the little man said waving a hand in front of her face. “Can I help you, miss? Or are you just going to stand there all day? I don’t have time for this; please miss, you must understand, I am a very busy person!”

“Erm..yes sorry!” Nicky spluttered. “Eh, I would like to get some estrogen patches please. Uh Estradiol if you have them?” The man stood still, waiting. “Um...please?” Nicky said unsure at his delay, and thinking maybe he was a stickler for manners. The chap continued to stand staring at Nicky, his eyes narrowing. “Pretty please, with cherries on top?”

The pharmacist gave Nicky a slow look up and down and sighed, “And where is your prescription SIR?” shocked, Nicky said, “What!? You can’t be serious? You want a prescript…wait, what? Sir? Ohh..okay, I see. You have a problem with me do you? There is a fucking apocalypse going on and you are going to get shitty with me? Is that right?!”

The pharmacist sneered, making his face even rounder. Nicky could feel the small repressed amount of testosterone left in her body build up. She felt like she could smash this little shitbag all around the hospital. But, taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she clawed back her anger.

This was not the first time she had encountered prejudice. She was very feminine, and her gender was never really a question, so she had only very rarely come across it, but she was well trained by her therapist to deal with these situations, and had practiced her coping mechanisms to help too. Nicky brought her index finger and thumb together and squeezed as a method to get the mind to re-focus. 

Without another word, she opened the exit door and left the room. She heard the hatch slam shut behind her. She looked around her and gave a big sigh.

New plan then...get out and find a local pharmacy, I guess, she thought. She started to make her way to the exit and as she rounded onto the reception area, she froze in place.

Well! The mystery is solved! she thought. Now she knew why the hospital was so quiet. Something must have drawn the undead outside and kept them there. 

The car park was totally jammed with infected. No room to move or turn or even breathe as the bodies were that closely packed in!

Wait…Do zombies actually need to breathe? Shaking the random thought away, she carefully backtracked into the corridor.

There must be another exit around here somewhere? She thought as she started to make her way back up the corridor. Passing by some consultation rooms on both sides, she merely glanced in and stopped short as her eye caught something of great interest in one of them. 

Taking her knife in hand again, she tapped lightly on the glass window of the door. With no reaction to this, she pushed the door open and entered the small anteroom that housed the secretary to the doctor. There on the desktop was a prescription pad.

Hah! Now I can at least get my patches! she thought.

Nicky wrote the details of her requirements onto the pad, and after glancing at the doctor’s signature on one of the many letters on the desk, scrawled a rough copy onto the bottom of the sheet. Jeez…That looks bloody good, Nicky girl! You could have made it as a forger and never knew it! Smiling, she ripped off the sheet shoved it in her pocket, and turned to leave. Before she got to the exit, a loud thud sounded at the consultant’s door, making her jump. Unsure if the noise was made by the living or the dead, she was frozen with indecision of what to do.

She crept to the door and pressed her ear up to the wood.  She gently tapped on the door the universal code of ‘shave and a haircut…’ hoping for the reply of ‘two bits’ but only another thud sounded. She stepped away, now sure that she could not help the poor soul inside.

Nicky made her way back into the pharmacy and entered the waiting room this time with less caution. She tapped on the hatch window and waited. Eventually the small, bespectacled man showed up. Pursing his lips as he saw who was at the window again. 

“Yes SIR?” “How can I help you?” This time Nicky retrieved her prescription from her pocket and without a word pushed it over the counter top towards the little man. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the piece of paper. “Wh…where did you get this?” he spluttered.

“You wanted a prescription, you have one. Now get what I need and I will wait here for you.” Nicky smirked as the wee man turned, muttering to himself, and pranced into the rear of the multi-shelved room.

She took in the small waiting area as she sat in one of the chairs. The usual posters adorned the walls concerning high cholesterol, low immunity and head lice, amongst other things. The small table had ragged copies of magazines lying haphazardly on top. Six chairs, and a fire extinguisher completed the drab little space.

The hatch pulled back less than five minutes later. 

Without any preamble the pharmacist looked out and pointed at Nicky.  “SIR? You, yes you, SIR, I have your medicine” he emphasised rudely. The inference was not lost on Nicky who felt her ire rise again. Taking a long, deep breath, she stood and went to the hatch.

The offered packets were held out, and she grabbed them and the wrist of the pharmacist too. He jumped back but stopped short as Nicky had a stiff grip on him. 

He spluttered and said “What are you..let go of me! Get off! Get OFF!” Instead, Nicky pulled him up to her face until their noses were almost touching. Barely keeping her anger in check and through gritted teeth she said

“Look at me…Just look at me. I am nothing to you. Thankfully, you are nothing to me. It looks like the world has come to an end and you...” she gripped his wrist harder causing him to whimper. “...you, still have time for prejudice and hatred?  You odious little man. Let me tell you, I am the very least of your worries! Have you seen what’s out there? Have you?”  Just as the small man was about to speak, his eyes fixed on something behind Nicky, and widening his mouth to form a soundless ‘ohh’. The next thing Nicky felt was a blinding pain, a clunk, and blackness.

Nicky came too as she was being hoisted over someone’s shoulder. She felt sick to the point of retching and her head was dripping blood down over the top of her skull and matting in her long brown hair. 

The gag in her mouth was not helping the nausea, and she groaned. The next thing she felt was a hand on her backside, and then a rub and a stinging slap. “Don’t worry darling, you will soon be safe and sound!” the voice was loud, shouting out next to her. 

Dirty laughter from another man could just be heard through Nicky’s pounding head. She tried to push away and felt that her hands were bound with a zip tie. Further movement told her that her feet, too, were fastened. Looking up as she was swung around, she saw that she was still in the waiting room of the pharmacy and from her elevated position, she could see the pharmacist’s torso pulled out over the counter and a knife sticking out from his neck.

He was still alive, but only barely and not for long, as little air bubbles in the pumping blood rose and created a little beehive around the knife’s entry wound on his neck. 

His eyes locked onto Nicky as she was being taken out of the room. It was ironic that the last thing he would see in his life was going to be her, after just showing her such disdain. She saw a wet tear escape his eye and roll to the bridge of his nose where it plopped off to mingle with the growing crimson puddle on the worktop.

She heard the voice beside her shout out. “Get his keys. Get in there and get all the drugs you can! We have scored big time here, mate! The boss will be pissing his pants when he sees this haul!” Nicky felt another rub against her buttocks “but maybe we can keep one or two things for ourselves eh!?”

“Yessss Francie!! Hey! Can I get first shot at this one? She is a real looker, and I’m sick of sloppy seconds!”

As she was being taken away she heard Francie reply, “Get all the drugs and get to the van in ten minutes and you’re on, Joshy boy! Hey, I may even tell JC about all your hard work too”

A coldness started in her stomach and then rolled all over Nicky, and she started to weep. 

As she was taken out through an ambulance bay, she could see through her watery vision that one of the vehicles had crashed near the entrance around the front and had its flashing lights still going. That seemed to be the main attraction, keeping the zombies static and crammed together until something more interesting came along.

They continued to walk past the emergency vehicles lined up at the loading bays,  and further away from the massed horde. The man she heard called Francie mouthed to Nicky over his shoulder, “You had better keep your pretty little self quiet or we will have all of those fuckers charging over here for a snack, and I don’t think you would be able to run very far would ya?!” He sniggered as he reached the black van and opened the back door. As if Nicky were a sack of potatoes, he shimmied her off his shoulder and slammed her on the floor of the van. Stars appeared within her vision but she didn’t black out again. The door shut and she was in the dark.

The world felt hopeless. Tears slid down the sides of her face.  She knew that she would never get to look for her sister, Immy, even if it was to put her down and give her peace. She would never know what it was like to truly be a woman. She would never find a man, fall in love and get married. Somehow, these thoughts seemed calm her, and they gave her a clarity of thinking that surprised her. Noises from outside the van caused her breathing to increase and muffled voices filtered into her space. The door opened and the brightness momentarily blinded her. Plastic bags were thrown above her and landed behind her head. For the first time she got a look at the man called Joshy.

Josh was a filthy, unshaven man that had facial tattoos that told the story of his jail time. The apocalypse was a pure gift for men like this and his intent was to enjoy it as much as he could, for as long as he could. He knew that he was not too high in the pecking order, so getting first dibs on any of the women or merchandise they found was an unexpected pleasure.

He immediately started to breathe heavily when he caught sight of the tied up woman in the back of the van. He looked back to Francie for permission and this was given in the form of a thumbs up and a wink. “Just be quick and be quiet!”

Leering, Josh climbed in the back and pulled the door closed behind him.  Unable to stand fully in the confined space, he crouched as he started to undo his belt.  Nicky started to shake with uncontrollable fear, and her pulse thundered in her ears. “Please, you don’t have to do this…please?” Nicky cried.  The words fell on deaf ears as the ultimate prize was all that was filtering in to this weak man’s mind.

Realising that he would need access, Josh brought out his knife and cut the tie around Nicky’s legs. He quickly pulled at her sweat pants, drawing them down her legs until inside out, they were discarded. In the darkness of the van, the man did not see the one thing that he was not expecting, and that the fear that Nicky felt had taken an effect for the second time that day. 

As he knelt down, he grabbed her ankles and spread her legs apart. He put his hand out to feel his way, and inadvertently nudged Nicky's erect penis.

He let out a shout of surprise and jumped back, crashing into the rear doors, slamming them open. The light flooded in and Josh fell backwards out of the van with his jeans around his ankles. The sound of his head hitting the surface was like a coconut cracking. Francie looked surprised and angry at the commotion. He quickly turned to see if the noise had been heard by anyone, or anything else, and seeing no movement he peered into the dark interior, and started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he couldn’t catch his breath. Tears were coursing down his face and he was bent at the waist, trying to gain an intake of air between his guffaws.

Nicky, now with her legs free, decided that there was only one thing left to do.  She started swinging her legs wildly, hitting anything and everything in the back of the van.  The noise as she pummelled the van’s walls and floor was enough to get the interest of the horde.

Spotting this, Francie soon pulled himself together, grabbed Nicky by an ankle, and pulled her out of the van, dropping her hard onto the tarmac. 

“You dirty little freak!  You can stay here and let them eat that fucking thing off you now if you really wanna be a girl!” He laughed maniacally at his own joke.

Two, and then three of the zombies started to turn towards the ambulance bay.  The shuffling and interest was enough to cause the pack to follow the ones in front, and soon there was a solid line of them leading around to seek out their next meal.

“You little bitch...or bastard...or whatever the fuck you are!!” Francie shouted. Pulling his leg back, he released a hard kick into Nicky’s stomach, forcing the air out of her body.

Leaving a dazed Josh on the ground with his trousers still effectively disabling him, he ran to the front of the van and jumped into the driver seat. He started the engine and  squealed away from the bay. The back doors swung open and the plastic bags of drugs dropped out, splitting and spewing all manner of pills to get crushed underfoot by the approaching horde as they made their way around the parked vehicles..

The screaming of Josh begging for Francie to come back, rang the dinner bell even louder for the zombies, and the speed of their shambling footsteps increased.

The sting in Nicky’s back as she landed on the tarmac and the hard kick that had winded her, left her gasping for air, but she knew that her time was very limited with the approaching horde.

Sitting up, she saw the bags of drugs lying on the ground and reached round to grab one. It was the only object that she had nearby. She picked it up and got to her feet, still gulping down as much air as she could. Swinging the bag around her head for some momentum she let it slap into the face of the first zombie to get near. Of course it didn’t kill him, but it did put him off balance and he staggered into the next one behind him, causing a ripple effect through the first of the ranks, enough to buy a few valuable seconds for Nicky to run gasping towards the ambulance bay doors. Passing Josh, she felt like giving him a swift kick but didn’t want to waste her time on him.

She made it through the entrance with only a few seconds to spare. The horde had gathered around Josh and his screams were firmly locked away in Nicky’s psyche for future nightmares to come. She turned and saw that the automatic glass doors were stuck open. Shit! How do these things fucking work? She looked all around the frame and saw the keys in the locking mechanism at the top right hand corner. Reaching up, she turned the key to the ‘closed’ position and watched as the doors swished closed in front of her. She let out her breath, and slid down the smooth surface of the doors.

Turning her back on the gruesome scene outside, she rushed back to the pharmacy and saw her backpack discarded in the corner of the waiting room. Thankfully overlooked by the men in their excitement of gaining bigger spoils, she picked it up and checked inside. She was happy to see that her bottles of water, energy bars, and patches were still inside, she fed her arms through the straps and hoisted it onto her sore back. Ignoring the dead body of the small pharmacist, she exited the waiting room and turned back to the glass doors. As she stealthily approached, she saw her reflection in the shiny surface. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. A tall woman with long brown hair, a dirty sweatshirt, and a slowly deflating erect penis was shown back to her.

Yeah…that's really not a good look right there…she grimaced as she went to see if the zombies had moved on yet.

- Sister Emma –

Sister Emma was weary. Her bones ached, her skin hurt and her head was pounding like a set of jungle drums. The thin kneeler cushion attached to the pew in front of her was doing little to stop the pain radiating up to her hips and spine. 

Was this a new torture that the Lord wished to bestow on her? If so, then she would gladly shoulder the burden. She had been doing so for the last forty-three years and it was a small discomfort compared to his sacrifice He made for mankind.

With only two years to go until retirement from her teaching post, Emma was nervous at what the future held for her. 

Would the order of Jesus & Magdalene send her somewhere else or would she spend her remaining time here in a lovely sixteenth century convent secreted behind gates and in a beautiful rural setting? 

It was not her place to question or request any such preference. But, she had been at her happiest here and secretly she wished she could stay here forever. Her Mother Superior knew best though, and Emma was prepared to accept her fate with grace. Well, nearly. 

She was still a wee bit ‘feisty’ as her mother superior liked to label her. But, Emma just liked to be honest and let the powers that be know her opinions. God wouldn’t have let her have these points of view if she was never meant to voice them.

Growing up as a younger sibling to three brothers, it was in her nature to speak up just to be heard.

Even these days, a sneaky cigarette and the odd Bailey’s liqueur from time to time meant she broke the mould of the usual stereotypes of nuns, and was often in the confessional box cleansing herself of the guilt from her sins.

This was the main reason for her solo penance now in the chapel; to ask forgiveness for speaking up rather vehemently for one of her students. This wasn’t the first visit to the chapel she’d made for her vivacity for life and probably, no, definitely wouldn’t be the last.

Emma’s students were her children. She loved each and every one of them. Like all parents, she was tested from time to time, but Emma always tried to see the good in each of them and would lobby to help any and all of her students.

She was always a favourite with the pupils. Emma’s sense of fun and her youthfulness made their lessons interesting and the time fly by.

Emma rested her hot, aching forehead upon her clasped hands as she remembered the last big incident that had prompted her to end up moving schools. 

Jonathan Chambers; the name caused a sadness to creep over Emma’s face.  She had always tried to see the good in Jonathan, but, no one else seemed to bother. He was a ‘bad lot’ from a ‘bad seed’ apparently, but Emma knew that he was battling a very tough home life, and had been doing so from a toddler. She thought she was getting through to him, but found out he had tried to sell drugs to some of the younger children. He’d ended up in a terrible fight with his dealer just outside the school gates when he couldn’t get rid of his stash.

The fight was vicious and had traumatised some of the younger children, and the students were left still needing to have chaperones stationed outside the gates at the beginning and end of every school day.

Emma had visited Jonathan in hospital and had prayed for him for hours by his bedside. The knife the dealer used had sliced the poor young man from the top of his scalp down over his eye to his top lip, maybe as a warning to others? Thankfully, the surgeon had saved his sight, but he would always have a nasty scar and a puckered eye to show for it.

Jonathan never came back to school. She heard that he liked to be called JC now, and that the scar only seemed to give him more street cred than before.

Emma always felt like she had in some way failed him, herself, and God. The guilt squeezed at her heart and soul. She still hoped that he would make something of his life and find a righteous path. Many prayers were offered up to ask for clemency to be granted to her for this failure, and to this day he was included in her daily novena in the hope that could find some love in his heart.

Blinking rapidly, she broke the daydream. This isn’t right...I don’t feel good at all, Emma thought. She could feel the heat from her body build and billow around her habit. The grey, heavy linen felt more weighty and harsh than usual against her skin.   

She tried to get up from her kneeling position in the wooden pew, but a wave of dizziness encompassed her; blooming black spots appeared within her eye line, and she dropped to the cold tiled floor, unconscious.

A distant noise started to infiltrate Emma’s mind. Slowly, through her closed eyes, a dim light started to break up the darkness. She raised her lids and the black and white tiles of the chapel floor came into focus and her eyes started to bounce around in confusion looking for the answer as to why she was on the floor in the first place. 

She raised her head and squinted at the brightness of the sun that was pouring through the high stained glass windows, creating a kaleidoscope of colour to shine on the white marble altar. The noise, increasing in volume, started to sound nearer and clearer, but her fugue state kept refusing to let her work out what it was. 

How long have I been on the floor? What is that noise? Oh shit! My head hurts!  God forgive me for swearing. Questions and thoughts flooded Emma’s mind.

Slowly she pushed herself into a sitting position in between the wooden seat and the back of the pew in front, her body protesting after being in the same position for some time. Raising herself to a sitting position on the wooden pew she realised with distaste that she had wet herself. The dampness could still be felt, though not dripping, thus telling her that it had been some time since it happened. 

The noise she kept hearing was coming from the thick heavy wooden chapel door. A scratching, dragging, thudding. Sister Emma slowly rose to a standing position and unsteadily made her way to the doors. 

She reached for the handle, and as a wave of dizziness hit her, she slid down the highly waxed surface, and ended up crouched down. 

She saw what looked like a black liquid seeping under the door.

With shaking fingers she touched the fluid, and as she had seen in many of her favourite crime busting programmes on TV, she rubbed her fingers against each other and a dark red colour began to emerge.

A sharp intake of breath from Emma caused whatever was happening on the other side of the door to stop.

She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that there could be nothing good going on around her, and sent a silent prayer upwards for strength, and finishing by kissing the crucifix hanging around her neck. She slowly and quietly stood and gently turned the large iron door handle. The door started to open on its well-oiled hinges, and the sight that greeted her caused Emma to freeze in shock. 

She saw her Mother Superior, Sister Veronica, who in death, was lying face up with an expression of fear etched forever on her face, clutching her rosary beads tightly to her chest. Her intestines were being pulled and eaten by a rapturous looking Sister Eugene, who, with each new mouthful being taken, was causing the dead nuns head to thud against the door.     

Blood was everywhere and so the source of the stain under the door became evident. A whimper escaped from Emma’s throat, and the bloodied Sister Eugene hesitated in her feast. Slowly, her head raised, her veil now crookedly sitting over half of her face. Her mouth both chewing and salivating, let globulous drips hang down from her chin. Her remaining uncovered eye locked on Emma. A pure white eye. 

Quickly and quietly Emma shut the door again. The movement, being seen and heard, created a new wave of banging against the wooden door.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! God forgive me for swearing. What the hell is going on!? Rest in peace Sister Veronica...Lord, please accept her soul through your heavenly gate.” The words automatically whispered from Emma’s mouth, and she blessed herself, finishing with multiple taps on her chest.

Now more than just Sister Eugene was banging at the door, the noise obviously causing more interest to kindred souls. There was no key for the lock, but luckily there was a sliding bolt at the bottom of the two doors. Sliding them home gave Sister Emma a precious little, but, some comfort.

Unsteadily, Emma made her way over to the stone font in front of the pews, she removed her veil and simply dunked her head into the holy water. Taking in gulps of water before she pulled her head away, she immediately felt better, her senses coming back to her.

I need to get out of here; I can’t believe what I have just seen! I need to find out what is going on! Emma thought desperately. 

She removed the scapular from her shoulders, and dried her face and short hair with it.

Feeling refreshed but still weak, Emma headed for the sacristy, the little side room located behind the altar, to see if she could find something, anything, to help her out of this situation.

She entered the small room and closed the heavy door behind her. “Lord, please help me!” she prayed. She made her way to the priests’ desk. The papers and sermon notes strewn on top gave no insight to the shitfest that seemed to be occurring outside the chapel doors, (pardon me Father for swearing) but looking in the top drawer, the desk did offer up an opened pack of ginger nut biscuits. Yes! Thank you Father Dillon, she thought, knowing that no one other than Father Dillon would carry a packet of biscuits with him to chapel, his round belly and red face the telling tale.

Hunger overtook Emma and she scoffed the softened biscuits in record time.  Her mouth felt instantly dry, her eyes fell upon the little copper tap inset into the stone wall that supplied the holy water for the font and the little plastic bottles that were so popular to the devout. Cupping her hand under the flow, she gulped the water down.

With her thirst sated, Emma wondered how she was going to get out of this chapel, and what would greet her when she did. She took a moment to wonder if what had Sister Eugene eating her Mother Superior was isolated or widespread. She could hear no sirens, could she assume, then, that this...horror...was only here in the convent? That no one had as yet called for help? Oh, if only she had taken the mobile phone that her niece had wanted to give her last Christmas! She knew that you could get news updates and all sorts as well as making actual phone calls.

The only clear window in the little room was small and located high up towards the ceiling of the room. She wouldn’t be able to fit through it, but she could certainly look through it! 

Emma dragged the heavy desk over to the wall, grabbed the chair, and placed it on top. She lifted her long habit above her knees and climbed up onto the desk then gingerly stepped up onto the chair. On tiptoes she could just manage to see out into the distance. The view gave her little answers, and little hope, with swirls of black smoke in the distance and the faintest sounds of alarms now filtering through giving the only clues that this was not just outside her own door.

Climbing down, she removed the chair from the desk and slumped into it, still unable to make any kind of sense of what was happening.

Emma knew that without more information she would never be able to figure out how things had got to this point.

The last thing she remembered was the official ‘talk’ she’d with Mother Superior over her student, and the penance bestowed for her outspoken attitude, which resulted in her  prayers for forgiveness to God in the Chapel. 

She recalled feeling unwell whilst praying and that she must have passed out. For how long? She didn’t know. Long enough for the world to go to shit obviously! Giving a glance heavenwards, she uttered. “Lord, God...sorry for swearing!”

How to get out of the chapel was now becoming Emma’s number one priority.  She couldn’t leave through the front doors or she may end up like Sister Veronica-God rest her soul, and there was no back door. 

Emma bent forwards and rested her head onto her knees, until she got the whiff of her urine soaked tunic and sat back up straight. “Urgh!” she gagged. “That has got to be fixed! If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then I must be flipping miles away from you Lord!”

She went to the vestiary, a wardrobe used to house the priests’ robes for mass and various other ceremonies, and pulled the door open. The robes ready to be donned for mass were shining, resplendent from the hangars, but also tucked over to the right side was another hangar holding a spare pair of black trousers and black shirt. Yessss!

Emma wasted no time in removing her habit and underpants, and slipped into the shirt and trousers. Loose fitting, maybe, but infinitely better than before.

Her beloved rosary beads and crucifix, a gift from her father upon entering the church, and that she had had since serving her postulancy were kissed and placed once more around her neck.

A quick prayer of thanks was sent up, and Emma sat back down and leaning forwards to turn up the bottoms of the trousers to avoid tripping over them.

That was when her eye caught the square indentation in the rug. Usually covered by the desk, this would never normally have been seen. 

Emma pulled the rug back to reveal a trap door. Of course!  Emma nearly smacked her own forehead. This chapel, having being built in the 16th century, would have priest holes and tunnels running all over the place...had she just found one of these escape routes?

Offering up another silent prayer, she pulled up the square handle inset in the trapdoor and tugged with all her might. The door resisted and needed coaxing but Emma didn’t give up and eventually it opened up and stood at ninety degrees to the floor. Panting and with her hands on her hips she looked down to see stone steps leading down into darkness, strung with cobwebs wafting in the breeze.

A small shiver escaped Emma. She never did like spiders. As they were God's little creatures, she was often faced with a dilemma. A dilemma that often had her praying for forgiveness at killing one of the awful little arachnids.  God above, why create something so creepy…?  Catching herself with this thought, Emma smiled sadly and thought that now it looked like there was a whole new kind of creepy to deal with.

“Really Lord, what are you doing now? Cannibals... Really?  Do you have a plan? Is there a reason for what you have laid in my path?”

Taking a deep breath, Emma lit a candle and placed it in one of the churches sturdy wrought iron holders. She put two of the little plastic bottles of holy water into her pockets, and started down the steps. She quickly blessed herself, “Lord, please protect me...Oh, and can I have a pass on the swearing for a while? I will make it up to you when I get out of here. Amen.” She finished with a sign of the cross.

The cobwebs were there for a reason and their architects were plenty. Emma wished she had kept her veil on for peace of mind; the thought of spiders in her hair made her shudder. However, she had her big girl pants on, or rather the big priests pants on, there was a passage to follow and Emma was thankful that she could follow it. She prayed that she be brought out into a better place.

She walked for what seemed like miles, and, feeling the odd creepy crawly on her, caused her to look like she was auditioning for a Michael Jackson dance move video, and her free pass on swearing was certainly being pushed to the limit! But, eventually, she felt a slight breeze and the candle flame flickered to near extinction, thus quickening Emma’s steps. She was near the end.

A flight of steps could be seen, and all too quickly she was at the top with both shoulders pushing up against the trap door.

“What the Hell... sorry Lord” she grunted, pushing as hard as she could. Was something covering it? Furniture? “This is my only way out! Umph!” Her frustration caused her to push with as much force as she could and yes!  A shift was felt.  Buoyed up by this small movement, Emma gave another heave, and, her veins bulging, the trap door lifted.

The light was blinding after the gloominess of the tunnel. Squinting, Sister Emma found herself in an old stone-walled room. A few tenacious pieces of plaster clung to the damp stones. An open fireplace that had not seen any flames in many a year was in front of her. A breeze wafted through the broken panes in the old windows on either side of her.

The roof had holes all over letting the daylight shine through. Obviously, this place was unused, left to rack and ruin, the damp causing all manner of fungus to grow from the walls. 

Looking out, Emma saw what she now recognised as a terrace of old cottages. The church used to give these abodes to either the men and their families working for the church, or to the poor and needy that needed shelter.

A noise alerted Emma, it came from behind her. Spinning around, she lifted the wrought iron candle stick over her head. Holding her breath she listened intently, but was rewarded with nothing but silence. In the darkest corner of the room, an old straw mattress was half folded and abandoned, its stains from damp and years of use showing between the holes in the stripy cover.

Oh sweet Jesus, please don’t give me rats today too!

Slowly Emma made her way to the decaying mound and tipped her toe into the mess giving it a jiggle. Retrieving her foot quickly, she two stepped backwards.  No nest of rats evacuated, or any wild animal, but instead, a soft groan.

“Hello?” Sister Emma said hesitantly. A sharp in draw of breath and a sob was then heard. Emma put down the candlestick and made her way back over to the corner.  She blessed herself rapidly and bent to grab the old straw bedding. 

As she started to pull it away, a cry like a new-born baby’s wail emerged and as the mattress moved away, a body was revealed. It was a girl, judging by the long hair, young, too by the looks of her, but difficult to see clearly, as she was curled up tight in a foetal position. 

Emma rushed in to cradle the girl, but stopped short when she saw the child stiffen at the action…poor girl! What on earth has happened to her? Emma thought.

“It’s okay…shush, it’s okay, you’re safe now.” Slowly Emma crept closer until she was resting her hand on the girl’s head. “Can you talk to me? What is your name?” Slowly she could feel the wee girl begin to calm and gradually her head turned to face Emma. What she saw caused her to let out a sob; the girl had been beaten so badly that her face was contorted with the swelling. Her eyes were swollen and so bloodshot that none of the whites were showing. Her lips were cut and inflated, but not enough to hide a broken front tooth.

“Oh my God child! What happened?! Who did this to you?!”

The girl looked at Emma; her eyes drifted down to see the crucifix hanging from Emma’s neck. At this sight she immediately uncurled herself and clung on to Emma like a limpet.

Now Emma could see more of the girl’s sorry state. Only a tee shirt that was stretched and ripped, covered her body. What was visible showed that she was battered and bruised all over her young frame, she could be no more than twelve or thirteen.

“Can you tell me your name?” Emma whispered.

A croak issued followed by a cough. Emma reached into her pocket and opened one of her small holy water bottles and raised the opening to the girl’s lips. She drank greedily, her throat parched.

“Th-thank you” she stumbled. “My name is...C...Coral.”

“How old are you, Coral?”

A deep sigh and she whispered “I’m thirteen, sister.”

“Well, Coral, my name is Sister Emma, and I am totally honoured to meet you. Can you tell me what happened to you?”

Slowly Coral started to tell the story of how she had ended up hiding in the abandoned cottage.

After losing all of her immediate family the first day, her mother to the flu, and then the others to her mother’s bites, she ran to her uncle’s house for safety. He’d been her favourite relative since she was a little girl; he’d always acted a bit like a child himself.

What she didn’t know was that her uncle had a drug habit, and had been mixing with some very unsavoury men before the apocalypse and was now totally beholden to them.

A group that had taken advantage of the world ending. Whilst they claimed to give sanctuary to men, women and children, in actual fact, they made the men work as slave labour and took the women and children in as their own slaves for sex or selling or whatever they damn well pleased.

Her uncle had let her in, but before he could hide his niece safely, his ‘associates’ had come to get him for a scavenging run. Their eyes lit up at the little treasure uncle Pete had for them.

Francie, the most senior, took Coral upstairs for his fun before work…his violent streak had no fear of being curtailed anymore, so he had not only raped her but beat her until she was unconscious. Uncle Pete could only sit and weep downstairs, listening to his niece being hurt in the worst possible way, knowing he was nothing but a coward and needing his next fix.

When Coral regained consciousness and could hear her uncle shouting downstairs.

“You’ve killed her! She’s dead! You bastard, Francie, you’ve fucking killed my niece!”

“Oh shut the fuck up Petey boy! I just got carried away is all...look I did her a favour, you know that don’t you? You wouldn’t want old JC to get a crack at her?! Eh? He’d have her shackled to a bed for months and months till he and anyone else is done with her! Mean old bastard! In fact, I might just have some of the white stuff you need in my pocket if you apologise to me and we can agree not to mention this to anyone else eh? What d’ya say?”

Silence followed, and Coral assumed that the deal was struck.

Once the men left, she managed to scramble out of the bedroom and, putting on an old tee shirt left lying on the landing floor, made her escape. Through gardens and backyards, and keeping covered as much as she could, she painfully made her way to the abandoned cottages then basically curled up to wait for death.

Emma’s heart was breaking from hearing Coral’s story. Mankind could sink this low? Hurt a child? This would push anyone’s faith to the limit. Swallowing her anger she asked “how long ago did this happen, sweetie?”,

“Maybe two or three days ago.” Coral sniffed back as she got herself under control once more.

Sister Emma was stunned. Three days! She must have been unconscious on the chapel floor for much longer than she thought.

“Listen, honey, I have no idea what has been going on, you are the first person I have seen since I woke up. Erm...except for my Mother Superior, who was being eaten by my dear friend Sister Eugene! Do you know what’s been happening to cause this? I’m so confused!”

As much as she could, Coral explained what she knew of the infection; that most of the population had become sick, died, and then, terrifyingly, they rose to continue the spread of the virus by biting new victims. Unfortunately, the hunger was intense and the majority didn’t stop at one bite.  A whole human could be devoured leaving only bones and gristle. She had seen this for herself on her journey to the cottage.

She continued that she had no idea where it had come from but it was widespread. Coral continued “the things I saw on the way here were just awful.” Her eyes looked away distantly reliving the sights she saw; the tears started to silently drop over her lids and slide down her dirty face. “There are some people that are not getting sick. I don’t know why...” she trailed off.

“Oh shitballs…”  Sister Emma whispered, petting Coral’s hair. She tried to get her head around all of this information, and, spotting the surprised look from Coral, she smiled. “Oh don’t worry about the swearing, God and I have an agreement” she pointed upwards and gave Coral a wink.

“Does he also let nuns wear trousers now too?” Coral tried to smile at Emma. 

“Oh this?…this outfit is only allowed while there is an apocalypse going on!”

The mood lightened a small bit and Emma got up to go the door. “We had better get some food and more water if we are going to stay safe and survive this, oh, and maybe some clothes for you to put on. Any ideas on how and where to go?”

She opened the door up to look out. Nothing was moving. There was an overgrown path down to the road. No cars could be heard passing by; not even a bird flew past. The world looked and felt desolate, especially to Emma, after hearing poor Coral’s story. Emma grasped her crucifix and started praying for guidance. As she was finishing her prayer, she spied something glinting in the grass. At first she thought it was some glass from one of the broken windows, but as she moved towards it, Emma saw a pedal, and then a saddle. It was a bike. A bike in relatively good condition, too. Hmmm, she thought. It must have been dumped by kids before the world went to shit- forgive me Father. Either way, her prayers had been answered. She stood the bike by the door and rushed in to tell Coral of her find. “Stay inside” she told her “and hide if you hear anyone coming. Promise me!”

“I will. I promise” Coral replied.

Wonderful as it was, the answered prayer found Emma unpracticed and awkward, straddling a bike and wobbling precariously down an overgrown path. Her mission was to go and find food to feed herself and Coral until the poor mite felt stronger, and then on to find a safe place for them both with other survivors.

She made her way down to the main road, now barren of any traffic. Out of habit Emma still looked both left and right before moving onto the thoroughfare. She turned to the left where there was a small cul-de-sac of newly built houses just a short distance away.

Good Lord! Either the saddles have shrunk, or my backside has grown! She winced in pain at the chaffing of the saddle. Not as young as you think you are! she tutted to herself.

After a few more painful minutes she saw the junction she wanted. She pulled up to the entry of the small road. Everything looked quiet. Too quiet. She silently dismounted from the bike and rested it up against the street sign. Feeling vulnerable Emma realised that she was out here with no means of defending herself. Hearing Coral’s story had certainly opened her eyes to the type of people that she could encounter. I should look for a weapon? She thought. A weapon? She never thought she would ever have to consider these thoughts. Lord, what should I do? I am putting myself in your hands. Protect me, lord. She would see what was provided for her, and would take it from there.

Buoyed up by her faith, she entered the little road and made her way to the first house, a sunny looking residence with fresh yellow paint adorning the outer walls.  A double fronted detached property, that looked very well kept. 

This house was loved, Emma thought sadly.

She made her way up the little path to the front door. It was closed. Was it locked?  She placed her hand on the door handle and was just about to push down against the opening mechanism when she realised that she was about to commit a sin. No, a crime. Oh no! Either way this was wrong! She stood frozen for at least three or four long minutes debating the merits and pitfalls of what she was intending to do. These were not usual circumstances, and she was willing to face the consequences of her actions in the face of the law and her God.  She was going to have one hell of a session confessing all of these sins when the time came.

With her actions and conscience cleared somewhat, she pushed down on the handle only to meet resistance. Locked! Of course it is! She let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. She saw the button to ring the doorbell, and thought that this was a much more civilised way to ask for some help; she pushed on the button. Lord knows, there could be a scared family hiding within these walls.

She heard no noises from inside in response to the electronic chimes, so she sidestepped to one of the bay windows and cupped her hands to her eyes to peer into the darkened room. She could see no movement, or much of anything, really, it was just too dark. 

She decided to make her way around to the rear of the property to see if she could get any response there instead.

She silently followed the pathway that lead her between the house and the garage and came around to face a beautiful back garden. Like the rest of the house,s exterior, this was a well manicured delight that, pre the world ending, Emma would have loved to have just sat in and soaked in the afternoon sun. However, as she moved further along, she saw recent modifications to the smooth lawn. Under a beautiful willow tree there were two fresh mounds breaking the smooth line of the mowed green lawn. She could see that one was only half the size of the other, and resting on top of the freshly dug soil was a child's brightly coloured plastic train.

Her heart broke at the sight. She blessed herself and automatically asked that the two souls be admitted into heaven, she recited a quick prayer and finished with the sign of the cross. 

The path lead her to a set of patio doors.  She could see that the sliding doors were not fully closed. 

Emma approached stealthily, and tapped gently on the glass, there was no response, so she brought her face up close to the gap and called in, “Hello?” 

It was then that the smell hit her. She knew what she was inhaling. She’d had the same tones assault her when she saw her Mother Superior being devoured by her friend  Sister Eugene. Her stomach turned and she was about to do the same when she saw a note upon the dining table. Her curiosity got the better of her. She had to know what was written on that piece of paper. 

Now knowing that there was a potential adversary within the house, she tapped on the frame of the door, assuming that if one of these resurrected souls was close by, they would come towards the sound. If she saw anything, she was ready to quickly close the door and move on. 

Nothing showed up. She inched the door open wider, and the stench now made her eyes water. The sweet smell of rotten meat mixed with the sharp odour of human waste was a rancid blend that coated and clung to Emma’s nose and throat. She was no stranger to the smells that could be discharged from a human, having done her rotation assisting in hospitals and nursing homes early in her novice stage. But this, this was a toxic level of nasty. She stepped inside the room, onto a soft, deep carpet, and reached towards the note on the tabletop. The handwriting was large and rushed, she started reading;

‘My name is Peter Sanders. My wife Caroline and my son Jamie are both dead, and I have buried them in the garden. I had to stop them both when they tried to attack me, but, I will never forgive myself for my actions. I was bitten by my son as I tried to give him peace. I haven’t got much longer, I think I am about to turn. I can feel the virus spreading inside me. God forgive me, I cannot take my own life. I have tried, but I am weak haven’t the courage to see it through. If you are here, reading this, please give me peace if you can. I am going to lock myself in the utility room. There are supplies in the cupboards and under the stairs is a first aid kit and camping equipment. Take what you need. 

May you have better luck than I did.’

Emma placed the paper gently back onto the table. Empathising with the pure sadness of having to put these words on paper, her eyes filled with unshed tears, making her vision kaleidoscope until she blinked rapidly and wiped them off her cheeks.

She was in a desperate situation now. Could she effectively kill? This was putting everything up against her lifelong beliefs. Even now, with this virus, she was unsure if she could ever end another humans existence. She understood that once these people came back, they were not the same person. But, she knew deep down that she would not be able to kill.

With a deep sigh, she moved quietly through the kitchen to the closed doorway to what she assumed was the utility room. She pressed her ear to the door and held her breath. There was only silence. Was that man, Peter, even in there? What if he had gotten out? She started to panic and looked around rapidly to erase the feeling of being watched. There was nothing to see. 

She started to draw away from the door, when an almighty bang and the sound of wood cracking and splintering came from the other side! 

“Ohh shit!” Emma jumped back and caught her foot in one unravelled trouser leg and went careening towards the kitchen island. In a scene worthy of a Chaplin movie, she knocked all the pots and pans off the top and squeezed her eyes shut at the clatter the copper cookware made as they hit the floor.

This sent the beast behind the door into a frenzy and the banging against the barrier increased. Emma knew that the wood would not hold indefinitely; she straightened herself out and ran out into the hallway. She opened the angled door under the stairs, and a plethora of handbags and backpacks swung out with the motion from their hook placed inside the door.

She grabbed the sturdiest looking backpack and stuck her face into the small space’s dark interior. A cobweb adhered itself to her cheek, and she let out a high pitch squeal. Lord save me from these damn spiders! Rubbing at her cheek, she could just make out the white cross of the medical kit that was mentioned in Peter’s note. Emma lunged in and took the kit, retreated and stood back up. With the snarls and the body of what used to be Peter smacking against the single wooden defence, Emma quickly got on the move to the kitchen whilst she fought to fit the kit inside the backpack. 

In the kitchen she started to open cupboards and saw neatly stacked cans of all the usual tinned food: beans, soup and fruit were immediately grabbed and shoved into the bag. 

The banging increased in ferocity with the noise she was making, and as she glanced over at the utility door, she actually saw it bow outwards! 

Whimpering, she decided that enough was enough, and, grabbing a lighter that she spotted on the window sill, she shoved it in the side pocket of the bag with the rest of her loot.

Just as she was zipping up the bag, the door finally gave way and splinters and wood chunks, some the size of her arm, burst outward. Emma ran as fast as she could to the still open patio doors. She squeezed herself through the narrow gap and as she turned to close the door behind her, a hand snaked out of the gap and grabbed her shirt by the collar.

Emma was pulled against the window and her cheekbone hit the glass with a thud. She tried to twist herself out of the fierce grip, but as she twisted the door started to slide on its tracks and made the gap larger.

Now Peter’s head started to push out through the increased space. He was so strong and only had one mission, to taste the warm, fresh meat so close to him. His teeth were gnashing and cracking against each other with each snap. His eyes, with their whitened irises, stared at Emma with pure hatred. 

Coral was waiting for her, she was depending on her. She had to get out of this.

She tried to push against the door again, but his grip was steadfast and unrelenting.   

Emma started to panic. She couldn't put her hand up to push his head back in, he could bite her. She had no weapon. Except...she cast her eyes down. She saw the only thing that might save her. 

Her crucifix was beautiful; silver inlaid in rosewood, a pure silver body of Christ depicted on the front. It may now be the only way of saving herself and Coral. Crying out, she took hold of the icon, and letting the long part protrude from the bottom of her clenched fist, she pulled as hard as she could and broke the string that had been holding her beloved cross in place for all these years. The beads went flying off in all directions.  Grunting now with fear as she was pulled ever closer to the snapping, salivating maw, she raised her arm and with all her might she buried the length of the crucifix into the temple of the zombie. 

He immediately went limp and the grip on her collar released. 

As if it were a mirrored reflection, both of them slid down the glass on either side and slumped on the ground; one in death, one in relief.

Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not kill…the fifth commandment, now broken.  Emma was distraught. She had killed. She had taken another life. She would never enter the kingdom of heaven. Her soul was lost. “Forgive me Lord, please forgive me…” 

The tears rolled down her cheeks; she had never felt so empty. Her religion was what gave her comfort, and was her life for forty-three years! It now felt shambolic. She was no messenger for God. She had let the devil win and she would forever burn in hell. 

Were it not for the young, wee girl sitting in an abandoned cottage, Emma would have been happy to remain where she was until the Lord decided her fate.

She slowly raised herself to stand, put the backpack over her shoulder, and wearily followed the path around to the front of the house and back onto the street. 

With heavy footsteps, she retrieved her bike from the corner and pushed it along beside her.

What Emma didn’t know was that she was being watched.

The scavenging party had split up, and Francie was on his own. 

He preferred it that way. He could keep things for himself and the rest of them could go fuck themselves. He had never had it so good. He was living the high life. He saw the woman in black pushing a bike past whilst he was looting a house of its liquor. He followed her, and watched her gather some supplies from a house further down the street. He wondered where she was heading to. 

This could be a big score for him, get him into the good books with the boss; any new females seemed to please him. Although this one seemed quite old, he was sure there was some work she could do.

He kept his watch on her as she made her way along the road and as she veered off onto a path that lead to the old cottages.

Francie was excited. He silently crept up the path and waited till the woman had gone into the cottage at the end of the row. On tiptoe to silence his steps, he listened at the door. Voices could be heard. A woman and a younger voice. Two he could handle easily.  He got his knife out of his belt, raised his thick-soled boot, and aimed his kick at the handle. The rotted wood gave little resistance and the door swung awkwardly on its hinges. Francie stormed into the room with his knife held in front of him.

Emma turned at the explosive sound of the door being kicked in, and in an instant she had the tip of a knife aimed at her jugular.

“Hey now! How are we doing?  No need for any panic...let's just stay nice and calm shall we? Where is the other one?”.

The older woman in black was staring at him with fear, but also showing a calmness in her demeanor. The threat of the knife didn’t seem to garner too much of a reaction from her. He quickly glanced around for the source of the second voice but saw no one. Taking a closer look at his captive, he took in the oversized, black garb with the ripped collar, and saw the empty holy water bottle on the floor.

Frowning in confusion, he said, “What the fuck? Are you some kind of lesbian nun, or a queer kind of priest?” He chuckled at his own wonderings.”You’re not doing some kinda exorcism in here are ya? Trying to cure one of the zombies eh?” He was in a full belly laugh now. “Hahah…How’s that wor...working out for you, sis? Hahaha.” 

With no reaction from Emma, he pressed the knife harder into her neck, causing a bead of blood to drip down her throat. She stepped back until she was against the empty fireplace. He pulled a zip tie from the stash in his belt and placed it over Emma’s hands, and then roughly pushing her down into the gap of the fireplace, he repeated the process at her feet.

“Please, don’t do this!” Emma was trying to distract Francie, as behind him Coral had risen and taken the redundant iron candle stick and held it raised above her head to smash it down on to him.

Francie saw the quick glance Emma gave to his rear, and swiftly turned to see the candlestick arcing down towards his face. He just managed to get his left arm up to deflect the blow, and grabbed the hand with the weapon with his right. He twisted it sharply and kept twisting until the sickening sound of bones snapping echoed in the room. He enjoyed the loud scream of pain from the youngster, and smiled with glee. He pushed his attacker away from him and when she fell to the floor he finally realised that this one, yes, this one looked familiar, he had seen her before!

“Well, well, well! Looky here Missy! I thought you were dead! That old Petey is a sneaky one isn’t he?!” He laughed. “He will certainly pay for that later, but first I think I am gonna finish up what I started with you! What do you say to that honey-buns? Come to papa”

He placed his knife back in his belt and strode towards Coral, who had her eyes tightly shut and was nursing her broken arm tightly into her chest.

He leered evilly as he slowly undid his zipper.

Sister Emma had always believed that there was good in everyone. 

This day, she saw that she was wrong. 

She didn’t want to look. She wanted to curl up into a ball and never look at anyone again. But, Coral was making eye contact with Emma, as she was being punished by an evil man, as she was pleading for him to stop, for this to be over.

A single tear slid down her face as Sister Emma kept her eyes locked on to hers and prayed, prayed as hard as she could. As his hand covered Coral’s mouth and nose, a calm, beatific look came into her swollen eyes as she passed away. It was at this point Francie finished. His shuddering climax drained him and he rested himself on top of Coral’s lifeless body. 

His face slowly turned towards Emma and his grin widened.

“Wooo!...what do you think of that, Sister? I could go again before she gets cold...No? You want some Francie love instead?” He laughed as he stood up and put his flaccid penis back inside his pants. 

Emma just stared blankly, unable to believe what she had just witnessed.

“Nah, you are a tad too old for me. I like ‘em young and feisty! Maybe the boss, JC, will find a use for you.”

Emma looked up at him, she croaked “JC? Jesus Christ? What do you mean?” she started to weep unable to comprehend the level at which this man was willing to stoop. Was her strained love of God now going to be the target of his hatred?

His eyes lit up and he started to laugh heartily. “Oh my god! Oh shit!!” he spluttered. “No you dumb bitch! Not Jesus fucking Christ!!

Our boss JC, Jonny Chambers! You are going to just love him!”

- LOREL -

The candle cast a gloomy, flickering light around her cubicle. No natural light could seep through the curtained opening at the bottom of her bed. Shadows danced on the bare walls, from the single chair, the wooden table, and the bucket in the corner.

There was not a single waft of fresh air, just a stale stench of unwashed bodies, semen and excrement. Screaming and sobbing could be heard close by, easily heard through the weak, cheap chipboard walls. These sounds were heard often throughout each day and night, many times from her very own mouth. Daylight was an almost forgotten beauty, a luxury that could now only be revisited in her dreams.

If she was granted the luxury of sleep.

Shivering from the cold, Lorel slowly turned over and contorted herself into a foetal position in her cot, she wrapped her arms around her naked form trying to give a little warmth to herself.

The plastic zip tie on her left ankle caught on her previous wounds and ripped off the scabs, causing a fresh flow of blood and pus to ooze out slowly. She gave no reaction to this.

Her body, once considered plump, was now little more than bruised skin stretching over her bones. The last food eaten was a rough crust of bread with a mug of water, and was consumed some days ago when her will to live was still evident. The thin mattress offered little protection from the hard metal base and painfully dug into her emaciated form.

Barely a twitch was given for any of these discomforts.

“It will soon be over…it will soon be over.” she whispered the mantra to herself, through lips cracked and swollen from dehydration. Then there will be no more abuse to endure from the nameless, faceless men that would visit and violate her. Her soul was losing vitality, and the fight for life, as each beast of a man pummelled her, hit her, spat on her, urinated on her…any and all degradation now the norm.

How it would soon be over was still a mystery to be solved, but, she would find a way.

A sob escaped as she curled up and rested her head against the rough wooden wall.

“Will it? Will it soon be over?” She heard a muffled voice through the partition.

Lorel raised her head and tapped on the wall with her fingertip. Immediately a soft knock returned. “Hey!” the earnest, young voice whispered “I need to get out of here! Can you help me? I have to get away! These men they... ” Wretched sobs escaped from the mystery voice through the wall.

“No” Lorel’s voice cracked, “I can’t help you. I wish I could. I’m so sorry”. There was no positive that Lorel could offer to give any hope. All hope was fading fast.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway towards the cells. Dread coursed through Lorel’s body. This time the curtain to her cell didn’t draw back. A deep sigh of relief freed itself. But, she could hear her fellow captive next door as the sobbing increased until the rage of the visitor quietened her neighbour into unconsciousness. This however, didn’t not deter the man. He merely carried on, the sounds of his contented grunting carried easily through the partition wall.

Lorel closed her eyes, and tears escaped running down into the harsh cot’s mattress. She covered her ears and tried to block out the horrific sounds and smells that surrounded her.

But the darkness only allowed the memories of her days since the dead started rising  to whip through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter to try and stop them playing through, but disjointed images following no timeline, flashed behind her closed lids.

Fleeing from her husband, down the hallway of their beloved semi-detached home and seeking refuge in their son’s bedroom. Gasping from both shock and fear, with tears coursing down her face. Creating a barricade with the single dresser whilst her one and only love growled and snarled, banging bodily against the door. The blood and flesh of the beautiful child they had created still fresh in his mouth.

Running, running, running through a park, through a residential street, through a spinney of trees, breathless and on the point of collapse from the pursuit of a horde of the undead, with only one object in their minds, their next meal, her flesh.

The feeling of cold fear in the pit of her stomach, as she realised that the sanctuary that she had willingly entered, and thought she had found, was not as it seemed. The leering and dirty looks given by the man that they all called JC, as she felt  the zip tie tightening around her ankle and body after body abusing and using, some with fists pounding.

The clinking of cutlery on china...one of her many dinner parties; the topic of conversation a recent film release seen by the diners depicting a zombie apocalypse. Their assurance, in the belief that it would never happen, but if it did, Lorel laughing and saying “I would survive and thrive!” A cheer, glasses raised in agreement.

The mad, fear fuelled trip home on day one from the supermarket, the smell of blood fresh on her shoes as she had darted around a poor soul being feasted upon in the car park, the eyes of the victim pleading to her, to anyone for help.

Each of these visions lasted only for fleeting seconds as they flashed in and out of Lorel’s sleep deprived mind.

After nearly a week in the ‘chattel house’ Lorel realised that sleep may be her only escape, until she died of course, and that did not seem to be such a frightening prospect now.

The sound of footsteps approaching intruded on Lorel’s fugue state, and a slight, soft knock sounded on the doorway of her wooden framed entrance. Not waiting for any reply, the curtain pulled back to reveal a slim, fair haired man in his mid-twenties, dressed in the now usual apocalypse attire of hard wearing denim and leather to protect as much as possible from the undead onslaught. His scruffy beard never having really filled out like many of his fellow gang members, was patchy, unkempt and dirty, but his eyes were coloured sky blue and always showed compassion and concern for Lorel.

This one had visited before. For some reason, he seemed to like her. He was not like the others who saw her as nothing more than a piece of meat. Without even a word they just started to pound away, grunting until they had sated their basic needs. Some, with a penchant to inflict as much pain as possible to aid their carnal conclusion.

No, this one was different. Maybe he came only to save face with his peers, or maybe he preferred his desires to be sated by an altogether different gender; she didn’t care, as thankfully, this one liked to just lie down next to Lorel and whisper talk.

Over the few visits he had previously made, she had learnt that he and his brother had both joined up with the gang for the sole purpose of finding their sister. A close family so it seemed after the loss of their mother to cancer some years before. Their father absent since learning the police were after him long before their mother passed. The three siblings even had matching tattoos of three tiny hearts on their hands to show their close bond. The young man often rubbed the small ink-work when he spoke of his sister, maybe to assuage his guilt at leaving her alone in their house whilst he and his brother scavenged for food and water. They’d returned to find the door kicked down, the house ransacked and fifteen year old Katie missing.

The young man removed his bloodied leather jacket and placed it on the hook by the doorframe.

He reached inside the pocket and withdrew a small item and clasped it securely in his hand before walking over to the cot.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he tenderly placed his hand on the back of Lorel’s head, almost stroking her as one would a pet dog.

There was such sadness and compassion in his face that Lorel started to feel emotions building and found tears starting to well up in her eyes.

“I know that this feels hopeless for you right now, and I am so sorry that I cannot help you.”

He took a deep breath and continued “I tried to get you out of here, but they wouldn’t let me, they said I had to build up my credit first…I’m so low in the bloody pecking order here, I just don’t know what to do.”

He slammed his closed fist down on his thigh, making Lorel jump. Immediately contrite for his actions, he moved to the far side of the bed and lay down behind Lorel, spooning and hugging in close into her back. “At least you are safe in here I suppose. No zombies could get at you in here…”

The irony of his words caused Lorel to give a wry smile to herself. You have no idea what I wouldn’t give to invite a horde of the infected fuckers in here and raze this place to the ground, she thought.

His arm came round from behind to encompass her and opening his hand, he revealed a small wrapped toffee sweet to her.

The golden wrapper glinted in the dim light, and enticed a soft sob from Lorel’s chest.  She weakly lifted her arm and closed her hand around the small treat.

A satisfied sigh sounded from the young man, happy that he had done a small favour for this poor woman trapped within this hell, one who so reminded him of his own beloved mother. He silently vowed once again that, lost or dead he would not stop volunteering for the supply runs until he found his little sister, and when he does, they can escape from the gang and start again in a new, safe home.

His sigh turned into a choking sob as he whispered into her ear the words that had prompted his need for some form of comfort on this day.

“I think I’m the only one left…I lost my brother today.” he sobbed, “First my sister, and now him. He died trying to save me, and now he is gone…he’s turned into one of them!”

Worn down from days of abuse, and lacking any feelings of sympathy, Lorel knew that she had to show some reaction and mechanically reached up to hold his hand and draw it into her chest.

“I don’t know if I can carry on…we are going out again to scout for supplies tomorrow, but, what if I see him? Just wandering around waiting to try and eat me? His own brother! He won’t even know me now, for fucks sake!”

Trying to calm himself down, his deeply drawn breaths made Lorel’s hair tickle her neck.

“There are so many of those damn things out there. We lose someone nearly every time we go out now. The blood, oh my God, so much blood!  He could have made it too…I saw him fight two of them off, but he must have got some of their blood in his mouth or something,” he whispered, “just one drop was enough I guess. The next time I saw him, he was rolling on the ground screaming, shaking like he was having a fit. I…I think he looked right at me, but his eyes…”   Choking back a sob, he carried on “His eyes were pure white, just like theirs! There wasn’t a mark on him, he looked like he could still be one of us. My big brother, I...I just don’t think I could put him down if I see him out there, I know they will make me, though.” Gulping his sobs back, he said, “that bastard Francie just stood there watching the fight too! He didn’t even try to help him…”

Lorel squeezed his hand.

Deep breaths were drawn behind her and the snorting back of snot from his emotional venting told her that he was trying hard to get himself back in control. “The sooner I can find my sister, or at least find out what happened to her, the sooner she and I can get going!”

After a few minutes, and more composed, the young man unfolded himself from her contours and stood up.

The immediate rush of cold air chilled her back after losing the shared body heat.

With regret shining in his eyes, he looked down at Lorel and said, “Stay strong. I will keep trying to get you out of here. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you right now.” He leant down and kissed the top of her head. “You know, you remind me so much of my mom. Same eyes, same colour hair”

Such an unexpected show of compassion jolted Lorel into a sitting position, and she reached out to grab onto the young man’s jacket as he went to put it on, wanting this small showing of concern to carry on. She missed and grabbed nothing but air, as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Lorel turned and carefully hid the gift she had been given under the corner of the mattress of her cot. Immediately changing her mind, she took it back out and unwrapped one end of the toffee.

She remembered this brand, the lovely golden adverts that used to repeat on the television with little attention paid to them by her at the time.

The sweet, sugary smell hit her nostrils and instantly caused her mouth to salivate. She licked the exposed corner of the confection and the sweetness on her tongue instantly giving a sugar rush to her anticipant brain. She lay back to savour the taste and the dopamine release relaxed her weary mind and body and she drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Shouting and knocking against her wall caused Lorel to waken with a start. Confused, she started to sit up as she heard a male voice from next door shout “For fucks sake Francie! Did you have to be so fuckin’ rough? I’m sick and tired of having to replace the girls just coz you can’t fucking get it up without slapping them around first!”

“It wasn’t me! Honest Pat, you gotta believe me!” The shouting turned into a stressed whine. “She was like that when I got here! Don’t tell the boss, Pat please, eh? Come on, yeah?”

A deep sigh and, “Right fine, but you are helping me get rid of her before she stinks the place up even worse than it already does!”

Lorel felt her heart break. The poor girl...or, was she the lucky one? Would it be her next?

Shuffling and bumping could be heard from the next room as her neighbour was removed. Her curtain caught as one of the men passed by and pulled back, showing the sad and sickening sight of the two men, one at the head and one carrying the girl’s feet pushed past.

The dead girl’s hand fell towards the ground and dragged on the floor; the three little hearts just visible as she made her last journey outside. The bleak sight made Lorel cry again. What little emotion left inside her poured out for the young girl and the harsh end to her short life.

Listening as the men carried the waif-like form away from the cells, she heard one of them say that maybe he should have one more go at her before she gets cold, and the other laughing, calling Francie a dirty old bastard.

She slumped back down. Time passed until more footsteps approached. A heavier tread on the boards this time. Fear coursed through Lorel’s small frame as the curtain swung back theatrically and there stood her captor.

“Heeere’s Johnny!!”  A big grin on his dirty, unshaven face showed his grimy nicotine stained teeth. A ragged ugly scar ran down from his forehead over his left eye, leaving his eyeball just slightly off-set.

His entrance was worthy of a magician on stage, and she knew she was meant to be pleased by the honour of having this man, their beloved leader, visit her, but felt only repulsion knowing what was to come.

“Whore!! You will be pleased to know that I have just survived a shit load of zombie fuckers, so you can sleep safe in your bed tonight!”

The smell that wafted over to Lorel as she sat clutching her knees to her chest was abhorrent; stale sweat from a body not washed in many days, possibly weeks even, assaulted her, causing her to grimace.

Not pleased at this obvious lack of gratitude, the giant of a man strode over to the cot and swiftly backhanded her, snapping her head back to hit off the concrete wall behind her.

Lights bloomed behind Lorel’s eyes as instinctively she lifted her hands to the side of her reddening face and to the back of her head. Wiping at her stinging cheek she brought her hand down and tentatively touched her lip. Blood from her mouth smeared onto her hand.

Knowing worse was to come, she tried to smile, and a croaky “thank you” whispered from her lips.

“That’s better you ungrateful bitch!  Old JC here,” he pointed both thumbs back at himself “works hard to make y’all safe and secure.”

Being the top dog and ranking way above the other men, who had to relinquish all of their weapons at the door, Jonathan had no worries that keeping his preferred weapon on him warranted any such caution, and he still had his knife attached with fresh blood from his recent battle glinting, as he slowly pulled the free slip of leather to unclasp his belt.

After all, he truly believed, these sluts, were lucky to be alive in this new, dangerous world. Lucky that they had a roof over their heads and food, as little as it was, in their bellies. It was reason enough to show their thanks to him and his men. It was only fair that they repay his kindness and show that they were far more interested in his other ‘weapon’ that he bestowed upon them instead. They were all easily replaceable now and were a handy commodity to command.

Lorel knew what was coming and fleetingly glanced at the knife as it dropped to the floor. Still covered in the blood of the undead, she momentarily thought that she could grab it and stick it in the gut of this wretched excuse for a man, who, pre-apocalypse, was probably a charlatan toeing the line between normal nine-to-five and fantasy.

Her fleeting glance was spotted by him and the challenge was on.

He liked them with a bit of fight in them, and, laughing, he bent and unsheathed the knife. “Did you want this, princess?”

A stillness came over Lorel.  This could be it, the end. With nothing left to live for she was calm and serene.

But this was not what he wanted to see. Fear, sobbing, pleading even anger was preferred; it made things so much more exciting. So he started waving the knife near her face, just millimetres from her cheek so she could smell the blood and gore detailing the recent history of the blade. Lorel squeezed her eyes shut.

Oh, this was much more fun, and the display of power was causing a hard-on to strain against the crotch of his denim jeans.

Holding the knife delicately, he started to move it down to Lorel’s breast, leaving a raised red welt in its track. His other hand was fighting to open the buttons of his fly.

Eventually free from its encumbrance his engorged penis flipped out, making its own theatrical entrance.

With glazed eyes he grabbed Lorel’s leg and pushed it to the side. With no preamble he entered her and started pumping like a piston.

The pain was intense.

Lorel snapped.

Her decision was made.

She grabbed at, and turned his wrist. His hand still firmly held the knife, and brought it up to her face.

Unaware of this action, he continued to thrust away, his face contorting in pleasure.

Lorel brought the knife to her lips, and, sticking out her tongue, she brought the blade to her mouth and licked the dirty edge.

The coppery taste was unmistakable; with an added sweetness from the tainted blood. She shuddered as she drew the taste down in to her mouth.

The effect was immediate. The virus ripped through Lorel’s body, she started shaking and involuntary gasps escaped her.

The man was so lost in the throes of passion that somewhere deep in his subconscious he noted that he must be doing something right to gauge such a reaction. Smiling he quickened his pace.

What he didn’t see in his lustful bliss was the new set of eyes covered with a milky white film, now focused, without any pain, loss, or suffering. He didn’t see the teeth bared as she approached his hot, rapidly pulsing jugular vein ready to rip into the sweet-tasting flesh.

- Epilogue -

She moved her knee, wincing as the small,  sharp stone dropped onto the ground. Her right arm had gone to sleep from the lack of movement. But she stayed still. The view through the rifle’s scope showed the man enter into the building. She could only guess what was inside. Many men were entering and leaving, with much back slapping and high fiving going on, it was pretty obvious.

She was patient. She would wait. She had her target. She would kill him. He had killed her Pete.

Abigail Forrester, once the nations news reading darling, was not going to rest until she had her revenge.

- End -

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the writers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

The characters portrayed in this book are purely fictitious and are not representative of any person living or dead.

2018