The Last Stand

Who would have thought my last hours would be like this, trapped in the downstairs loo? Only this afternoon, I was in my bedroom, twitching the curtains, watching a man weave his way up the street.

“Joe, there’s a drunk out there.”

Joe was getting ready for the nightshift down the biscuit factory. He ignored me.

“He’s just bumped into Steve’s car.” A drunk wasn’t going to care if someone was watching. I pulled the blinds open. “Christ, he’s ripped off the wing mirror.”

That got Joe’s attention. “Idiot, going to get himself arrested now, isn’t he.” He stood beside me, phone out and dialling 999. “I’ll go steer him away from the car and get Steve.”

“I’ll stay here and laugh at your efforts.” I sat on the edge of the bed, cup of tea in hand and settled down to watch the show.

“Cheers for the support, darlin’.” Joe rolled his eyes at me and said, “Police,” as the phone connected. Then he was gone.

I watched him walk into the street, circle the stranger and go to Steve’s – talking on his mobile all the while. Steve opened his door and Joe pointed at the Vauxhall with the broken mirror.

With a shout and what sounded like a string of expletives, Steve marched up to the man and prodded him in the chest. The drunk didn’t do anything for a second. Then he grabbed Steve’s hand and bit off his finger.

“Holy shit!” I jumped up off the bed, slopping cold tea over the bedcovers.

The man grabbed Steve in a headlock and tore a chunk out of his neck. Blood spurted out, Steve struggled then went limp. Joe karate-kicked the drunk, hurtling him into the Vauxhall. I glanced up. Still no police. They’d need an ambulance now. Jesus, was Steve even alive? He wasn’t moving anymore.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside cabinet and dialled 999. “Ambulance,” I shouted. “Someone’s dying!”

Joe dragged Steve away from the crazy guy, and took off his jacket to press against the wound. As Joe cradled Steve’s head in his lap I saw Steve’s hands move. Thank God, he was still alive.

I dashed downstairs, grabbing the cricket bat from the umbrella stand as I ran out the door.

“Get away from them,” I screamed, wielding the bat high in the air and putting myself between the drunk and Joe and Steve. The man was on his feet again, watching me warily with red-rimmed eyes. He’d been in some kind of fight before he’d got to our street. He had a black eye and it looked like half his nose had been chewed off. There was also a large red stain on his shirt. Wasn’t there a drug in the States that turned users cannibal? Maybe it had made its way over here. I swung the bat. “Stay back.”

He either didn’t care or had a death wish because he shuffled closer. I swung again.

“I’m not afraid to use this. Back. Off.”

He cocked his head to the side as if processing my words, but kept coming.

I retreated a step. “Joe, how’s Steve doing?”

“He’s holding on. Thought I’d lost him for a moment…” there was a crack in his voice, “…but he’s still with us.”

I glanced around the other houses on the cul-de-sac. It was mid-afternoon, and most people would be at work, but surely there was someone else around. My guess is they were doing what I’d been doing – twitching the curtains and seeing how the situation played out. 

“Where the hell are the police?” I swung again as the drunk shuffled closer. He was almost on me now. It was crunch time. “Back off!” I shouted.

He lunged at me and I swung. Somehow I made contact with his chest. There was a meaty thud, just as he was about to sink his teeth into my shoulder. I batted again, heard a crunch and he staggered to the side. My stomach flipped as I realised I’d just broken his left leg.

Instead of falling and writhing in agony, he hardly noticed. He charged at me again, his hands grabbing onto my left arm. I shrieked and pulled back, stumbling on the edge of the curb and falling onto my backside. He tumbled with me. Somehow I rolled to the side, the bat tight in my sweaty right hand.

The man landed on his face, the concrete sheering a wedge of skin off his cheek. He should have been curled up in a ball of pain. Instead, his eyes never left me. Slowly, he was getting onto his feet again.

“Are you the Terminator or what?” I danced around, leading him away from Joe and Steve. “How are you doing over there?”

As I glanced back Steve took hold of Joe’s arm and manoeuvred it towards his mouth.

“Joe!” I shouted out a warning but I was too late.

There was an almighty scream as Steve ripped muscle and flesh from Joe’s forearm. Steve gulped it down, and before Joe could pull himself away stole another giant bite.

The drunk, or crazy guy, or whatever-he-was, was back on his feet and coming at me.

“Get in the house!” Joe yelled at me. I hesitated waving the bat in the air. “Go!” he screamed. Steve had managed to pin him down, and was trying to gnaw through his jeans.

I got halfway to the house, but couldn’t do it. I doubled back across the street and swung blindly at Steve. I made contact with his head and felt the bat make jelly of his brains. I almost threw up. I’d just killed one of my neighbours. Someone we invited over for barbeques and drinks. Steve fell limp on the pavement.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

Joe clambered to his feet, and together we dodged the drunk and ran inside. I locked the door as he collapsed on the carpet.

“What the fuck is happening?”

“I don’t know. Steve… he tried to eat you.” I grabbed a blanket from the living room and bound it around Joe’s arm.

My phone beeped. Maybe it was the emergency services telling me where the hell they were. I swiped the screen. Maggie had messaged me. It said: Murder and mayhem. Check out what’s trending on Twitter.

#zombie #attacked #infected #cannibal were the top four. Jesus, what was going on?

“Look,” I said and showed Joe.

He was pale from blood loss, probably shock as well. Shouldn’t I give him sugary tea or something?

“Jesus.” I gawped at the screen. “Attacks are going on all over the country. Once you’re bit you die then come back to life and attack anyone you see. Joe, what does that mean?”

“Look what happened to Steve. If I lose consciousness you have to get rid of my body and lock yourself away until help can come.”

I stared blankly. How could I do that to him?

A bang at the door made me jump. A figure was visible through the patterned glass. The police!

“Careful,” Joe told me.

I nodded and opened up just a crack and slammed it shut again. “It’s him…” My legs went weak and I held onto the door handle. “The drunk.” He banged on the glass, quickly I relocked the door. “Joe, what should we do?”

He’d gone quiet. With tears in my eyes I checked for a pulse. He’d gone. Before I had a chance to think what to do next, his hand latched onto my wrist. His eyes had that same red-rimmed look the other two had. Joe opened his mouth and with more strength than I would have thought possible tried to stuff my hand between his teeth. I squealed and cartwheeled backwards, sliding out of his grip and into the downstairs loo. I slammed the lock home and sat panting on the loo seat.

Hours later, I’m still here. My zombie husband is pounding relentlessly on the other side of the door while the crazy is scraping at the small window outside. At least I have drinking water and toilet facilities. Oh, and I have my phone, I’ve been checking on the outbreaks all over the country. But my battery is running low and I’m hungry. I lie down on the tiled floor and peek under the door. I can see Joe’s feet as he shuffles about before returning to the door to resume his pounding.

Before falling asleep, I slide my fingers under the door to be nearer to him. My fingertips poke out. Maybe he’ll spy them and nibble on them. Then I’ll have the infection. The world’s gone crazy. All I want to do is be with Joe. Ignoring the sharp edge of the bottom of the door, I push my fingers out even further. I close my eyes and wish for sleep.