Biting Back (Book 1): Four Women of the Apocalypse Page 8

  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 sec
urely 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.