The Perfect House for Floods and Zombies: Chapter Four

@sjw @MrsS @Jamtots @ckahn @MissLittleDHP @irrational_kimmi @leelee101 @crowncottage @deviltortoise @datalore24 @eddie12309... This is for you!

One lit window in a dark sea of the living dead. No other spark or glimmer or beam to be seen anywhere in the great wide mouth of the night. In the stagnant sky, even the lid of the moon was shut as though in death. How easy it was to imagine that there was no other sentient being in all the lands over the tight-lipped horizon. Red had not been fully sentient for many years, so he didn't count.

But there was a more pressing problem: pressing on my gate, in fact. The mob of feeding Stinkers were causing the bolts and bars to bow, and I feared they would soon give way completely, rendering a little part of my sanctuary unsafe. Violated. Untidy.

There were no sensible or rational options I could think of to lead them from my gate. I had just reached the point where I had genuinely considered reasoning with the monsters... Bits of skin and gore dangling from their lips, I pictured them listening as I suggested they try the cul-de-sac round the corner. The Friedmonts lived there, and all scored highly in the waistband department. Obese and slow to run, I wondered if I could persuade them to drop in on the Friedmonts for dinner. Go on - go and ingest Mr. Friedmont's big, ripe giblets. I watched the snarling mass of cadavers chewing through the last gristly parts of Stressed Boyfriend and doubted they would even hear me if I spoke.

That was when an upstairs window slid open in the house a few doors along from my own. A bleary-eyed man with cropped, grey hair and coarse features thrust his head out and looked upon the carnage flopping about at my gate.
"Hey! Trying to sleep in here! Noisy friggin' zombies. Go an' eat somewhere else. Look!"

And with that he brought out a catapult and pressed a bundle of fur or maybe feathers into the strap. Aiming it at a car parked further down the Hill Road, he fired. Something small and bloody hit the windscreen of the car, setting off the car' s alarm. Blood spattered over the glass which was now fanned with cracks. Sniffing his fingers and grimacing, the man saw me and nodded, adding "This neighbourhood has really gone downhill, don't you think?" And slammed the window closed.

Magically - although one might argue that forty stone of oozing ghoul is more revolting than magical - the Stinkers turned to the car, sniffing the air as they turned. Whatever it was that had cracked the windscreen must've been freshly killed because the group by the gate shuffled away in a trail of human sludge to investigate.

I wanted to find out more about my neighbours tomorrow - which ones had a pulse, for example. I wanted to meet Mr. Military and his Cadaver-confusing Catapult. He might help me work on some extra defences for my house.

In the bright light of the corridor I felt exposed and on display, so I closed the window and turned out the light. Outside, the Stinkers seemed to have forgotten the leftovers on my gate, and were prowling in jerky circles around the car; the alarm had stopped bleating but the lights were still flashing.

Something occurred to me. Why did I still have power when all the rest of the lights on the hill and in the town had gone out? I wondered if there was some sort of generator in the house somewhere. I decided to ask Red about that.

Venturing up to the second floor, I saw that one room was empty. A small study room was also mainly stripped of belongings. The third door was shut, and a slight, herbal whiff sweated from the woodwork so I knew it was Red's room. I knocked on the door twice, and there was the sound of a crash from inside - followed by cursing.

After a few seconds, the door snapped open just wide enough for Red's red face to push through. His spectacles levered against the doorframe and flew up on one side. He fumbled to straighten them, and I took the opportunity to barge respectfully past.

The odour in the room was indescribable, and was a greater surprise than the ladder which disappeared up into the attic. In the fusty haze of the dimly-lit space, I felt a distracted loneliness infused in all surfaces... An innate sadness. Then I realised that it was grief I sensed. Red missed Nana terribly. I think they must have shared so much together that they'd become close friends.

Red zipped past me and stood at the foot of the ladder, effectively barring my way. So naturally I wanted to go up there to find out what he was hiding. I knew just how to move him, having seen a pile of old records on his desk, next to an old-fashioned turntable.

"Is that Hendrix on VINYL?" I raved, feigning excitement. As I moved to touch it - rare as it obviously is - he shoved past me to protect his prized collection. When he turned back I was half way up the ladder. I should be ashamed really - duping someone vulnerable like Red. He looked old and pathetic standing as he was in his underpants and a faded Pink Floyd t-shirt. Chicken legs all knobbly and white.

'She knew... Your Nana.' He swallowed.

In the attic I found several interesting things: the first being a large metal case which supplied cables to the roof for some purpose or other. The other interesting things filled the attic completely: several hundred, healthy adult cannabis plants luxuriating in warm light, the viscous quality of rich honey.

Red's head emerged from below.

'My babies...' He murmured, with love and awe, bathed in rainbows and green, filtered rays.

I looked down at him, and he waited for my reaction. I couldn't bring myself to care about his drugs now, given the horrors in the street outside. I objected more to the fag-ash on every conceivable surface.

'Where's the power coming from... To run the lights like that. The rest of the town's blacked out.'

'This thing.' He said, pointing at the bulky, cabled box. 'It's a new type of solar storage. Beautiful, green energy. Solar panels supply the house and top up the local power grid as normal. But the groovy thing is that they also charge these enormous batteries... Some new chemical or design or thingumabob. Can power the average household for two days, they reckon. Your Nan signed up for the trial when she was high one time...' He giggled. 'But she also signed up to test a beard dye for men, to adopt homeless pygmy goats and to receive six months worth of Gay Women Truckers Magazine. She was such a...'

He stopped. His face collapsed briefly, abject misery swilling away in the creases of his features.

'Never mind. You wouldn't get it.'

'What do you mean?' I knew what he was thinking already. Nana had talked to him about me.

'Nothing. Really. You're just..not...into stuff. Are you.'

'How do you know? For all you know I might be into all sort of drug like things and subscribe to Gay Women Truckers Magazine too.' His eyes twinkled. 'Well. I MIGHT.'

He sniggered. It was funny. It just briefly burst out of him like entrails from a zombie. I chuckled. He laughed. We both snorted, and made the whole thing funnier.

'Give me a smoke.' I said. He stopped laughing, and frowned derisively. 'No, I mean it. Give me a joint.'

'I don't think you should do th...' He began, but I was feeling all apocalyptic and rebellious. I felt like upturning an ashtray. Not putting the lid on the toothpaste. Leaving my underpants on the bathroom floor.

'I thought I was the one who had to lighten up!' I snorted. 'Come on... Help me forget everything.'

He shrugged with an air of slight alarm. I watched as he fiddled with tobacco, paper, roach... And in minutes it was poised at my lip.

"Ready to go to your happy place?' He asked, with a slightly sheepish smile.

"Cornwall? I was happy in Cornwall once," I said, inhaling.

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I awoke the next morning (?) with the roof of my mouth stuck to my tongue. My hair seemed to defy the laws of physics. My lungs felt as though they had been assaulted with a cheese grater. I was spared the horror of the seeing myself in a mirror as an almighty crash shook the window and work me completely.

I had woken on the sofa with a pain beneath my hip; this turned out to be Red's missing lighter, which I pocketed to give him later. Naturally, I had little memory of the night before, although I vaguely remember arguing with the back of my own hand. I hoped that the noise from outside wasn't going to be too taxing or demanding

I stumbled to the window and saw that two cars had crashed just a short way up the road. The first had apparently swerved to avoid a solitary Stinker (now a greasy-looking mush in the road) and had collided with a tree. The second car had hit the first and glanced away. Fuel leaked from it as though bleeding across the tarmac.

From the first car, a stunned driver pulled himself from the wreckage and ran. He ran for his life around the corner from whence he had come, and did not stop. He knew about the creatures that prowled the roads, quite clearly. I could not see much of the second car because of the angle of the window and road.

Something told me to look more closely. Against my better judgement, I found my feet moving downstairs and to the side door of the house. Before I went outside, I did a zombie check to make sure the garden area was Stinker-free. It was.

I slowly edged down the drive. Not a single movement anywhere, despite the attractive noise of the crash.

The driver at the wheel of the second car was dead. Glass had severed an artery somewhere and her blood ran in thick, ruby rivers over the bonnet of the car. I shook my head. Too much death. Survival? I'm all for it - but it's a bleak place at times.

Somewhere down the hill there was an echoing snarl. They were coming.

I was just about to turn and scurry back inside when I heard a noise that took my breath:

"Mummy? Wake up. My arm is sore. Mum. Mummy."

The sound of snarls and moans were easy to hear now, and they were coming up the hill.

"Mum. Mummy .?" The little voice said.

To risk being torn apart or leave the little one to his fate. I stamped my feet, growled and agonised over it, but there was no time and no option.
Tearing aside the remains of Stressed Boyfriend I ran to the car. Sloshing through fuel, I held my nose. The back door of the car still opened , luckily, with a bit of force and I saw a small boy strapped into car seat and clutching most of an action figure. There was a trickle of blood running from his scalp.

Fumbling with the catch of his car seat so I could undo his belt, I saw movement from the corner of my eye. A Stinker had reached the crest of the hill, and its chewed, bloody face turned to look in my direction. Sniffing the air, the vile thing began to wobble over to where I was. It was followers by others shortly afterwards. Then more. And from the opposite end of the street behind me, a large collection of undead appeared, all heading my way.

My fingers were slippy with sweat, and the catch was difficult to pull apart. The plastic casing of the clip was cracked, and it looked like the mechanism holding the belt in place might be jammed. I swore. I trembled. I watched the crowd of hungry death approach the cars.

The Stinkers had reached the gate of the house now, so my retreat was effectively cut off. The child's big, wide eyes stared up at me as I desperately clawed at the belt.