1 Those in need
By Eoghan Spence
How long has it been since the outbreak? We ask ourselves that question every day, but funnily enough, it never seems to get answered. Years maybe? It must be years at this point. It certainly feels like years anyway. But hey, no point crying over spilt milk...right? There's something about an apocalypse that helps you put everything into perspective. Back in the old world people would worry about the most trivial of things. "What should I have for breakfast?" was replaced with "what weapons should I bring out with me on my supply run?". "Should I go on a jog later?" was replaced with "Will the dead gnaw on my face if I come out to the open?". Things like that, if you catch my drift.
Part of adapting to the apocalypse was realising where the real danger lay. Of course, the living dead could really stick it to you, but if you were smart, you'd know what to look out for. No, the real danger lay in your fellow survivors. I suppose the primary reason for that is that people can think. People can feel. And more importantly, people can plot. If someone didn't like the hand they were given in the old world, they made a new one for themselves here. The angsty teen who manned your local drive-thru now holds court over tens of followers. Basically, everyone felt safer together, so as the apocalypse progressed, tonnes of little groups started to crop up. The most formidable of these groups was the Murphree's, a large group of Northern Irish psychopaths that are near constantly drunk on their own home brewed shine. Somewhere along the line they developed a taste for dead flesh. Not just dead, but rotting. Because of this, they routinely capture survivors and use them as bait for their decaying prey. So to sum it up, you do not want to captured by the Murphree's
"Ok everyone, keep your eyes peeled for somewhere to bunker down for the night". My voice, while hushed, seemed like a gunshot in the deafening silence of the abandoned Dublin street. The shells of shattered buildings towered over the small group, casting shadows that could hide anything. While many of the buildings could've housed them, next to none of them seemed secure. And in this world, security was always going to be your top priority. Suddenly, a low, guttural growl came from a shadowy side alley as my group slowly shuffled past. "Everyone stop!" I whispered urgently, slowly reaching up to grab my trusty fire-axe. As if spurred on by my weapon, the dead one shuffled out of the darkness.
We don't like calling them zombies. It seems somewhat...cliche? Instead, we've decided to use "dead ones" to refer to them. Regardless of what we call them, they're still about as horrific as you'd imagine. This particular dead one was certainly not a pretty sight. Its skin, devoid of blood, had turned a dark grey, and it hung off it in folds around the eyes and mouth. Its hair had mostly fallen out long ago, now only leaving a few lone whisps still clinging to the dead scalp. The clothes that hung loosely off the corpse's body were tattered, seemingly being held together by mere threads in certain places. That's pretty much how all the dead ones look. Sometimes, if you squint, you can almost see the person they used to be in the old world. The person they used to be was pretty far from my mind as I hacked its head off. It was messy work, but the dead were slow, and they didn't fight back.
"This place seems fine, captain!". My second in command moved quickly over to me and pointed out a small brick building that squatted by the edge of the road. The ruins of two crumbling local businesses stood on either side of it, but the house itself seemed relatively intact. Nodding in satisfaction, I started towards the shadowed entryway, motioning for my group to follow. Standing by the entrance, I counted the heads of my last remaining friends. There were only 5 of us left now. Whether it had been by the dead, or by the bullets, I had watched my companions dropped one after another. Of course, my group was only part of a larger community, but I wouldn't call anyone from that stuck up dystopia my friend. Once the last person had ducked under the low door frame of the house, I followed suit and retreated indoors.
Everyone had already started claiming their own spot on the dirty floor, unrolling ground mats and sleeping bags left and right. The room itself was a small space with a counter running along the centre. " Must have been a shop," I thought to myself. "That would explain the businesses outside too". There was only one other door leading off the main room, but it was completely blocked by a large, wooden bookshelf. Nodding to myself, I sought out my own spot beside one of the walls and sank relieved to the floor. It had been a tough day, full of terror and exertion. Removing my battered and dirty top hat from my head, I pulled a small camping pillow from inside. It didn't take long to fall asleep once my head hit the soft plush.
It felt like I'd only been asleep for a second before a worried voice pierced the hazy veil of sleep that covered me. "Captain! Captain I think you're gonna want to see this!". I sat up, rubbing any excess sleep from my eyes. Before me stood Leon Stevens, his face deathly pale. In his hand, he held the receiver for our old, battered communicator. Instantly I knew that something must have happened to one of the other groups. As I motioned for him to sit, Leon passed me the receiver. "It's the first bit of contact we've received from them for days man!". His voice held back none of the fear that had been shown on his face, it's tone shaking as he spoke. "They're...they need our help".
"Group B this is Group A, I hear you're in a bit of a bind do you copy?". I spoke clearly and precisely into the receiver in my hand. Although I was eager to get their reply, the communicator was old tech and had to be handled with certain amounts of care. There was no reply for a few tense seconds, only the sound of radio static emanating from the small speaker on the radio. I noticed everyone was watching on with me, maybe even more eager than I was to hear Group B's response.
Finally, a garbled voice leapt from the communicator, almost completely drowned out by static. "Hello?! Group A? Thank God you've found us!" From the sound of their voice, they were young, probably in their mid-teens. "Group B I'm gonna have to ask you to be slightly quieter than that. Our damn communicator won't pick you up through the static otherwise. My name is Dwight, and I'm the captain of Group A. Please state your situation". After a few more seconds of silence, the voice returned, this time with a bit more control of its tone. "Ok let's see. We were doing a routine run out from Rathcoole when we ran into a horde. As per training, we skirted around it, not making any noise. That went perfectly until we ran into the Murphree's. You know how they are, violent and bloodthirsty as always. We were chased into a hotel and they have us surrounded! You'll help us right?!"
And that was my predicament. My group was about another day walk away from our rendezvous point. Going to help Group B would take us way off schedule, and more than that, it would put my friends into even more danger then they were already in. But I couldn't just leave them to rot at the hand of the Murphree's. Like I said before, them Irish thugs weren't exactly the sunniest of folk at the best of times. If I left Group B to their mercy, who knows what fate would await them. I noticed now that my friends were looking at me. This time they weren't anticipating a reply from the radio. No, this time they were eagerly awaiting my reply. I scanned their faces, and in every pair of eyes, I saw a cold determination. Making up my mind, I spoke into the receiver: "Stay put folks, we're on our way"
Following the directions the leader of Group B gave us, my friends and I made our way to a large hotel in what used to be the upper-class part of town. Back in the old world this hotel probably would've been seen as incredibly fancy, but now all it was is covered in shrubbery and foliage. As we approached, the raised voices of fighting Irishmen made their way down the road towards us: "Screw you man! I say we just march in there and light them up. They're weak and there's more of us! Think of how happy the boss would be if we marched back to base with tonnes of new shoes and body armour?". With a start, I realised that the two were arguing about whether or not to murder our companions. "Fine!" the second voice replied, seemingly giving in to the first man's persuasion. "But we wait until first light, we'll be able to see them better then". With that, silence fell over the street once more. I turned back to my friends and sighed. "Ok folks...looks like we gotta make a move"
Under the cover of the ever waning darkness, we crawled our way towards the Murphree's camp. By now, almost all of them had settled down for what left of the night, leaving only one lone guard to watch over them. To be honest, guard was putting it generously. The poor fool was barely standing, let alone trying to be aware of his surroundings. Nevertheless, underestimating even the drunkest of folks could lead to your downfall, which is why we approached him as stealthily as we could.
As with most plans, about everything that could go wrong did. Just as we'd reached the threshold of the Murphree camp, Leon happened to stand on a dry branch, snapping it in half with a loud crunch. The guard, inebriated as he may be, couldn't exactly ignore the sound of a branch cracking in the total silence. As he started to turn, I threw most caution to the wind and rushed him, drawing my axe as I went. The following fight could only be described as a massacre. A drunk, tired and grumpy Irishman against a fresh, adrenaline-fuelled teen. There was no competition. I turned to look back at the rest of the sleeping Murphree's and was met with quite the surprise. As I'd rushed the guard, my friends must've realised that in the scuffle the rest of the gang would have woken up, and we would have been toast. As such, they'd advanced on the sleeping folks and dispatched them quickly and effectively. I nodded in approval, then turned to face the hotel.
"Group B, it's us! You're saved!" I called into a broken window on the bottom floor of the hotel. Ever cautious of the dead, the remaining. Members of my group stood in a semi-circle around me, ensuring that I was protected from all sides. I could hear movement from the upper floors of the hotel, and then a voice called down to me. "Is that...is that Dwight?". It was the voice from the radio. I smiled to myself and sighed before calling back to them: "This is Dwight, Group A is here to extract you"
And that's my story. I hope you've learned something about the nature of the apocalypse. You probably noticed that the dead barely made an appearance throughout my group's journey, and honestly, there's a pretty good explanation for that. You see, after years of the apocalypse, dealing with the dead came to us as naturally as tying our shoes. But listen, there's one last thing I want to make clear to you about the end of the world. It's not that you'll need to fight. It's not that you'll need to deal with aggressive survivors. Nah, the last thing I want you to learn is that sometimes, you'll have to learn when to help those in need.
