The Restless: Chapter 2
Chapter 2 – Trapped!
The plan seemed to be working, the first zombies were coming into the cordoned area and were starting to come into contact with the fishing line. I've got no idea what the breaking strain of that line was but it was certainly having the desired effect. The zombies were getting more and more tangled in the lines and it was time to start thinning the herd a little. I hefted the spade and swung it across the first zombie's head. The spade bit deep, catching in some kind of turban. I wrenched it out and the man dropped to the floor. I lined up the second, jabbing the whetted edge under the dead man's chin. It pushed through his beard and cut into his throat and neck, his hands kept clawing towards me. I batted the hands away from me, striking from side to side, then stabbing the spade forward I struck the creature's neck once again. His head was still attached, but now hung to one side, features turned upside down. I noticed congealed blood oozing from his neck, thick and near black in colour it was sure to put me off treacle for life. The third blow parted head from body and reduced the cul-de-sac's restless dead population by one.
I know what you're thinking – the average man couldn't cut down a human body with a makeshift weapon without a lot more messy hacking about. You'd be right in the case of a normal body, but these shambling, restless dead bodies are just not as tough as a live man is. Without the vital spark, pumping lungs and flowing blood the body is a lot more fragile and easier to break or cut apart. I'd like to be able to claim that I'm some kind of super human myself, and it's true that I've worked out a bit more ever since the episode with the troll, but I am not an athlete or strongman by any means.
The trap was slowly filling with zombies, there must have been more than ten of them between the transparent cords. They flailed and moaned, driven to reach the living by some unseen force. They certainly didn't the reason to figure out how they were trapped or to do anything about it. I decided to work my way around the edge of the tree square. The creatures attacking me were difficult to stop without attacking the head and neck, so I kept the spade's sharpened edges up at throat height and kept trying to get solid strikes into the my enemies' necks.
I quickly figured out that the temples and bridge of the nose were good targets, a solid blow to either seemed capable of taking a zombie down and I remained on the attack. I felt like I'd been fighting for hours, but I knew not to trust my sense of time when I was in a fight. Adrenaline makes the world slow down as it works to keep you alive. It does tend to leave you as jumpy as a caffeinated toddler when the fight's over though. I reckoned that I'd taken down seven or eight of them so it was time to take a step away from the netted zombies and assess the situation.
There were six of them left in the trap, now looking like a macabre boxing ring with corpses strewn about. The six mobile corpses where were my concern now lay and I decided to go back on the attack. It was easiest to pick them off from either end of the trap, taking them on one at a time, and then to shuttle back to the other end when they started to gather around me. I was getting the hang of decapitating them and the adrenaline and the fact I could take a few seconds' time out meant that I still had plenty of strength in my arms and shoulders to finish the job. I'd taken two down, one with a large beard and another that looked to be wearing pajamas. That left just four in the middle and these were somewhat greyer, smellier and slower than the others. I was pretty sure that these must have been some of the first members of the outbreak, dead and reanimated a little longer than the others. Being slower meant that the others had got within range earlier and they'd fallen under the honed spade edge first.
The grassy lawn was covered with bodies and the congealed black ichor-like blood of the restless. I was wearing a pair of boots with deep tread but it was still slippery underfoot, and I had to be particularly careful towards the corners of my makeshift ring where the tree roots poked through the earth and made the ground more uneven. I kept this in mind as I moved back towards the middle, picking my steps carefully and setting my feet before I launched another scything cut from over my left shoulder. The backhand swing was plenty powerful but my aim was slightly off. The spade edge bit into the top of the shoulder, rather than the neck where I'd aimed and stuck fairly solidly. I pulled the blade towards myself, but with it being wedged deep and the slight curve of the blade it didn't want to come free. Although I was reluctant to leave my weapon, not to mention the remaining quartet of animated corpses, it was time to retreat. Without a weapon there was little I could do.
I turned and jogged away, down the house's brick paved driveway and out past the low wall at the edge of the property. As I passed the wall I looked down the street, looking to see if there was anyone else or any more zombies in the vicinity. The coast looked clear and I went to cross the street.
As I stepped I felt a wrenching pull at my ankle. I kicked and tisted my leg, but a zombie had tight hold of me. It's grip was like a cold manacle and I couldn't get lose. It kept pulling and I looked around quickly again, this time looking down as well as around at eye level. There was still nothing to see, and this time nothing in the shadow of the garden walls so I decided to let the zombie pull me down.
Crazy as this might sound to you there's a method in it. It's hard to fight something off when it's got a hold of your leg. Too much of your energy and effort go into keeping you upright and if you bend down to fight back then you're even more off balance than you were before. By dropping to the floor I was able to stop worrying about staying on my feet and I also freed up my right leg.
I was now able to fight back, my right leg being free from holding me up. I swung my heel at his head, the size 11 heel smashing into its left temple. It tried to pull itself towards my torso, and grabbed at my free leg with its other hand. I jerked my leg back and swung it heel first again. It cracked into the side of the zombie's skull again. I was managing to stop it making progress up my body, but the rubbery heel of my shoe wasn't hard enough to break bone and kill the creature. I tried twisting my leg to get free of the dead hand's grasp, but it was as if it had locked solid. Even trying to break through the fingers had little effect.
I was beginning to panic. Zombies don't tire or give up. If I couldn't break free in the next few seconds this fight was only going to go his way. He started pulling himself forward, levering his iron grip to stop me pulling away. I kept twisting and shaking my leg, but I just couldn't shake him. I decicded to sit forward, hoping to use my hands to break through. I grabbed hold of the creature's wrist, trying to pull it clear. That appeared to have no effect so I tried to work on the fingers. Hoping to prise them loose, I grabbed and pulled. The beast pulled his head towards my hands, his groaning mouth moving dangerously close.
Out of options, I didn't know what to do. All I could think was about getting my leg free. The world was a black tunnel of focus, narrowing down to the fine point of those filthy broken fingernails. I'd like to say my life flashed before my eyes, I had some great revelations or something else poetic. In reality I just kept fighting a losing battle. The beast leant up, I could see every detail of the face. The large nose, the grey scratched lenses of his eyes. The white beard spilling down from his temples, but flecked with dirt and dried blood. Worst of all was the mouth, the disgusting broken teeth which where inches from my leg. Inches from biting me. From leaving me a walking corpse.