Fear the Dead

A novel by Jack Lewis

Copyright 2015 by Jack Lewis. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away without the prior written consent of the author.

This book is dedicated to my wife, who has the patience to listen to me, and to my mum, who knows that asking for honest feedback means ‘tell me what you like about the book’.

Chapter 1

Black shadows slid from the spines of the trees and covered the woods in darkness. Night was nearly here, and soon it wouldn't just be the infected lurking in the forest; the stalkers were coming.

The rain beat down on the hood of my windbreaker in heavy patters that danced off the top of my head and seemed to weigh me down with each drip. My shoulders were slick with water from where the waterproof lining of my coat had faded. Across to my left, in the distance, an infected stumbled through the trees, its clumsy footsteps crunching on the twigs beneath it.

I reached for my knife. I thought about getting out my revolver from my bag, but gunshots were the last thing I needed. That was a sure fire way of getting a crowd of infected to come looking for you, drawn in by the prospect of a meal. I walked quieter and breathed a little softer.

The sky darkened a shade. My stomach felt empty and ached with hunger. My legs were leaden and each step was a chore. I needed to sit down, I needed food, and I had to get to shelter before the stalkers came.

There was a town called Vasey less than an hour’s walk away. There would be walls and a roof to guard me from the elements and the things that walked in the night. There would be fires – warmth - and God, maybe even a beer. My mouth watered at the idea of gulping on a bottle of cold ale.

The problem with going to town was there would also be people there, and lots of them. Vasey was the biggest settlement of survivors in Lancashire, and it was as safe a place you could get in this new world. Well, everyone called it the new world, but really it had only been fifteen years since the dead had first started rise and eat people. A lot of things had changed since then. People had changed since then, and not for the better. No, I would give town a miss. I’d learnt better than to seek out the company of people, and I’d learnt there was no man or women who cared about your survival as much as they did their own, no matter how much they tried to believe in their pretend civilisation.

I thought about my old life. I thought about Clara, and the way she used to tug at my hand when she saw an infected, about how good I used to feel knowing I could keep her safe. So much for that.

The sky was darkening, I had pangs of pain in my stomach and my legs felt like they were going to collapse underneath me, but I couldn't go to town. There were too many people. I looked around me. To my left the lone infected seemed to be walking in the other direction. I moved my hand away from my knife, knowing that for now at least, the danger had passed. A lone infected fifty metres away didn’t pose too much of a threat to me. Their vision wasn't good and nor was their sense of smell, unlike the stalkers. If that had been a stalker it would have seen me straight away and it would have been leaping through the trees, pouncing on me before I could even reach for my knife.

I shuddered at the thought. I pulled my hood further over my head and walked on through the wet woods, and after a while I saw a wooden building. It looked like some kind of storage shed, small with a jagged tin roof and wooden panelled walls that looked like they would blow down in a gust. Not a place to wait out the apocalypse, but it would be good for tonight. I would get in there, put down my stuff and maybe even grab a few hours of much-needed sleep, because it had been god knows how long since I had last got some of that. There was something a little more reassuring about putting your back against a solid wall than the trunk of a tree.

As well as getting some sleep, I could even live a little and risk cooking something. My mouth started to water at the prospect of eating for the first time in hours. I didn't have much on me - probably just some tins of beans and sachets of soup - but it would taste like a kings feast, and man was my stomach aching for it.

I got closer to the shack, and my heart sank.

Through a small frosted glass window I could see a dim light flickering. I couldn't make out anything else inside, but light meant people, and that meant I couldn’t stay there. I turned and started to walk away from the shack, my stomach reeling from the prospect of food that had just been snatched from me. My legs felt a hundred times heavier and the pack on my back, filled only with my meagre possessions, felt like a boulder. If I didn’t find somewhere soon, I was going to drop.

Behind me a door opened. I span round, reached to my belt and in one smooth motion slipped my knife into my hand and held it ready to strike.

"Whoa. You won't be needing that tonight."

A man stood in the doorframe. He was tall, bald and a wild beard sprouted from his chin. He wore a baggy white t-shirt covered in red food stains, and jeans that were splattered in patches of mud. His fly was unzipped, and on his feet he wore unfastened boots. I got the feeling he hadn’t expected company outside the shack. He took a step toward me.

"Evening." I said, and looked away. I turned and started to walk in the opposite direction, having no interest in conversation.

Behind me boots crunched on the forest floor.

"Gimme a minute, stranger."

I turned round. He had an amused smile on his face.

"Need something?" I said.

The man looked around him. The forest seemed denser in the dark. "Where you goin’ this time of night?"

"Don't worry about it."

He took another step toward me. "Do me a favour?"

I took a deep breath. I wasn't big on favours. "What?"

He grinned. "I got a call of nature. I know, I know - worst time for it, eh?"

"Why not take a piss in there?" I said, nodding at the shack.

"We got a bucket, but I don't like using it. Something about the sound the spray makes on the metal. It don’t seem right to do it indoors."

I tightened my fist. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my irritation under control. "So what, you need me to hold it for you or something?"

He laughed. "Nah. Just keep a look out. Make sure one of them bitey bastards doesn't take a chunk out of my arse."

I was done with this. I didn't feel any threat from the man but there was no way was I letting my guard down around him, and nor did I have the time to stand around while he took a piss. The sky was pitch black and it wouldn't be long until the stalkers were prowling. I had to have shelter before then, or I was done for.

I heard a spurt of liquid hit a tree behind me. "It's getting late," said the man, as he released his bladder. "And town’s an hour away. Say, I don't remember seeing you there before."

"That's because I don't live there."

"Really?" His voice seemed incredulous at the thought that someone might not be from town, that someone might spurn the safety of its walls. "At any rate, you're gonna need to get yourself under a roof." The stream of urine stopped and he zipped up his pants. He motioned behind him to the shack. "It's not the Hilton, but you're welcome to stay for the night. We're seeing it out until morning then heading back."