The Wailing Death Part I

The Wailing Death Part 1.
1 Nov 2010 06:52:04 PM

Spencer stood motionless in the shallow stream, feeling the cold water lap around his ankles, soaking through his tennis shoes and drenching his socks. Standing stock still, he listened to the nocturnal noises of the night, waiting to hear for any imperfection in identification. The whispering of trees carried on the air as the gentle breeze rustled the autumn leaves, the lulling gurgle of the stream as it lapped along lazily, the croak and groan of the usual concoction of nocturnal creatures. No shuffling, no moaning, no snap of a twig, no odd, awkward silence. Content that the area ahead was all as it should have been, he moved on quietly, careful not to give away his own presence and whereabouts to that of the unnatural.
Looking to his left and then his right, he could only just make out the silhouetted outlines of his companions against the trees, in the waning silver moonlight. They were stood just yards away from him, moving as he moved; quiet, cautious and nervous. Adrenaline was coursing through his system and his nerves said run, but his mind, as sharp as a knife, kept its metallic restraint. And so he moved slowly, just as his instincts told him to do so. Every time he brushed past a leaf and it rustled audibly in his ear, a bead of sweat ran down his already sweat sodden back. His nerves were frayed, but if it were not for his iron will, he would already have snapped. That would do no one any good, least of all now. They were all exhausted and needed to rest.
Trudging on, he kept Sharwyn in his sights. She was slightly off to the left of him. She walked with resolute confidence, cradling a pump action shotgun in her arms. Compared to his own age, she was just a kid. A child who had been dragged into hell. In the short time that they had been forced to work together, she had grown on him like a daughter. She was wise and had a good head on her shoulders. There had been a few instances so far that had made him think she was a goner, but she had managed to pull herself out of the tight spot(s) with a quadrant of gold and silver medals. If it were not for the tense surrounding they were currently traversing, he would have allowed himself an inwards smile because of her bravery. Instead, eyes forward, chin up, wits sharpened, mind focused, keep moving. All in that order.
Off to Spencer's right, Antonio pushed his way through thick undergrowth. He was being the quietest tonight than what he had ever been during this whole damned situation. It made a nice change from him shouting out his obscenities at things that he did not understand. Not that Spencer could blame him whole-heartedly. Everyone was on edge and everyone had their own way of dealing with current affairs. And maybe shouting obscenities at things was Antonio's way of venting steam. God knows Spencer had come close enough to doing that sometimes himself.
Aware that a fiery anger was starting to rise in the pit of his stomach, Spencer concentrated on the task at hand, pushing the swelling anger down from whence it came. He could see the edge of the wood up ahead as moonlight washed the opening field and derelict warehouse in its silvery glow. The warehouse was a two-storey high building stood aloof in centre-field and that was their destination for the night. Shelter, restock (on whatever goods were available, if any) and a few hours precious sleep. It was all that could be done. And then it would be time to move on. Their survival depended upon it.
Sharwyn was the first to come to the edge of the sprawling wood, halting to a nervous standstill at the threshold. Her head swivelled from left to right on her round shoulders, continuously scanning the shrouded wood and then the field. She would not let her guard down easily. Spencer stepped up besides her and dropping his rucksack gently on the wood floor, opened it up. She watched him anxiously as Antonio brought up the rear. Spencer fished a flash light out of his bag and pointing it away from the group, flicked it on. A sharp beam of yellow light burned and stunned their retina's, so long in the dark, their eyes had grown acutely accustomed. So far, their only navigating light had been that of the moon. Zipping up the rucksack and throwing it on his back, Spencer stood up and brought the Browning out of his belt. Sharwyn gave him an acknowledging nod. However, it was more of a grimace, disguised. They all knew what they had to do next. It was the worst and probably the most perilous part of the job. Seeing the brooding, almost timid look on Sharwyn's face, Spencer sighed, unhappy.
“Are you going to be okay? You can wait here if you like.” He whispered, nervous to any sound, even that of his own voice.
“Wait? Out here? On my own? With them? You are kidding, right?” Sharwyn gawked.
“There's nothing out here. There probably never was.” Antonio groaned, not caring whether his voice was a whisper or a shout.
“Will you be quiet!” Spencer hissed, just as Sharwyn retorted.
“You don't know that!” She snapped in a harsh whisper. Antonio chuckled, amused and cooed.
“You scared, little girl?” Antonio teased. Sharwyn made no reply as Spencer growled at him. “Steady old man. You don't want to give yourself angina do you?”
Rising against the remark, Spencer turned to Sharwyn and placed his hands on her cold, bare shoulders. “Are you ready?” He asked her, his voice soft and warm. Sharwyn nodded her approval, glanced at the shotgun. “Let's go.” Spencer shone the torch onto the field, ahead of themselves. Stepping over the threshold onto damp, long grass and the air suddenly became colder, fresher.
“Are you sure you're ready? I wouldn't want you to piss your panties.” Antonio chided, smugly.
“Funny that. I thought that was more your line of work.” Sharwyn retorted and walked hastily further ahead of him, joining Spencer. Spencer knew she felt constantly uneasy and uncomfortable around Antonio. He was something of a bully, especially towards women. Antonio was probably the type of guy who came home drunk on a Friday night, stinking of cheap perfume and battered the be-Jesus out of his wife, only to win her round the next day with false apologies and cheap gifts. In his head, Spencer had thought about ditching Antonio so many times he had given up counting.
“Watch your mouth, you stupid bitch!” Antonio snarled, power walking up to them. Spencer rounded on him, nostrils and temper flaring.
“Shut ye god damn mouth or I'm going to leave you out here and then you can find some way of surviving on your god damn lonesome! Got it?!”
“I don't need you, Grandpa.” Antonio snorted, trying not to laugh.
“You're free to leave whenever you want.”
“Fuck you.”
Both Spencer and Sharwyn ignored Antonio. Instead, they focused on moving as quickly and as quietly as possible over the open terrain. They were sitting ducks out here and the torchlight was a dinner bell for the hordes along with Antonio's ranting certainly not helping either. It was actually easier to move about during the day time, if you knew what you were doing. Regardless, it still was not easy, even then. The best thing about the woodland at night was a simple one: if you could not see them, then they probably could not see you. Those had been Sharwyn's wisest words upon entering the woodland at sunset, three hours before.
In great sweeping arcs, Spencer rotated his hand left to right, keeping the torch beam at chest height. The grass squelched beneath his tennis shoes as he moved forward. Feeling the Browning pistol in his other hand, it was dead weight and his hand was starting to grow numb. More from the cold than anything else. With every step he took, the warehouse drew nearer and the nearer the warehouse got, the more nervous he became. Paranoid, he constantly thought something was going to come sprinting out of the wood and/or warehouse to attack him. It had happened before, just not here at this location. The field was just a wide, circular opening in the woods. All around them were trees; extensive even before and beyond the warehouse.
“Am I the only one to notice that there is light burning in that place?” Antonio shrugged, eye balling the window which bled bright, yellow light. But regardless, he was right. The window nearest to them was lit up like a Christmas tree and ajar on its hinge.
“There are probably lights left on all over the country. People don't become infected and go 'Ooh, I really should have turned the light off before I became a zombie.'” Spencer snapped, grumpy.
“Gee, take it easy, old man!”
“I don't like this.” Sharwyn observed. Her instincts were on fire, telling her this was a bad place to be and now was not the time to be in it. However, her instincts had been proven to be somewhat 'dull and clumsy' before, especially when she was tired, so she said nothing. She had landed them all in spot of trouble prior to now with having a sudden change of heart and it had not earned her any favours. Not knowing which to trust; her instincts or her judgement, she carried on walking, not turning back. .
“What's to like?” Antonio huffed, wiping sweat off his forehead as he followed Spencer's lead.
The warehouse was just yards away from them now and approaching it, the three of them stuck close to the brickwork. Following the contours of the wall, Spencer took point whilst Sharwyn brought up the rear. They rounded the building until they came to a heavy, rusted double door of which the old musty green paint was peeling. Eyeing the door suspiciously, Spencer moved to one side, back against the wall. Just as you would see a trained soldier doing before he was about to breach and make entry, Spencer brought his pistol up, pointing it skywards. Sharwyn stood facing the door, whilst Antonio copied Spencer. It would have been ideal if it had been the over way round, for Antonio had no weapon. That way, Sharwyn would have been able to protect him if there was anything beyond the door of which would want to cause grievous bodily harm. Too good for that, he was about to let Sharwyn take the flak, should there be any. From his position, he placed his hand on the rusted handle and pushed down firmly. It would not so much as move, not even a millimetre. They were all thinking it; it was either locked or rusted into position.
“Lets try that window.” Spencer said, relaxing.
Shuffling off, Spencer took point again, Sharwyn the rear. They stayed close, almost attached to the wall as they followed it round all the way to the window whilst watching different angles of their approach. The window was opened for about two inches, easily manipulated to more by force.
“Do the honours, lad.” Spencer said, taking position next to the frame. Antonio huffed as he eased his meaty hand under the frame and jimmied open the old latch. The window was about to close on itself but Antonio's hand blocked it. Yanking it open, Antonio held it open for Spencer who gave Sharwyn a weary glance and mindful of anything on the low windowsill, climbed in. His feet hit hard, dry concrete. Looking around, he was careful not to touch or knock anything and discovered he was in a small pocket store room. The only thing in here was an old broken desk, an old metal bucket with stinking water and a stinking mop, a few discarded, empty Fed Ex packages. Directly in front of him was a whitewash door. He was readying himself to open it when he heard shuffling behind. Turning round, Sharwyn was coming through the window with an anxious Antonio waiting to bolt in after her. Once she was through, Antonio didn't waste much time in following. Because of the cramped conditions of the room, there was not much space for manoeuvrability and so nobody could position themselves correctly for executing the 'breach and entry' procedure to the adjacent room.
“Here, let me take that.” Sharwyn sighed, taking the torch off Spencer and handing it to Antonio. This allowed Spencer to use his pistol more accurately with both hands and would also help stifle the recoil of the pistol if a shot was fired off. Antonio accepted the torch without complaint as Sharwyn readied herself behind Spencer. Holding the torch aloft, Antonio shone it over Spencer's left shoulder ready to penetrate the darkness of the room beyond. Using her free hand quickly, Sharwyn pushed down on the door's handle. It swung open and outwards with ease.
Th torch effect was much unneeded as overhead in the adjacent room hung industrial ceiling lights that blasted down bright shafts of clear white light. Staying their movement for a few seconds, everyone observed the scene before them. This was not a warehouse at all, but a warehouse that had been converted into an office block and a busy looking one at that. Or rather, had been. Moving placidly into the open section of doorway and studying their surroundings, the group found themselves staring down an aisle of office cubicles. Office chairs were overturned, paper documents carelessly scattered here, there and everywhere. Along the aisles end, there was an unmistakable pool of blood and a large smear of the stuff on the powder cream cubicle walling. Apprehension gripped Spencer as he took that spine tingling, nerve chilling first look around the room. He could not see any signs of life within the office area, but that didn't mean there wasn't any.
“Let's do a quick scope. Stay close.” He whispered, moving forwards. Antonio turned off the torch to preserve the batteries and stuffed it into the waistband of his Eco Limited tracksuit bottoms. Like usual, Spencer took point as Sharwyn watched their sixes. Moving slowly, the group moved down the aisle, eyes darting this way and that. In the empty cubicles there were standard Dell computers, white plastic telephones, basic office computer chairs, small filing cabinets and the occasional personal touch like a family picture, motivational poster and so forth. It all looked very mundane (just as office life indeed was) but what tore the brunt of that up was the amount of disarray the whole place was in. It was if a mini hurricane of carnage had whipped through the building, sucking up everything in its path and spitting it out further down the room. The team of three took time to make sure the whole room was secure by scouting out aisle after aisle, cubicle after cubicle. On their little trek around it, Antonio had managed to find himself a weapon in the form of a discarded iron bar that had been left lying about. One could only hazard a guess as to where it had come from.
In one particular cubicle they had found a forty something office worker, dead, with an empty polystyrene cup next to him with a bottle of pain killers, its remnant contents spilled out onto the cheap, cluttered desk and mangy floor. In his grey, withered hand was a note attached to a picture of a young woman. Looking at how bad his skin was, he had been there for a few days, drooping back in the chair.
“Suicide by pain killers; not the most painless way out.” Spencer muttered, clucking his tongue.
“How would you know?” Antonio asked, raising his eyebrows, hefting the bar in both his hands.
“I was once going to be a doctor.” Spencer replied nonchalantly, moving on.
“So what are you now then if not a doctor?” Sharwyn asked, eagerly anticipating the answer..
“Retired.” Spencer chuckled, then quickly diverted the conversation to more serious matters. “Let's check those rooms over at the end.”
On the far left wall, through the labyrinth of cubicles and four foot high corridors, were three polished doors. One had a brass plaque screwed onto it. The lettering was near illegible due to heavy, congealed blood spattered across it, starting on the floor and climbing up the wall, door and heading towards the ceiling. The breach and entry was an easy affair but the scene that greeted them was not. Antonio heaved, ducked away trying not to be sick, Sharwyn yelped and Spencer wrinkled his beak nose at the smell. He stood there, his whole body rigid with cold indifference. Decaying flesh.
In the centre of the room stood an immaculate, polished rosewood desk with barely an item upon it. Walking into the room, Spencer followed the carnage that lay at his feet. He counted seven. Seven well dressed, bloodied corpses lay at his feet, in a neat pile up against the right wall. No flesh eater had done this. Each corpse had a neat little hole in their heads, about the size of a ten pence piece. One man laying face down had two in his chest, the bullets passing and exiting through his back. Looking to the man sat in the luxury leather office chair behind the polished rosewood desk, Spencer was getting a quick picture of what had transpired here. The man was lolling back, blood was crusted to his face and his pressed blue shirt. There was also a big patch on the wall behind him. In his stiff hand hung a pistol. The guy had obviously murdered his employees in a blind panic and then turned the gun on himself. Pathetic. But still, he was in a better place, now more than ever. Stepping over the odd, strewn limb, Spencer did a hasty quick march around the room. He pried the pistol out of the man's cold, lifeless hand. Ejecting the magazine, he found it to be empty. Not wasting the opportunity, he slid the pistol into his khaki slacks pocket. Who knew when you might find ammunition of any sort lying around? Hidden behind the desk was a laptop on the floor, its screen smashed, and a discarded black suit jacket. Picking up the jacket, he walked over to the pile of corpses and covered what remains of them he could. Turning his back, he paced out of the room and closed the door behind himself. That lost anger was rising again. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes to escape.
Antonio was hunched in the corner of the room, staring and heaving into a pile of his own vomit. Sharwyn was stood over him, watching, not sure whether or not to ask him if he was okay. Taking one look at Spencer and she felt exactly how he looked, but she held herself together, if stringently. Antonio finished heaving and stood up, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his hooded sweatshirt. Lurching over to Spencer, he grabbed the old man by his shoulders. Spencer's eyes flashed open, rage whirled within them. Expecting some sort of bullshit remark, Spencer held his breath waiting for his anger to be unleashed.
“Let's forget about that one, yeah?” Antonio said and turned away. Catching him totally unaware, Spencer let out an unintended laugh. Both Antonio and Sharwyn looked at him sceptically and he just shook his head from side to side, feeling guilty.
“Do you want Antonio and myself to check the other rooms? I don't have a problem with that and I'm sure Antonio doesn't either.” Sharwyn asked, pacing about the floor.
“No, we'll do it together.” Spencer answered, rubbing the corner of his eyes with his index finger and thumb. Spencer would not allow himself to leave Sharwyn in the company of Antonio. He just didn't like nor trust the guy. In his mind, Antonio was a complete sleaze ball. Plus there was the matter of the flesh eaters; safety in numbers. On both the adorning rooms they executed the breach and entry, but the only things that were in them were more polished rosewood desk's, perched laptops and to a relief, no corpses, walking or truly dead.
The sleeping arrangements came next. They took up a cubicle each at the end of one aisle next to their entry point; that way if something were to happen during the night, they would be able to flee back into the woods. There was no need for someone to stand watch, no need for a night watchmen, a sentry. If something came shuffling into the room, they would be the first to know about it and without any unwanted surprise. Spencer had trained himself well, always sleeping with one eye open and an ear for environmental sounds; what sounds were meant to be and those that were not. A very light sleeper, he had been trained by himself and others to sleep with sharpened sense's since his late teens. Spencer crawled into the corner of his hidey-hole, sitting between the cheap desk and cubicle wall panelling. He sat there for several moments feeling completely numb, and just breathed. He had noticed that, in these dark times, he had been focusing on his breathing more than what he had done throughout his entire lifetime. Breathe was a precious gift now, and one that could easily be taken away if the wrong situation should come to pass. It was nice to breathe, it reminded him that he was human.
Sharwyn and Antonio had their own occupied cubicles. Sharwyn's was on the opposite side of the aisle, straight across from Spencer whereas Antonio was in the next one to him. Sleep came easily enough; after spending the last twenty four hours running around, dodging the wandering hordes of stinking flesh eaters they were all very much worn out. The only thing that made sleep hard sought was the niggling paranoia at the back of all their minds. Their worst thought is of what shape events would take once their eyes were closed in fitful sleep. It was becoming increasingly harder each time for one to let their guards down low enough so they could slumber and regain their much needed, vital energies.

She was changing before his eyes. Her eyes were becoming wild and lost, her skin a deathly grey. Strewn there on the kitchen linoleum, blood drenched cardigan and blouse. The torn flesh hung by thin strands off her right forearm, of which she had stopped clutching. She was mumbling inaudibly to herself, rocking to and fro. She was not listening to a word he said.
“Keep pressure on the wound!” Spencer barked, watching the life force ebbing out of the giant gash. Her life was draining away right before his very eyes and he was powerless to stop it. He looked to the gold wedding band on her finger, now caked in sticky blood and then to the lifeless corpse behind himself which had caused all of this.
He had heard her scream and came running. But it was little too late. The man had taken a chunk right out of her, a big one too. He had hurt her. Watching the abomination chewing the flesh round and round his mouth, Spencer had flown into a rage. Yanking the Browning from beneath the kitchen sink, he pulled the trigger point blank at the man's chest. Three shots into the mid-drift and he had gone down, spilling his infected blood upon the floor, mixing in with the pool of blood that was of his wife's.
Watching her now, he tried frantically to get through to the emergency services but the dial tone did not so much as allow him to get a hold of the emergency operator. Again and again he dialled nine nine nine and the same dial tone he got every time. Engaged or no service. Howling with frustration, he threw his mobile phone on the kitchen floor. It skittered away across to the other side of the room.
His wife was rocking frantically, to and fro, to and fro, sweat dripping off her feverish brow. Abrupt, she stopped. Just like that. No reason, no motive. Just stopped. Her eyes were rotating like glass orbs in their sunken sockets until they came upon him, glaring with fiery anger and hatred. Holding his fearful gaze for a few seconds and she sprang at him, arms flailing, trying to grab hold. Snarling veraciously, thick streams of glistening yellow saliva dribbled from her hellish jowls. As he wrestled with her, he could hear a sibilant clicking sound coming from somewhere off in the distance mingled in with a weird moaning that was becoming more and more audible as the seconds ticked by. Daring to look behind himself while holding his enraged wife at bay, he glimpsed the corpse that lay by the back door. No, it wasn't coming from him.
His wife swept at him with a clawed paw and knocking her hand away, quickly scanned the room. What the hell was that noise...? It wasn't the clicking that bothered him, but the moaning. It was horrible. His concentration on the sound rather than his wife was making his eyes blurry. She somehow no longer seemed real. He felt as if he was slipping through time, a thousand, hundred miles away. So distant and fading ...slowly his world sank into brimming blackness...

Spencer awoke, his eyes flickering open, ears still primed to the clicking. Light shone into his eyes that were trying their hardest to adjust to the new brightness. Coming into focus, Sharwyn was crouched in the middle of the aisle way, loading her shotgun. Antonio was shaking Spencer by the leg while gazing off to some other place.
“I'm awake.” Spencer snapped, drawing his Browning.
“I fucking hate that sound.” Antonio groaned, his face screwed up in a distasteful grimace. The moaning resonated throughout the entire room. That moaning, that was the Song of the Dead. Everyone hated that sound, some more than others, but most learnt to fear it. Hear that and you start travelling in the opposite direction, and fast. That song belonged to the flesh eaters, deadheads, zombies, infected; whatever you decided to call them. They were far beyond dangerous; one mistake and you were as good as dead, yourself.
“Where's it coming from? Sounds as if it's all around us. I cant tell.” Spencer asked calmly, looking this way and that, up the aisle, down the aisle. His Browning rested on his bent knees, ready to be used if the need permitted itself.
“We don't know either. It's only just started.” Sharwyn answered, gripping the shotgun tightly within her manicured hands.
“What do you suppose we do? Stay put or bail?” Spencer asked, retrieving his rucksack from inside the cubicle.
“You chose the role of leader, you tell us, granddad.” Antonio hissed, crouched besides them, iron bar in hand. Sharwyn looked at Antonio in disbelief. Here he was trying to prove his macho-ism with a man thirty years his senior, when they were unsure as to whether or not they were about to be assaulted by a horde of the walking undead. Spencer raised his bushy white eyebrows at Antonio, indifferently.
“Bail. They sound close. Too close. I don't want this place to turn into a trap.” Sharwyn stated matter- of - factly, throwing her blue adidas wind breaker on.
“And what about you?” Spencer asked firmly, ready to bolt on the word.
“I say we stay,” Antonio answered, smug, “they are outside. There was no-one in here when we came. And if they have gotten inside, I say bring 'em on! I'll kick their heads in.”
“You don't like making things easy, do you, son? We're leaving.” Spencer exclaimed, sternly uninterested in Antonio's challenging, 'hard man' routine. Standing up, he winked at Sharwyn. Looking over the cubicle tops, he scanned every corner of the room. The wailing was endless. “You'd've thought that once you were dead you wouldn't have anything to moan about. Eh?”
Feeling disorientated by the chorus of wails, Sharwyn was starting to feel very anxious, tingling sensations ran up and down her spine. She felt the walls closing in around her, her breathing grew short and shallow. Crouching, she moved as fast as her crawl would allow her to the end of the aisle. In front of her was the door that marked their exit. Spencer and Antonio were right behind her, twisting this way and that, hoping not to spot any flesh eaters. Unlatching the door, Sharwyn slid inside the room, holding it open for her friends.
“Once we get outside, run straight into the woods,” Spencer said, readying himself below the window. “Don't stop. Just keep...” Spencer's talk was interrupted by a loud thumping sound. Soft flesh on metal. The flesh eaters were trying to break down the rusted metal door. That little error of judgement was buying the group some precious time. “They must be able to smell us. Go, now!” Spencer sat crouched beneath the window, holding it open. Antonio was the first to climb through the window, quickly followed by Sharwyn.
The wailing seemed further off now, but it mattered not. Once the flesh eaters heard the commotion they would come to investigate. And if at first they did not see the fleeing humans, then they would definitely pick up the scent and if it smelt like dinner, they were sure to follow.
The night was black, so black neither of them knew where they were headed as they sprinted across the open terrain. Sharwyn's eyes were adjusting to the sudden change in exposure, but too slowly. Running, her feet pounded the earth mercilessly, just as her heart throbbed in her chest. Trying to keep balance while running at this speed over uneven terrain, she twisted her head to check on Spencer. He was just vaulting out of the open window. She was only half glad that he had made it out without incident when her eyes caught movement of lurking forms. Her heart begun to race harder still and her mind screamed. Running and watching, the shadowy forms descended upon Spencer like a blanket being used to smother its prey. He ran as fast as he could, yelling “Run! Run! Keep running!” It was evident he had seem them also.
Unable to watch any more for fear of tripping herself up, Sharwyn looked forward to see she was crashing through brush, foliage, dashing headlong between the trunks of thick trees. The darkness that fell over her was oppressive and choking. Giving it one last glance behind herself, she watched Spencer heading in her general direction, dodging the hooked claws of the infected as they sought to ensnare him within their grip. Using his pistol at this point in time would have been useless, the shot inaccurate. It would be a waste of much needed and scarce ammunition.
The flesh eaters were right on him, never letting up. He weaved, he dodged, he zigzagged. And then while dodging another desperate claw that was far too close... he tripped on a thick fallen tree branch and fell! Tumbling on the damp autumn grass, the flesh eaters found their prey. They lunged at his fallen being, throwing themselves down onto their knees. Tearing at his flesh, bloody clump after bloody clump came away from his body. His dying screams shattering the thin, itchy silence.
Facing forwards, trying to deny the scene she had just witnessed, Sharwyn felt hot tears prick the corner of her eyes and slide down her ruddy cheeks. Up ahead Antonio was still running for all his life's worth and she ran behind him darting through dense woodland, determined not to let him out of her sight, however detestable he was. Evading the enemy, it was just them now.