The undead, however, are tireless, relentless, and possess a singular purpose.
Kill everyone.
Other roving groups of bastards seemed to be using this new lawless existence to exact personal vendettas, kicking in doors of houses to beat someone to death who may have pissed them off at some point, or other vile acts, as the terrified screams of women only served to highlight.
Based on what I saw on that estate that first dreadful afternoon, if this is some kind of divine judgment, then quite frankly we fucking deserve it. Base, animal instincts were at the fore and we clearly failed our first test, as humanity resorted to selfish acts, brutality, and the sating of darker urges that would usually be hidden away from normal sight. With no threat of punishment from the cops, public order disintegrated in a frenzy of violence and horror.
It was at that point I realised that wherever I might run to, I would likely see more of the same. I couldn’t stay near people while the collapse was in full force, so I needed to get somewhere that people would be running from and not towards. That’s when my old high school came to mind.
If it wasn’t already empty, the school likely would be soon as it was near the end of their day. The main building on campus was three floors tall, it had a canteen that might have some food in (even if there were only some vending machines) and it might have a usable vehicle or two abandoned there I could use when shit calmed down. Honestly, I just needed to get somewhere I could just sit for a moment and think. Everything was just noise.
It was half a mile to the school from where I was, but it was an urban run. Violence was erupting all over the estate, so I’d have to be vigilant, smart, and fast. I knew the place pretty well, so I kept to the smallest paths and back alleys. Council estates, if you know them well, have little paths linking the various clustered rows of housing, allowing you to stay clear of the main thoroughfare for large stretches. I kept to those as much as I could, despite not being the fastest route to my ultimate destination. The last thing I needed was a bunch of armed wankers spotting a lone woman and thinking her an easy victim, as they toured the estate in their ten-year old Renault Clio with flashy rims and large-bore exhaust in an attempt to make the crappy little hatchback sound like an American muscle car.
I was just about to hit the last leg of my odyssey. Halfway down one of these narrow alleys, three guys in hoodies, baseball caps, and knock-off tracksuits turned into the alley at the far end, stopping as they laid eyes on me. They were somewhere between eighteen and twenty-years old max, skinny in their ballooning oversized hoodies, with hardly enough facial hair to make even an attempt at a single beard between all three of them.
I didn’t want to go back, as the only other route from here was gambling on main thoroughfares. My only realistic way was through them if I hoped to find some kind of shelter before it started going dark. The longer I was out in all this madness, the higher the chance of getting killed.
The creepy little boys looked me up and down like I was a hunk of meat on the spike in a kebab shop, licking their lips in greasy anticipation. They didn’t say anything initially, but they shared that unspoken hungry look between them, nodding to each other that yes, they did think what the others were thinking. They were all taller than me, and no doubt had come to the unanimous unspoken conclusion that this little dark-haired girl, just five and a half feet tall, would be an easy takedown. In their arrogance, they thought they didn’t need the hammers and screwdrivers they carried for weapons, so they were held low and unready as they advanced in a line towards me, licking scabby lips in anticipation of what was to come. I mean, three young men against one helpless little girl. It would be a nice little distraction for them, eh?
Oh, Icarus, fly not too near the sun my child, lest thy waxy wings should melt.
In other words, “You’re about to get a kicking, bell end.”
Contrary to the world of stories in books and movies, fights are not long and protracted, with blows being traded back and forth, and heroic second winds allowing the good guy to rise from the jaws of almost certain defeat. When you’re in a fight for your life, there’s only one thing that matters, and that’s winning. Hit fast, fight dirty, and end it quick.
Not expecting little old me to have more than ten years of mixed martial arts under my belt, I waited for them to get up close, affecting the look of paralysing terror that they expected to see from a woman. It made them feel strong, in control, and relaxed. As they got within around six feet of me, my expression changed as I full on roared at them with all my fury and exploded into motion.
That brief second of hesitation as I screamed at them, freezing them in surprise, was all I needed. I smashed my right fist into the central thug’s Adam’s apple as it makes an inviting and sensitive target, and if you get throat-punched, you aren’t doing shit afterwards. Also, if you know how to punch properly, you can royally shit on their day. Punch through the target, not at them.
The guy stumbled back a few steps before collapsing to his knees, hands clawing at his neck as he desperately tried to breathe.
