Part One
“I’m not very good at running away,” she exhaled, “my legs don’t work properly.”
I rounded on her.
“What?”
“My legs. As soon as I start to run they just begin twirling at the knee. You know what I’m like. I’m almost worse than useless at running.”
“Well we can’t stay here. They’ve almost clawed their way through the planks over the windows and I’m fresh out of planks. We could ride those bikes Dave and Suze left out in the hallway.”
“Bikes?” More heavy breaths, ending in an exasperated sigh. “Why don’t we just take the car?”
“Cars run out of petrol. I’ve seen horror movies.”
“You have to pedal bikes. Think about my knees!”
I grasped her by the shoulders really quite roughly and looked her in the eye.
“Very well, the car it is.”
A rotting arm burst through the kitchen window, throwing pieces of glass all over the washing up.
“Where are the keys?”
“I thought you had them. You drove home last night.”
“Jeeeeesus. They’re in my other trousers. Wait there, I’ll be back in a second.”
“But they’re coming through!”
I handed her one of the larger of our Jamie Oliver saucepans and scampered off upstairs to find the car keys. I thought I heard another sigh as I exited the room, but it may have been a groan from one of the undead, it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell.
When I returned, the saucepan was hanging over a pair of grasping arms at the window. The planks I’d nailed up were still holding.
“Why is that zombie wearing our saucepan?” She didn’t look in the mood to provide an audible answer to that question. I snuck a peek through the blinds hanging over the backdoor window. There were a couple of them stumbling idiotically a few feet away, but the coast looked about as clear as could be hoped under the circumstances.
“Right. We’re leaving. Take my hand.”
“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.”
“There’s no time for that now.”
“Hmm?”
“Never mind. Now, take my hand. Follow me closely and concentrate on my back, just between my shoulder blades. We’re going to run for the car.”
She did a sort of terrified squeal.
I curled my fingers around the door handle and tensed.
“Now… go!”
I swung open the door and glanced round. The two at the kitchen window turned their heads slowly and groaned. I started forward and ran straight into the lumpen, animated corpse of Marion, our seriously stuck-up next door neighbour. She just sort of bounced away from me with a confused look on her droopy face.
“Marion?”
“Shut up. Shoulder blades, remember? Don’t look up.”
“Marion?”
“That’s not Marion. Marion would have criticised something by now. Marion’s dead.”
I ran, trailing my sobbing wife behind me. The security light had flicked on as we left the house. I could see a few ghastly pale, once-human faces illuminated in the street, but none of them were particularly close. Of course, they had all noticed our flight and had begun to get closer. We reached the car and I zapped the locks. I dragged open the rear passenger door and flung Helen in through it. Next, I wrenched open the driver door and tried to slam it shut. It stopped short with a gristly crunch. An arm was flailing in from underneath the car. I must have run him over last night without noticing. I opened the door and pulled it back again and again. More groaning. Was it him or the wife moaning impatiently in the rear? Finally, the arm split off and fell into the footwell underneath me. Keys in. Ignition on. Tyre spin. We were off. I weaved the vehicle around the figures in the road as best I could as I cleverly tried to avoid damaging the windscreen unnecessarily. What was that playing on the radio? Keep on Running, Spencer Davis Group. Amazing. If I had the energy I would have laughed. Goodbye Perrywood Close. Hello our first night running for our lives.
“It’s a bit messy back here.”
