Read Online No Zombies Please We Are British by Alex Laybourne - Free Book Online
Authors: Alex Laybourne
Tags: Zombies
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a small fourth if the owners had been creative with the rooftop area. Jack didn’t spend long enough to study their structure to make a judgement. He ran up the concrete steps and barrelled through the front door without as much as a second thought.
He leaned against the wall, his heart racing, sweat pouring from him. He heard the door shut, locks slide into place, and then something heavy rumble as it was pushed across the floor.
Opening his eyes, Jack saw an older man, he must have been in his seventies, heaving a cabinet through the narrow hallway so that it blocked the door.
“Here, let me help you,” Jack said, moving beside the man to lend his weight to the effort.
“Thanks.” The man had a layer of sweat on his brow.
“No, thank you,” Jack answered. He offered the man a smile, but before it could be reciprocated, a heavy thump hit the front door.
“We’d better move back into the kitchen. Come on, my wife has a pot brewing.” The man turned and moved with a limp, leading Jack into the house.
The kitchen was warm and welcoming. There was a radio playing, gentle classic jazz music helped to ease away lingering echoes of the hungry dead. The smell of food wafted through the hall and had Jack’s mouth watering before he even made it into the room.
“Honey, we have company,” the older man said as he walked up to his wife and kissed her on the cheek.
“Well, hi there,” the old woman said, smiling. She was older than the man, or at least looked it. Her hair was white and neatly styled. Her face coloured with a gentle flash of make-up, and she was wearing a dress that made it look as if she had plans to head out and attend some summer fete or regatta. “Please have a seat. I am just baking some scones.”
Chapter 5
Despite his insistence to the contrary, the old couple, who introduced themselves as being George and Mary, refused to let Jack leave the house.
As the day wore on, the undead activity increased, with more and more people falling victim to the sweeping waves of freshly risen dead.
People trying to make a run for it, thinking the coast is clear, were caught unaware by creatures that came from nowhere, moving at a pace that while not a full-out sprint, was certainly more than a mindless amble.
Jack found himself watching the creatures as they came and went. He had eaten his fill of scones, and didn’t think he could force another cup of tea down his throat without bursting. Even with the seemingly endless types and flavours the couple seemed determined to introduce him to.
There was a clear difference between the undead. It was all in the eyes, at least, that was how Jack saw it. The undead seemed to have either red or black eyes, and varying shades seemed to indicate something. He just wasn’t sure what.
There was a clear difference between the freshly risen dead, those who still had their flesh coloured with the fading heat of life, and those who had been dead for longer. He was impressed that in a little over twenty-four hours, certainly no more than two days, the zombies were showing such distinctive patterns.
“It just doesn’t seem real, does it?” George spoke as he moved beside Jack, a fresh cup of tea in his hands.
“No,” Jack answered, looking from the man, to his tea, and then back to the scene outside.
A young man who had come sprinting from the right, was taken down by a group of the undead. He had been too preoccupied looking over his shoulder, to see what was right in front of him. They tore through him with such ferocity that his head was pulled from his shoulders and discarded like nothing more than the ribbon decorating the box the gift came in.
“There are differences in them. You must have noticed that,” George said, his voice soft, his words slurred a little.
“I was just watching them …” Jack caught his words. “It sounds so strange to say that. So cold.”
“The world will become a much colder place now. Nobody can prepare for
He leaned against the wall, his heart racing, sweat pouring from him. He heard the door shut, locks slide into place, and then something heavy rumble as it was pushed across the floor.
Opening his eyes, Jack saw an older man, he must have been in his seventies, heaving a cabinet through the narrow hallway so that it blocked the door.
“Here, let me help you,” Jack said, moving beside the man to lend his weight to the effort.
“Thanks.” The man had a layer of sweat on his brow.
“No, thank you,” Jack answered. He offered the man a smile, but before it could be reciprocated, a heavy thump hit the front door.
“We’d better move back into the kitchen. Come on, my wife has a pot brewing.” The man turned and moved with a limp, leading Jack into the house.
The kitchen was warm and welcoming. There was a radio playing, gentle classic jazz music helped to ease away lingering echoes of the hungry dead. The smell of food wafted through the hall and had Jack’s mouth watering before he even made it into the room.
“Honey, we have company,” the older man said as he walked up to his wife and kissed her on the cheek.
“Well, hi there,” the old woman said, smiling. She was older than the man, or at least looked it. Her hair was white and neatly styled. Her face coloured with a gentle flash of make-up, and she was wearing a dress that made it look as if she had plans to head out and attend some summer fete or regatta. “Please have a seat. I am just baking some scones.”
Chapter 5
Despite his insistence to the contrary, the old couple, who introduced themselves as being George and Mary, refused to let Jack leave the house.
As the day wore on, the undead activity increased, with more and more people falling victim to the sweeping waves of freshly risen dead.
People trying to make a run for it, thinking the coast is clear, were caught unaware by creatures that came from nowhere, moving at a pace that while not a full-out sprint, was certainly more than a mindless amble.
Jack found himself watching the creatures as they came and went. He had eaten his fill of scones, and didn’t think he could force another cup of tea down his throat without bursting. Even with the seemingly endless types and flavours the couple seemed determined to introduce him to.
There was a clear difference between the undead. It was all in the eyes, at least, that was how Jack saw it. The undead seemed to have either red or black eyes, and varying shades seemed to indicate something. He just wasn’t sure what.
There was a clear difference between the freshly risen dead, those who still had their flesh coloured with the fading heat of life, and those who had been dead for longer. He was impressed that in a little over twenty-four hours, certainly no more than two days, the zombies were showing such distinctive patterns.
“It just doesn’t seem real, does it?” George spoke as he moved beside Jack, a fresh cup of tea in his hands.
“No,” Jack answered, looking from the man, to his tea, and then back to the scene outside.
A young man who had come sprinting from the right, was taken down by a group of the undead. He had been too preoccupied looking over his shoulder, to see what was right in front of him. They tore through him with such ferocity that his head was pulled from his shoulders and discarded like nothing more than the ribbon decorating the box the gift came in.
“There are differences in them. You must have noticed that,” George said, his voice soft, his words slurred a little.
“I was just watching them …” Jack caught his words. “It sounds so strange to say that. So cold.”
“The world will become a much colder place now. Nobody can prepare for
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