Dead Eyes: A Tale From The Zombie Plague

By James Dwyer

When the dead came back to life to attack the living, humanity was not prepared. Faced with an impossible situation, the government and leaders quickly abandoned their posts. Civilisation crumbled and the undead feasted.

A lone survivor travels across the countryside, fighting to stay alive day by day. But the clock is ticking. It won't be long before he turns blind, a genetic abnormality passed down from his father and his grandfather before him. He must find somewhere safe to survive before the blindness leaves him sightless in the land of the dead.

But the undead are not all they seem to be. They are changing, becoming deadlier, more efficient feeding machines. Driven by an insatiable hunger that grows more desperate with each day that passes.

The survivor has only one hope. Find a way to escape the infested zone. If not, he will be left to helpless to fend off the zombies that want to feast on his flesh.

The first in a series of heart stopping horror adventure novellas, Dead Eyes grabs hold and does not let go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Dwyer
• Release date: Feb 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310359439

James Dwyer

James Dwyer is an aspiring writer based on the South coast of England. Living in Poole, Dorset, James has won prizes for his short film scripts. With a passion for storytelling and writing, James hopes to one day make a living out of monsters, mystery and murder. Until then, he hopes people will enjoy reading his stories as much as he enjoys writing them. Inspiration: Ancient Greece, Mythology, Monsters, Science Fiction, Robots, Organised Crime, Insects and other creepy crawlies. Influences: Ray Bradbury, Terry Pratchett, John Steinbeck, Daphne Du Maurier, Guillermo del Toro, Park Chan Wook, Michel Gondry

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Dead Eyes

A Tale From The Zombie Plague

by James Dwyer

Copyright 2015 James Dwyer

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Copyright © 2015 James Dwyer

All rights reserved.

For my parents and Anastasia, who have always supported my dreams, no matter how nightmarish they can be.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

CHAPTER ONE

Sunset was only a couple of hours away when I reached the motorway. I had planned my route carefully to find the quickest path to the supermarket, my resting place for the night. The motorway was planned. The pile up was not. Even though it must have been months old, some of the cars caught in the collision were still smoking. At least fifty cars caught across both lanes. Metal bodies twisted and contorted into one huge mess.

Worst of all, I could hear survivors. Moaners by the sound of it. At least three judging from the different voices. Hiding somewhere amongst the wreckage.

If I had more time I would have turned back. Found a safer route to cross. Time was not on my side. Two hours until sunset. Soon as the light faded, I would be blind. An easy target.

I reached into my backpack and took out the old service pistol inside, checked the chamber, made sure it was ready for action. It had become a ritual, a simple act I had performed countless times before. Holding my grandfather’s gun in my hand, it made me feel prepared. That I wasn’t going into the unknown without protection.

I ejected the clip from the pistol and counted the bullets into my hand. Only eight remaining. Seemed to be fewer rounds each time I counted. Eight left. Seven for any undead that attacked. Last one for me.

My suicide pill.

In case the first seven didn’t do their job. The thought made me pause, unable to take my attention from that final bullet. If the time came, would I be able to do it?

The thought faded and I focused on the task ahead of me. Visualised my route across. Saw myself climbing across the cars, off the motorway and heading towards the supermarket. Visualisation was a simple exercise to help me cope, a small trick to help counter the grim reality I found myself in.

The motorway ran through the bottom of a valley between two long sloping hills. I began descending down the slope closest to me, moving slowly to not lose my footing. Didn’t want to give the zombies any advantage. Had to stay mobile, quick. Alert. If I slipped and twisted my ankle, it would make it easier for them. Especially if there were any Daisies trapped amongst the wreckage.

I reached the edge of the road and began looking for the best place to cross. Two people carriers sat side by side, separated by the central reservation. If I climbed up there, I would be halfway across. It would also let me see the best way to complete my crossing and I could spot any zombies coming my way. I was risking the undead seeing me when I climbed up, but if they were just Moaners then I was quick enough to escape.

My feet crunched on broken glass as I walked towards the closest people carrier. The smell of burnt rubber stung my nostrils, making me retch involuntarily. Always hated that smell. I reached the first people carrier and climbed up the bonnet onto the roof. The thin metal plating buckled under my feet, almost sending me off balance. I steadied myself and looked across to find my next step.

The cars on the other side of the central reservation were in a much worse state than my side, distorted beyond recognisable makes or models. Sharp points of deadly broken metal poked up and out amongst the wreckage, making the path across treacherous. I would have to take things slow.

I stepped across onto the second people carrier and was looking for a way down to the other side when my heart skipped a beat in my chest. A soft, pained moan came up from somewhere below my feet. It was not like the other zombies I had encountered. This was higher pitched. Slowly, I crouched down and looked through the sunroof.

Sitting in the central passenger seat in the middle section of the people carrier was a child, no more than three or four years old, strapped into a child seat so tightly it could not escape. The seats on either side were stained red with blood, scratch marks and torn upholstery telling me that some poor bastards had been dragged out from inside. Consumed by the undead. Only the child was left behind. And it had turned.

I looked down into the zombie child’s red eyes and felt myself overcome with a sense of immense sadness. Another life lost to the infection.

The undead child was horribly thin, its red eyes sunk into the dark black holes that were its eye sockets. It reached up towards me, fingernails stained black with dried blood. It gasped towards me, its mouth open and closing as it bit at the air, trying weakly to lunge at me. I was safe. Yet I felt some pity. I considered using one of the bullets. Putting an end to the miserable being below me. It was too late. What was left of the child was gone. Replaced by the disease, replaced by the hunger.

I looked around me, working out my next step, trying to forget what I had seen. I noticed the concrete crash barrier in the centre. The grey stone was covered in bloody handprints. I couldn’t tell if they were from the living or the dead. Most likely the line had become blurred a long time ago. I was just thankful that I had not been here to witness when it happened. The thought made me shiver.

The next step was to get down onto the road. I spied a clear space and dropped down. As soon as I landed on the ground, I knew it was a mistake. I had been so distracted by the dead child that I had forgotten all about the other Moaners. A sudden, nearby Mmooooorrrrrrr jogged my memory. Now they were closer. They had spotted me up on the people carriers, just as I had feared they would. I cursed my own stupidity. If I hadn’t stopped to gawk at the dead child…

There was no time to dwell on it. I began working my way round through the cars. To get to the other side, I would have to climb through one of the wrecks. I inspected each one, looking for the clearest route. Every car was an abattoir, dried blood staining the seats. Anyone who survived the pile up had been a sitting duck. Trapped inside a car, it wouldn’t take long for zombies to come and feed. They hunted like vultures. Easy targets were the quickest way to try and sate the unending hunger they had inside of them. The pile up was an all you can eat buffet. Perhaps the undead had caused the accident, maybe even set it up like a trap. I didn’t like to think about it, whether the zombies were intelligent or not. I had seen some signs…

Focus. I moved quicker, searching for that way across. I looked through one car and saw a shuffling movement on the other side, followed by the long drawn out groan of a Moaner. They had found me.

I ducked down out of sight and considered my next move. Panic tried to take control, I forced myself to stay calm. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Neither, I told myself. Think. The third option that is not recognised. Think of what to do next. I spotted a transit van up ahead. If I could climb up there, maybe I could jump to the other side. Worth the risk.

I kept low and moved towards the van. I could hear the Moaner on the other side. Impossible to tell what it was thinking, the moan was always the same starved cry. Nothing to give away any emotion except hunger.

I reached the van and began climbing onto the roof. I had pulled myself halfway up when I felt a loud bang on the inside of the van, something had thrown itself against the interior walls. Quickly I climbed all the way on top and steadied myself for the next impact. This time it was heavier, more violent. Whatever was inside knew I was there. I held myself steady and looked around. The Moaner from before was shuffling its way towards me. It was an ex-policeman, its fluorescent jacket spattered with dried blood. A badge on its chest read Highway Unit. Probably one of the first responders to the accident here. Walked right into a bloodbath.

Two more moaners appeared behind it, further down the motorway. Both heading in my direction.

Another loud bang from the van below me, this time at the back doors. They buckled slightly, revealing a small glimpse into the blackness within. I paused and waited, wanting to know what was inside. And then I heard the shriek, the loud piercing scream from inside. My legs instantly turned to jelly, my grip on the van slipping in an instant.

It was a Daisy. My worst fear.

I regained my composure and quickly looked for a way across. A Mini sat invitingly before me, a small island of calm in the twisted metal. It would take a leap to get there. If I fell, it would end badly. Sharp metal impaling me, pinning me up like meat in a butcher’s shop, just waiting for the zombies to come and feast on my flesh.

There was no other option. I knew I could make it. I had to make it.

I stood up on the van and took a deep breath. Just as I was about to leap, the Daisy inside the van threw itself against the doors again. I leapt across but was off balance, landing on the Mini’s roof with a loud snap. I looked around and was relieved to see that it was just the radio aerial crushed underneath my feet.

The Moaner was closing now, only a few metres away. Between me and escape. I spotted a piece of sharp twisted metal pointing out across the Moaner’s path and a plan formed in my head. I waited until the zombie was just about to pass before I leapt across again, landing on the clear motorway on the other side. Before the Moaner could change direction, I stood up and kicked it as hard as it could towards the twisted cars. The Moaner cried out as it was impaled on the metal, pinned on the sharp broken chassis. Before it could pull itself free, I was up and away.

I was halfway up the hill when I heard the van doors burst open. The Daisy had escaped. I turned in time to see it clambering across the cars, the horribly emaciated wretch coming for me, its feet scrambling for purchase as it began its chase. I didn’t look back again. I just turned and ran up the hill, moving as fast as I could. The Daisy was chasing me. I heard it shriek out once again, a horrible scream to attack my senses. I told myself to run faster, push harder. Run.

Run like hell.

* * *

My story begins with my great-grandfather. At least, that’s how far back we can trace the blindness in our family.

He was a soldier during World War One when the blindness struck. He was just a private, fighting in the trenches at Ypres. By all accounts he seemed to be happy. Scared of course. But happy with the camaraderie, being with men his age, fighting for his country and his pregnant wife back home. When he first realised that his eyesight was fading, he kept quiet. Afraid to be called a coward trying to run away from the fight. He couldn’t hide it for long though. First his squad mates saw him squinting over the trench wall, fumbling around in the dark for his kit. Then the captain saw. He was furious, accused him of jeopardising the safety of his fellow soldiers. They forced him to the infirmary,