The Undead. The First Seven Days by R R Haywood Read Free Book Online Page B

wide enough to get through safely.
  The newsagent’s is just a bit further up. I bloody hope it’s open. I run for it, passing the butcher’s window and the nice cake shop. I turn and head towards the butcher’s, thinking of the massive knives and cleavers they would have. The door is locked and too solid to force quickly. I run on towards the newsagent’s.
    They are across the road, ahead of me, coming from my left, slow moving and I pass them by a few metres as I reach the shop. The door is closed and I push hard, it’s locked.
  ‘Shit.’
  I look down and see the word “PULL” on the door. I yank the door and thankfully it opens. I close the old, wooden door behind me. I then put the lock in place and look for bolts, but there are none, instead there are two metal hooks meant to hold a bar - but I can’t see the bar anywhere.
  I move away from the door, as the undead get to the other side, banging into the glass pane of the door and I can hear the groaning.
  The shelves are full of chocolate bars and sweets, which make me realise how hungry and thirsty I am. I grab a can of Red Bull from the chiller cabinet and start drinking. The sickly, sweet drink is too fizzy to drink quickly and I belch loudly.
  I open my rucksack and start shoving chocolate bars inside. The knife is still there and I take it out; it still looks small and puny but it makes me feel better by holding it. I fill the bag with bars and some bottles of water.
    Behind the counter is the cigarette display - all of the supermarkets have been fitted with sliding metal doors now, in a vain attempt by the government to hide cigarettes away. Smaller shops are not covered by the same laws and can still show their wares.
  I did give up smoking but hey, I’m surrounded by the undead in a strange shop; my home is destroyed and civilisation has fallen. Fuck it, time for a smoke.
  I take some Drum tobacco and green papers. Tailor made cigarettes are too expensive, so I switched to tobacco sometime ago; there was nearly always someone selling duty free tobacco from their holidays. After smoking roll ups for so long, I couldn’t go back to normal smokes, the taste is disgusting.
  I open the packet and roll a smoke, my hands shake a little, but it’s quickly done and I use a lighter from a display pack on the counter.
  I inhale deeply, and, within seconds, the nicotine has kicked in and mixed with the strong caffeine from the Red Bull . I feel light headed. Swaying a little, I put my hand to the counter and lower my head down, until my forehead is resting on the cool counter top.
  After a few seconds, I pull backwards and get a view of under the counter; a baseball bat is wedged onto the shelf.
  ‘Thanks very much,’ I say, into the quietness of the shop.
  I pull the bat out and hold it in both hands. I suppose these shops open early and could be easy targets, especially in the dark, winter mornings.
The cigarette is in my mouth and the smoke curls up and goes into my eyes, stinging them, and they water instantly. I clench my eyes shut and wait for a few seconds.
  As I focus again, I see an undead standing at the back of the shop behind a bead curtain that separates the shop from the private area. It is a large built, undead male with his fat gut straining against the material of his short sleeve shirt.
  There is blood all down the front of the shirt from a ragged wound in his neck. The undead moves slowly forward, pushing through the bead curtain, which rattles loudly. Drool is hanging down from its mouth and evil looking, red eyes stare straight at me.
  I look about for an avenue of escape, but there is nothing. The front door is the only other way out and I can see a mass of undead standing outside, staring in and walking at the door and windows.
  The undead shopkeeper shuffles forwards, his bulk fills the aisle as he heads towards the counter. I stand still and spit the cigarette away to the side, not