Twilight was fast approaching. People had dragged a couple of bins out to the barricades and started a fire in them, casting an eerie glow in the early evening as the moans of the Vivens started to approach. Cheers rose from the crowd, and people began moving the barricade as the creatures rounded the corner, coming into view. This was the head of a snake that seemed to stretch on forever. They were flooding the street, packed tight. Shouts erupted. A man jumped onto the barricade. It was Mark.
"Friends," he began, "the enemy is at the gates! We won't let them take our homes or our families. Give them hell!" Another cheer thundered from the crowd.
It was 6:30, and the ranks of the living had swelled to at least 4,000. We stayed toward the back—not wanting to be caught in the initial clash or too close to the petrol bombs now being lit. You could see people at the barricades preparing them. A roar erupted as the first bomb was hurled through the air. It landed short, but flames spread across the tarmac, drawing gasps. The creatures didn't flinch—marching straight through the fire. More bombs followed. Some hit the crowd of undead, setting them ablaze. Still, they kept coming. Again and again, the air filled with fire—but nothing stopped them.
Eventually, the bombs stopped. The Vivens were still advancing.
A voice boomed from a loudspeaker. Two men leapt from the fire engine and grabbed the hose. They dragged it to the front line and unleashed the water. The undead were now only 20 meters away. Flames fizzled and hissed, leaving scorched but still-moving corpses.
Then Mark's voice came again. It was slurred. He had definitely been drinking. "CHARGE!" he shouted.
And people obeyed.
They vaulted the barricade, screaming, swinging, charging into death itself. The valley of death had opened, and they ran straight in. Bats collided with rotting flesh, screams mingled with moans.
6:45. The momentum was fading. The crowd began to falter—pushed back to the barricade. Sirens wailed. Someone had climbed into the fire engine. It roared to life, smashed through the barricade, and plowed into the undead. Bodies flew. The engine vanished around the corner, reversed, and flattened more of them.
Then it stalled.
The broken barricade let them through. The frontline was overwhelmed in seconds.
Then came screams—from the flank. They were coming over the left barricade. No one had been watching. Undead climbed over stacked cars. Panic spread. We moved aside to avoid the crush. Only a few hundred people held ground now. The barricades were lost. I could see blood sprayed inside the fire engine's cab. It wasn't moving again.
People were falling.
I heard crying.
Across the street, a young girl sat by the fire station. Couldn't have been more than ten. Blonde. Blue eyes. Hugging her knees. The undead were moving toward her. No one else noticed.
Zombieland Rule #17: Don't be a hero.
Screw that.
I stepped into the road.
"Hey, are you okay?" Dumb question.
"I can't find my dad," she sobbed.
"What's he look like?" Why the hell did I ask that? Like we had time to look. I turned. The defenders were backing up fast. Maybe 10 meters between us and the horde.
Jon and Toby joined me.
"Look, sweetheart, I don't know if we can find him right now. But we can't stay here. It's not safe."
She looked up, eyes full of tears. "He's dead, isn't he?"
Metal groaned. The undead were forcing a barricade aside.
"If he's alive, we'll find him. But right now, we have to go."
She nodded.
"What's your name?"
"Sky. Sky Harper."
"Okay, Sky. I'm Tom. That's Jon, that's Toby. Can you walk?"
She hesitated. "I guess..."
"How about a piggyback?" She nodded quickly. I passed my bat to Toby. She jumped onto my back, and we moved.
Only a few dozen defenders remained—either too drunk or too stubborn to admit defeat.
We melted into the night.
Jon lit the way with a small torch.
On the way past the shopping center, we found three gutted survivors—four Vivens feasting on them. The creatures looked up.
Jon and Toby didn't hesitate.
Jon drove his bat into one's skull with a sickening crunch. "Don't look," I told Sky.
Toby decapitated another. Then the third.
But from a nearby doorway, another Viven lunged—fast. I barely had time to toss Sky off my back and raise my arms. It slammed into me, driving me to the ground. Its face snapped toward my throat. I shoved my forearm under its jaw.
It wore a cop's uniform.
Its breath was hot and sour.
Jon and Toby were still occupied. Sky was screaming.
I got a foot up—kicked it hard in the chest.
It staggered.
I scrambled upright, got between Sky and the creature.
Then instinct took over. I stepped forward and slammed my boot down on its knee. The joint shattered with a sickening pop. It crumpled.
I grabbed its head and forced it back. It writhed.
Jon and Toby had finished theirs and saw me.
"Bat!" I yelled.
Toby tossed it. I caught it and brought it down with everything I had.
Skull cracked. Blood sprayed.
He was young—probably barely started the job.
Shit.
I searched his belt. Grabbed his baton, cuffs, CS spray, torch, key, a first aid kit. His radio was smashed. Took his notepad too.
We looked back—more Vivens were closing in.
I picked Sky up again, and we ran—entered through the back, quiet and unseen.
10:30 PM
Toby went back to his flat. We've decided to stay separate for now.
We've made new rules for the house: check for bites and cuts. Boiled our clothes. Water still runs, so we each had a bath. Blood's gone. Skin raw, but clean.
They're getting closer. I peeked out earlier—dozens in the street now.
Screams echo through the dark.
I gave Sky my earplugs. She's asleep, curled up with Clio the cat.
I'm at my desk now. Beer in hand.
Coventry is burning.