Gary crouched down, his heart beating fast.

The night air was cold, but Gary was sweating. He’d been running and hiding for half an hour around the outskirts of the farmhouse as he evaded his pursuers. The gentle slopes of the surrounding fields afforded him few places to hide, but Gary had shifted from a copse here to a crop of trees there, until he had made it to the stone wall that surrounded the west side of the farmhouse.

He glanced over the wall and saw torches waving in the darkness.

He didn’t need them to sense the people close-by, however. His undead senses told him that the living were out there and they were closing in on him.

“You can’t hide, Gary!” Jonathan’s voice called out through the night. He was nearby, closer than any of the others that were hunting Gary. Gary glanced over the wall again, to see the Jonathan’s glowing blade, directing him towards Gary’s location.

Behind him, other pursuers were also closing in.

And they were likely armed with guns.

“We know what you did, Gary,” Jonathan’s voice taunted him. “You’re sick, aren’t you? I mean, really sick. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? Lure us to this remote place, then kill us? I should never have trusted you. There’s no help for you Gary.”

Gary resisted the urge to shout back and scream out denials. He wasn’t sure how precise Jonathan’s sword would give of his location. He knew all of them could see Gary’s general location on their internal maps, but unless they had him in their sights, they wouldn’t be able to tell exactly where he was, or even if he was one of the living or the undead.

It was only a day ago that he had pulled up to the farmhouse with the other survivors. Things had been going okay for a while, even if trust had been shaky amongst everyone.

Now, twenty-four hours later, he was being hunted.

Rain was dead, or dying as far as he knew.

He had no allies at all. The others had either turned against him or were too scared to fight on Gary’s side.

I told you, Gary, the ravenous voice in his head spoke, I told you to kill and eat them all.

Gary pushed the rasping voice out of his mind and gripped his shovel.

He was going to have to fight his way out of this. He’d hesitated too long, and now the net was closing in around him.

For a brief second, Gary felt a sense of vertigo at the inversion that had occurred. In the zombie fiction that he knew of, there were living people being hunted by the undead, until the inevitable end. Or, if anyone was lucky, smart or strong enough, they managed to get out.

Here the living were hunting him, one of the undead.

Things were upside down, back-to-front and just plain fucked up.

The endless sound of Vivaldi’s Spring played through his mind, the tune of choice for the admin who still had him on hold. He wanted to scream at it to shut up. Its upbeat, scratchy violins were driving him half-mad.

Think, Gary. Think! he told himself.

There was only one chance: He was going to have to fight his way past Jonathan and get to the farmhouse, get into his van and get the hell out of here as fast as he could.

“Gaaaary...” a sing-song voice called out, “Weeee’re goooooing to geeeeet yooooou!”

The nursery-school sounding taunt was one of the most chilling things Gary had ever heard.

How the hell had he become the bad guy? It was insane!

Without warning, the violins stopped.

Gary? Are you there?

Gary, half way to jumping across the wall and launching himself at Jonathan, hesitated.

Juliet? Is that you?

Hi Gary, how are things going? I’m sorry for the delay in getting back to you, but this is proving a little more complicated than I thought it was going to be, you see…

Juliet, look I don’t want to be rude, but this isn’t a great time.

Oh, I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?

Gary glanced over the wall again. Jonathan was getting closer. Gary could sense the living all around him.

I’m just in a bit of a situation right now.

Oh, right, let me just check your logs and I’ll see what’s been going on. Is it okay if I do that?

Yes, that’s fine, I’m just not sure I can talk right now…

Should I put you back on hold until there’s a better time?

The way things were going, Gary wasn’t sure there was going to be a better time. Or any time at all, for that matter. Plus, the relief from not having the violins playing through his head was worth the interruption.

No, don’t do that, just give me a second I need to…

Gary felt the cold, hard metal of a gun muzzle tap against his cheek. Whilst he had been distracted, someone had snuck up from behind.

“Got you, you sick son of a bitch,” the soldier said. “Time to answer for what you did.”

*

24 hours earlier

“Well, it’s a bit on the dirty side, isn’t it? I thought you said that this was some kind of family rental property?”

Looking around, Gary had to agree with Fran’s complaint. The farmhouse looked as if it hadn’t been fully cleaned for several months or more. Further investigation revealed that the sheets and blankets that were prepared for visitors appeared to have been undisturbed for a similar period. Gary was surprised. The last he’d heard of the property, his uncle was using it to rent out to holiday goers.

He shrugged the complaints off, however, and dismissed the unkempt nature of the property. Uncle David probably just hadn’t been able to find enough customers. It was November, so maybe the farmhouse was empty during the off-season. It didn’t matter, Gary decided.

Gary focussed on giving the others a quick tour of the facilities of the place. Although it was ten years since he was last here, he recalled the layout. The electricity was still working, but the flatscreen television displayed a “Please Stand By” sign on all channels.

The survivors set about sorting out the sleeping arrangements. With only three bedrooms, there was some dispute over who should sleep where. In the end, half of them were forced to choose to sleep in the living room and dining room, using cushions and camping mattresses. Gary noticed that Rain didn’t choose a sleeping place and instead left once she had the layout of the building, muttering about doing a perimeter check.

Everyone was exhausted after the events of the day, but most agreed that finding a safe place had been the best idea for the time being. Sandwiches, pies and crisps from the service station were divvied up, with Peter taking on the role of rationing and checking supplies.

“What are we going to do next?” Fran asked, turning to Jonathan for leadership.

“For now, I think we’re all going to need a good night’s sleep,” Jonathan said, “But we need to set up a watch system. We don’t know what’s out there and we can’t afford to be caught unawares. I’ll take the first shift.”

“I’ll join you,” Gary said.

Jonathan’s eyes flicked across the Gary, then he nodded, “Fine. We should have two people on watch at all times. Regular patrols around the outskirts of the farmhouse, that kind of thing.”

“Are we safe now?” James asked. “I mean, is it going to be alright to fall asleep and stuff? I don’t know if I’m going to be able to after all of this.”

“We can take the second watch, James,” Gemma spoke up. “I doubt I’ll get more than a few hours sleep at most anyway.”

“I think we’re as safe as we can be,” Jonathan said. “Gary was right. This is out of the way. There aren’t any cemeteries nearby, or even any villages. Hopefully, anything that might attack us is a long way off.”

There was visible relief on the faces of the survivors.

“I dunno,” Goremaster said. “I wanna kill some zombies. This hiding and so on is alright, but we need to be getting out there and levelling up, don’t we?”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at Gary. “And is it safe to have him here?”

“For the last time,” Gary said through gritted teeth, “I’m not a zombie. I’m just like you. This is all a mistake.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you say,” Goremaster muttered.

“Leave him alone,” Chantelle said. “He’s doing his best.”

One by one, the survivors turned in to their respective bedrooms, using the blankets and sleeping bags that Gary’s uncle had stored in the farmhouse.

For the next hour or so, the farmhouse was filled with whispered conversations about the events of the day, which gradually tapered off as exhaustion took over.

Soon, there was only Gary and Jonathan left awake.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, as they processed everything that had occurred.

It was Jonathan that broke the silence between them.

“We should talk.”

Gary nodded.

“I guess I should show you around as well.”

They stepped outside and Jonathan produced a packet of cigarettes filched from the service station. He offered one to Gary. Gary was surprised, knowing that Jonathan was a PE teacher.

Gary was tempted, but he shook his head. It occurred to him that his regenerative abilities might offset any damage done, but he’d put a bit of effort into quitting the habit and didn’t want to undo that for a mere nicotine hit.

“I quit,” he said, “You smoke?”

Jonathan lit up the cigarette and took a long, deep drag.

“Only when it’s the end of the fucking world.”