Mute

Chapter 4. Special delivery

I don't know what to think. Someone's got to be playing me. It's the zombies, they're messing with my head.

I've had a delivery.

That's right, a package arrived, a little plastic bag wrapped in tape and a letter stuck to it. Or a note, really. One bit of paper folded in half. I read it straight away. Of course I did.

Dear hopefully human person (or people)

I am a human and I'm living nearby. I won't say where because I don't know who might read this, if anyone.

I've seen that a small group of mutants hang around this building all the time so I think there must be someone inside.

I don't know if you're trapped in there or you control them or you're a mutant (or mutants) too.

If it's the first one (or it's the second and you have a REALLY good explanation for it) then please make contact using the attached. It's set on the right channel, don't touch that dial!

You have no idea how hard it was to get this to you.

Yours

Hopeful human

I pulled off the tape and ripped open the bag. There was a radio inside, one of the two-way ones like security guards use, or coppers. If this is real then all I have to do is turn it on and I'll be able to talk to a real-life other person. I'd really like to talk to a real-life other person.

But...

It's probably not real is it? It's probably the zombies messing with me, either for sport, or to lure me out. Why am I suspicious? Well that's very simple. There's a group of hungry zombies standing guard outside. How could anyone have parcelforced their way past them and dropped this off without getting eaten? I can't really picture it somehow... "Excuse me, scary monsters, I have a special delivery, it's for someone I've never met or even spoken to but who I think lives in this morgue, would you mind stepping aside so I can post it? No, that's okay, Mr. Zombie, I'll politely decline your offer to suck out my spleen if it's all the same to you."

It has to be the zombies, it's a plan to get me to come outside so they can eat me. They must have realised I've run out of bodies. Today's feed is well overdue.

But...

If the zombies are smart enough to set up an elaborate ruse, one involving walkie-talkies and handwritten notes, then surely they'd be clever enough to think of a much easier way to get me out. For starters they could just pour a load of petrol into the drawer and light it up, then keep pouring more and more in and keep it burning. They could keep that up indefinitely, there are plenty of abandoned cars about, and I know for sure that as soon as this place started filling up with smoke I'd try and make a bolt for it. Then they'd have me, and I'd be half-barbecued already. That would be a lot more straightforward than whatever the hell this charade is.

But if it's unlikely that they did this to trick me into coming out then it means they must have just done it for shits and giggles. If that's it then I refuse to give them the satisfaction of having got one over on me.

Can zombies feel satisfied?

Maybe when they've just eaten a nice brain.

But they don't really seem like the type to do pranks. They seem pretty fixated on that whole eating of human flesh vibe they've got going on.

Oh God I don't know. It's hard to think logically right now. I don't want to be a sucker and I've only got circumstantial evidence to go on, but it does kind of seem unlikely that the zombies posted me the radio.

Okay, let's run with that idea, try it on for size. If it's not the zombies, then who was it? I hope I'll be forgiven for being a bit on the paranoid side these days but I've got to consider that the person who gave me the note doesn't have good intentions when it comes to me. In those movies where the world's gone tits-up there's always a bunch of survivors who go nuts and band together in tribes that go around forcing people to fight to the death in some sort of dome they've inexplicably built from materials they've found lying around. If not that then they take them prisoner and do horrible things to them.

But it's only been a few weeks, maybe a month since the world went tits-up. That's not enough time to organise an army of marauders. And all jokes aside, I can't think what would be in it for someone who's survived this thing to go to all this trouble and danger just to get me to come out so they can do something awful to me.

And the handwriting on the note is really nice.

I'm shit scared, I don't mind admitting that, but then I've been shit scared since I left my flat and found that the world had become an arsehole. But there's something else I'm feeling, something that's working my gut in the same way as the fear is. I've not felt it for a while but I think I know what it is. I think it's excitement.

I don't know what to do. I should just flick the switch and talk. It can't do me any harm. I've got a day, maybe two, until I'm dead anyway so what does it matter?

What if it is an actual person? It's not impossible. There's that excitement again. Oh my dear Lord if it is a proper someone then there's a chance, some kind of chance. And any kind of chance is a million times better than where I am now, with no chance at all.

I'm doing it. I'm turning on the radio.

Jesus, my ears haven't heard much in the way of close-up sounds for ages and the fizz of static is proper harsh. I say hello and leave it for a few seconds, then I say it again and suddenly I hear a voice and it's a girl and I don't know how I know but I'm sure she's not a zombie, even though I know the zombies can talk almost exactly like humans. And as well as knowing she's not a zombie, I know, I can just tell, that she's not someone who wants to do me harm. All she's said is hello and I hope she can't hear me choking up. Even though I know it's completely impossible for her to get me out of here, I'm already thinking of what it's going to be like when she does get me out. Just from that one hello I'm pinning all my hopes on her.

I'd forgotten what hope felt like.

"Are you there?" She's whispering but I can hear her fine.

"I'm here." What's wrong with me? I haven't spoken to a human in a month and now the cat's got my stupid tongue. I go for the obvious. "What's your name?"

"Georgie. What's yours?"

"I'm Anthony, but everyone calls me Ant. Well, they used to when there was an everybody."

"I'd love to chat, Anthony, but I don't know how much power these things have got so we need to keep to the important stuff. And I'm going to say 'over' when I finish what I'm saying and it's your turn to speak, and you should do the same, okay?"

I say okay back but realise she hasn't said over and I'm talking over her. "Sorry... over."

"That's okay, Anthony. Is it just you in there? Over"

"Yes, just me. And you, are you with people or is it just you? Over."

"I'm alone as well. How long do you have food for? Over."

"I have food for a little while but I've run out of anything for them outside, so I'll be the food soon. Over."

There's a pause and I think she's been cut off but finally she speaks.

"I see. So if we are to get you out it has to be soon, right? Over."

"Yes, it has to be very soon. No pressure, sorry. Over."

"Anthony. I need to be honest with you, I'm not an action hero. I can't work a flamethrower and I can't slide down a power line shooting as I go. If I ever had to shoot someone I'd probably be sick. I need you to know that. Over."

"I understand. Over."

"Okay Anthony, here's what I need you to do..."