Breaking News: An Autozombiography by N. J. Hallard Page A

keep going south.’
    I wondered how to get the huge bottle of water open as we continued south on the narrow lane, towards the coast but still a good twenty miles inland. We passed another field on our left, catching glimpses of the tops of cars through the trees which were moving faster than we were. Up ahead was a dirt track tracing through the field, leading to a one-lane service bridge which rose up and over the A23 itself.
    ‘ We’ve got to get on the other side of the road anyway, if we’re going to get on it without causing an accident,’ Al rubbed his chin and looked at me. ‘What do you reckon?’
    ‘ Let’s do it – that bridge is probably for a farmer to get over the road to the rest of his field.’ I said. ‘I’ll open the gate,’ I offered, then realised I’d have to get out of the car to do so. It was hot; moreover, there were zombies afoot. I checked behind us; in front of us; either side of us. I waited then checked again.
    ‘ Right, I’m going – keep your eyes peeled and beep if you see any freaks.’
    I got out of the car and ran the five metres or so to the gate. There was a chain, but it had no padlock and was easily pulled away from the gate – obviously a visual deterrent more than a practical one. I swung the gate wide, and Al gingerly left the tarmac for the parched mud of the field.
    ‘ Grab that chum,’ Al motioned at the chain. ‘We might need it.’
    ‘ You’ve got your magpie eyes on today,’ I said, running with the gate until it shut, then wound the thick galvanised chain around my arm and headed back for the car. Al watched me sit in my seat before taking us down the track and up onto the bridge which was strewn with hay and dung. We looked down onto the A23 at the heavy traffic, sluggish but still moving in both directions, and up to the odd column of smoke smudging the blue sky above the towns.
    ‘ This is all very saucy,’ Al murmured as we headed down the arc of the bridge and onto new tarmac which doubled back on itself through a gap in a high fence, under the bridge and onto the southbound lane of the dual carriageway.
    ‘ Emergency Services Vehicles Only, my arse,’ Al said dramatically, heading under the bridge. ‘Tell The Man his rules are dead.’ He nosed the Audi down the slipway onto the hard shoulder, and forced a gap in the constant stream of cars to much indignant tooting. As soon as he could, we peeled away into the fast lane. Progress.
    Al was happy to keep his head down, happy to just be making progress back home. Every so often someone would come thundering past on the hard shoulder but from what I could see from the purple faces, it seemed to be testosterone-fuelled road-rage as opposed to Armageddon panic-driving. No point rushing though - people still die from road accidents even during a zombie invasion. At points the hard shoulder at the side of the road was jammed up, with cars mounting the verge and people dotting the embankment. We saw a scrap taking place between the drivers of a minivan and a Mondeo, with wives or girlfriends dutifully pulling at shirts. In a lot of the cars people in the back seat were wrapped in travel rugs, the odd grey face staring out open-mouthed at the traffic. I did a double-take as we pulled alongside one car - a young boy was driving. He looked no more than ten and could barely see over the wheel. He turned to face me as my window drew level with his. Our eyes met, and he looked scared. The rest of the car was filled with slumped figures and duvets.
    The good thing about not being a scared ten-year-old any more is that you can hide it better. The bad thing about being a scared adult is that you’re the fucking responsible adult. Why did it have to be a zombie outbreak? Give me an alien invasion or walking shrubbery any day.

 

 
    I don’t know where it all started. The seeds were surely planted years ago as a child: maybe by a snatched VHS glimpse of a long recorded-over splatter movie, a few frames of a