“What do you mean?” Joan asked.
Sue thought for a moment. “Can they be sneaky? I mean ... if we sneak off outside and they jump out on us...”
“You mean ... ambush?”
Sue nodded.
“I don't know if they're sneaky, but what we do know is that if you're getting chased they will not stop until they catch you.”
Sue stroked her chin in thought and said, “But if they are human, they should get out of breath like any other person could.”
Gordon nodded. “That's actually a good point. They can die like any of us. I shot one in the chest with Christopher's gun and it never got back up. So why not get out of breath, or even suffer stitch?”
Said Sue, “So they can die if they are on fire?”
“Well, you hit one with your jeep when you first arrived, and that seemed to have damaged it. So they can pretty much die like the rest of us. If you hit a dog with your car, it'll die. If you hit a dog with your car and it has rabies, it'll die.”
“So these people have rabies or something?”
“No, Sue,” Gordon laughed. “I'm just saying that these things are not super-human, they're infected and can die just the same way as you and I could.”
A quilt of silence smothered the three of them for a couple of minutes until Gordon spoke up. “I need a shit.”
“Oh charming.” Joan didn't know whether to laugh of not.
“I'm sorry, but I really do.”
“I could go for a wee.” It was Sue's turn to speak. “And I'm so thirsty.”
Joan said, “Me too.”
Gordon sighed and shook his head. “We're gonna have to leave. You know that, don't you?”
Sue and Joan gaped at one another and didn't look pleased at the reality check Gordon Burns had given them. If they stayed in the attic for days, dehydration and starvation was going to kill them if the beasts didn't.
Joan queried, “And when do you think we should leave?”
Gordon looked at both women and said, “Right now.”
Gordon Burns grabbed a chair from the corner of the attic and placed it gently underneath the skylight.
“Are you sure about this, Gordon?” asked Joan, now biting her nails.
“Not really.” He gave off a thin smile, but his face quivered in fright. “But I certainly don't want to die slowly from dehydration.”
“So you'd rather die being killed by those things out there?”
Gordon laughed, looked at both women and said, “I wouldn't die. I'd just be infected.”
“Wait a minute.” Joan held her hand up and cocked her head to listen.
Sue whispered, “What is it?”
“I can't hear anything anymore,” she said, referring to the bedroom underneath them.
Gordon walked over slowly, making sure his steps were as soft as possible, bent down and placed his left ear near the hatch. For minutes he listened whilst Joan and Sue sat in silence patiently.
“I think it's clear,” he announced nervously.
“Let's just stay here for a while.” Sue looked reluctant to move. “They might not come back.”
Ignoring Sue, Joan said, “If we can get to the side of the place, my car's there.” Joan pulled out her car keys from her back pocket and gave them a shake.
“Your car keys' whereabouts was gonna be my next question.” Gordon raised a smile. “That's sorted then.”
Gordon had his hand on the latch to lower the ladders and said, “I can check the house out on my own. No point putting ourselves in danger by going over the roof if the house is clear.”
“No, Gordon.” Joan shook her head. “I'm not gonna let you do that.”
“Shut your lips and listen to me. Pull the ladders back up after I'm down, and if I'm attacked there'd be no way of me getting to you once I ... turn.”
Said Joan, “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Okay?”
Both females nodded, and Gordon had one more listen before lowering the ladders into the empty bedroom. He grabbed the shotgun, made sure both barrels were full, and slowly made his way downstairs into the unknown.
Before he could whisper an instruction up to the girls, Joan had already raised the ladders. He looked out of the bedroom window to see, apart from Sue's crashed car, that the area was clear.
No Runners. Where did they go?
Gordon remembered a conversation they had in the attic about them learning. Maybe they were hiding in the house, fooling them, and giving the survivors the impression that they had gone. Ridiculous, Gordon thought. But then again so was infected humans running amok across the country, feeding and infecting other humans. It was like something out of a Matheson novel.
Despite his concerns and his constant shaking, he checked the other rooms, avoided the bathroom where Stripy John lay in a bloody mess, and stood on the landing and peered downstairs.
Raising the shotgun he crept downstairs and could feel his temporal pulse smacking away from inside of his head. He had never been so nervous in all his life. There were only two incidents in his life that came close to the way he was feeling right now.
The first one was when he was sixteen.
A crowd of older boys surrounded him and asked for money. He told them to go and fuck themselves and was thrown to the ground and kicked repeatedly, receiving a fractured cheekbone, four broken ribs, a broken wrist and heavy bruising. Maybe he was lucky to get away with that.
The second time was when he was in his early twenties. He was drunk and had left a nightclub early whilst his friends remained inside. He waited outside for them and an altercation occurred between him and another drunken reveller. Punches were thrown and one knife wound to Gordon Burns' stomach had gave him the fright of his life. The attacker had fled the scene, whilst the bouncers from the club called the emergency services.
Gordon was now at the bottom of the stairs and was facing the front door that looked like it had been forced open. It was wide open, revealing the outside, and was almost hanging off its hinges. He tried to close it, but the door wasn't budging. He went into the living room and tried to ignore the bloody carnage lying on the floor, and checked where the window used to be.
The wood had been smashed through and it appeared that it had been a pathetic attempt to stop them from coming in. He went into the kitchen and ran the tap, sticking his head under the water. He then grabbed a plastic bottle and filled it, thinking of the girls. He tucked it into his pocket and went back upstairs, feeling the shooting pain up his back passage.
He desperately needed the toilet. If he didn't go now, he was going to shit his pants without a doubt. So he did the unthinkable.
He quickly went into the bathroom, trying to ignore Stripy John's bloody body in the bath, dropped his trousers, sat on the toilet seat and went for it. He was finished in two minutes and hurried back to the attic.
“It's me.” He stood underneath the attic and waited for a reaction.
He could hear movement and watched as the ladders were lowered down.
Joan popped her head through and gave Gordon a smile. “All clear?”
Gordon smiled. “It's all clear. I hope you've got plenty of fuel in your car.”
“Almost a full tank.”
“Good.” Gordon then waved Joan down, and did the same when Sue made her face seen. “We better hurry.”
“And go where?” Joan queried.
“Somewhere safe.”
“And where's that?”
“I don't know. But it's not here.”
The women made their way down to the ground floor. Sue gave Gordon a hug, pleased that he was okay, but Joan didn't bother.
“Okay. Let's fucking do this.” Joan straightened her back and released a big puff out. Gordon could see she was nervous—they were all fucking nervous, but he admired her bravery. “My car's parked at the side of the guesthouse, the Renault Clio. I'll lead the way.”
They quickly went downstairs and were still apprehensive despite Gordon givi
ng it the all clear, and all gulped when they reached outside.
“This way.” Joan began to jog as she spotted her car. Other vehicles were there that more than likely belonged to the Hortons, James and Stripy John.
She pressed the key fob and unlocked the vehicle. She jumped in the front, Gordon went into the passenger seat and Sue sat behind them. Joan started the engine, locked the doors from the inside and left the premises. She turned right and went along the country road, with no idea where she was going.
“So where to now?” Sue was almost in tears and clung onto Gordon's head-restraint, her nails digging into the rubber.
“Anywhere.” Joan sounded unsure. “If it's a farm, a pub or another guesthouse, it'll do.”
“And what if these things have already reached these places?”
“I don't fucking know, Sue.” Joan couldn't hide her agitation and was immediately sorry for her outburst. Sue was worried, just like they all were, and had lost her son that Joan had to shoot.
“We'll stop at the first place that looks safe,” said Gordon.
“I'm sorry, Sue,” Joan spoke up.
“Don't be.” Sue smiled thinly. “Let's face it, we're all shitting a brick.”
The road was becoming windy and the day was getting murkier with the dark clouds that hung above their heads. It was the afternoon, but it'd soon be the evening again and the darkness would only increase the danger.
Joan continued to swerve around the bendy road, going too fast for Gordon's liking, and once she found a long stretch of road that descended she began to slow down.
Gordon and Sue didn't need to ask what was wrong, they could see for themselves. In the distance they could see a figure standing with its back to them. Joan eventually brought the car to a stop, unsure what to do next.
No one in the vehicle spoke and they could see the man in the distance slowly turning around. Maybe he could hear the engine. The figure that was over a hundred yards away began to slowly walk towards Joan's Renault Clio.
“Maybe it's not one of them.” Sue looked on from the back, shivers running down her spine.
The man then began to sprint towards them, forcing Joan to say, “It's definitely one of them.”
“Reverse!” Gordon urged the dithering driver. “Fucking reverse and go the other way!”
Joan turned to Gordon and asked him, “When you drove along these Pennines the other night, did you come across any places to stay?”
“Well, no!” Gordon wasn't in the mood for daft questions. “The Horton's guesthouse was the first thing I came across.”
“Then what's the point going back the way? There could be more that way, coming from County Durham.”
“Gonna just pissing move.” Gordon glared to see the man fast approaching. “Any direction.”
Joan slipped the car into gear and hit the accelerator. She got to third gear and reached almost forty; they all screamed out as the vehicle smashed into the Runner. It hit the bonnet, and went over the roof and landed on the other side. Joan stopped the car and looked at the body in the rear-view mirror. It was lying on the floor, curled up, but it was twitching and wasn't quite dead yet.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” yelled Gordon.
Sue didn't say anything; she just sat in the back seat and sobbed.
Joan slipped the car into reverse and shot backwards. All three jumped up a little as the car went over the body, and again when she brought it forwards.
Joan looked in the rear-view mirror, with a smile on her face, as she drove away. The body was motionless. “Try and get up from that, you cunt.”
“I'm sorry.” Gordon had his hands on his head and moaned, “You're not enjoying this, are you?”
“Of course not. Just needed to make sure.” Joan then took a quick look over her shoulder. “You alright in the back?”
“I think I've pissed myself,” said Sue.
“Lovely.”
The vehicle hit a steep road and Gordon looked out of his passenger window. The hills of this area was really a sight to behold. As soon as the vehicle went over the tip of the hill the view was even more spectacular.
“Look!” screamed Sue.
They could see a white building up ahead, on the left hand side.
“Careful,” warned Gordon. “It may not be safe.”
As they got closer they could see that the large building was an inn called The White Horse.
“It seems bare enough,” said Joan, as the Renault turned into the car park. There was a black Subaru jeep in the car park, and they assumed that this vehicle belonged to the owner or owners of this fine establishment.
Joan parked up, pulled the handbrake up and switched off the engine. They looked through the windscreen and glared at the back of the pub, unsure what to do next.
“So?” Sue was the first person to speak up. “What do we do now?”
Gordon opened the passenger door, clutching onto the shotgun. “We go in.”
Chapter Twenty Three
Gordon tried the door of the pub and gave it a little push with his hand. He told Joan to hold the shotgun, then gave the door a heavier nudge with his shoulder. He tried again, winced, and began rubbing his deltoid.
Joan giggled, “Looks easier in the movies.”
Gordon never responded and blushed a little because of his pathetic attempt to break down the door. He took the shotgun off of Joan and began to think. “Maybe if I...” He pointed the gun at the door, at where the lock could be, but protests from Joan and Sue thwarted his idea.
“Don't be a fucking idiot, Gordon?” Joan slapped him across the shoulder. “There's none of those freaks here, but one blast could ruin that.”
“It's the only way.”
“No it's not.”
“Have you got any better suggestions?”
“Yeah,” a voice came from above them, making all three gasp. They all looked up and could see a bald, hard-looking man hanging out of his window, glaring at them. “You could always just knock. You're not the sharpest crayon in the toolbox, are you?”
Joan leaned in and whispered to Gordon. “Doesn't he mean ... tool?”
*
They had been in the place for a matter of minutes. The man had informed them that he was the owner of the pub and was called Lloyd Dickinson. He was a tall, muscular fellow, and looked like a 'retired' football hooligan. Gordon noticed that the man's forearms were covered in tattoos, but couldn't make them out. Asking about their significance was not important and was something that could wait.
Lloyd came across that he was a no-nonsense individual and swore a lot, making Sue uncomfortable, but it didn't bother Joan as she could be just as bad. Lloyd had a son who he called Junior, and seemed like a chip off the old block. Junior was fourteen years old, obviously looked up to his old man, and also released the odd profanity and had a stance as if he was as tough as old boots. But Gordon was certain that it was just an act. After all, he was just fourteen. He was a kid.
If Gordon was fourteen and this thing had kicked off he would have shat himself. But maybe Junior was confident. He had a tough-looking dad who he must have thought that he was the hardest man on the planet.
They were all sitting, the BBC news was on the TV, on mute, and the three guests were waiting for Junior to come in from the kitchen with the three cups of teas that was promised to them. Once he arrived, he plonked the cups down and disappeared. They watched the television for ten minutes in quiet.
“So what's your story, man?” Lloyd Dickinson eventually asked the three. He was sitting in the armchair whilst Joan, Sue and Gordon were huddled on the sofa. “If I'm gonna let you lot stay the night, I better get to know you all.”
Gordon was the first to speak. “I live in Gretna, but I was coming back from my Nan's funeral. We all met at a guesthouse, just down the road.”
“I kind of know the couple that run it,” Lloyd said.
“You mean you knew the couple that used to run it.”
“O
h, I see.” Lloyd gaped at Joan and noticed something hiding behind her brown shoulder length hair. “And what about you, sugar pants?”
Joan smirked at his comment and said, “What do you wanna know. My age? I'm thirty four. I'm divorced—”
Lloyd pointed. “What's that on your neck, girl?”
Gordon could see that Joan's face had drained of all colour. “What's what? Where did your son go to?”
Lloyd smirked at Joan trying to change the subject, but answered her query anyway. “He's in his room, playing the Xbox.” Lloyd leaned over and took a closer look at her neck. “How did you get that scar?”
Joan stammered, and could feel everybody's eyes on her.
“And who's Jimmy?” He nodded towards the gold necklace that was around her neck, with 'Jimmy' engraved on the heart pendant.
Joan never answered and Gordon could see she was getting tetchy. Gordon could understand why Lloyd wanted to get to know them, but thought he was too pushy and intrusive.
“Can I get myself a glass of water?” Gordon asked Lloyd, who quickly nodded. “Anyone else need another drink?”
Nobody answered, so Gordon went to the kitchen by himself.
Lloyd looked at Sue. “What about you, angel cake? You look traumatised. You three must have seen some shit.”
Joan gave Lloyd a five-minute summary of what had happened and why they had to flee the guesthouse. By the time Gordon had returned with his glass of water Joan was nearly finished.
“Did you have to kill any?” Gordon asked Lloyd and sat back down on the couch, inbetween the girls.
“There was a couple in the car park, just standing about.” Lloyd began to cackle as he remembered the day before. “I knew what they were, after watching the TV reports, so I just went out there and cracked a few skulls, then dumped them by the pond.”
“Pond?” asked Joan.
“There's a pond at the back of this place, behind the trees. It's not that big.”
“What's on the other side of the pond?”
“Nothing really, man. There's a small island in the middle of it. There's a mad old bastard that lives there called Mickey Round,” Lloyd began to explain. “He's got a little rowing boat that he never uses that's tied up by his hut. He's a strange old cunt. Hardly ever see him, to be honest. He must like the isolation.”
The Monsterland Trilogy [Books 1-3] Page 9
