Breeding Ground

by Sarah Pinborough

  Hissing, all stealth forgotten, the widow leapt upwards, slamming itself into the windscreen, its mandibles clacking hungrily at the glass. I don’t know who screamed first or whether panic overtook us all at the same time, but amongst the others, I could hear my own cry as I raised my hands to protect my face. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ. It was coming for us. It wanted us.

  Pulling back, it launched at the glass again with such force that its grotesque lower body should have burst on impact. Instead, it quivered like a distended water balloon as the legs sought purchase, one clinging to the inside of my open window, the creature’s furore finding release in an unholy high-pitched wail that seemed to come through its damp skin rather than mouths.

  “Oh shit, oh shit . . .” Sweating, my shaking fingers pulled too hard at the key ring and the ignition key clattered to the foot well beneath me. The shrieking stopped as the widow twisted, suddenly aware that two of its legs were creeping inward; it froze on the bonnet for a split second before turning, realising its advantage. A small gust of wind caressed my cheek, as if teasing me through the gaping hole in our armour.

  “Just close the fucking window! Just close the fucking window!” Nigel’s warm spit rained onto the tips of my ears as he screeched from the rear, his fist pummelling into the back of my seat.

  “I fucking can’t, all right?” As I yelled my frustrated words at his reflection in the rearview mirror, the disgusting thing on the bonnet took a small, terrifyingly agile jump to the right, still pressing itself into the glass, shifting towards my window, the legs that were close enough stabbing inside, trying to find the leverage to haul its repulsive body in and upon us.

  “Christ.” Releasing my seatbelt, I wriggled to the left, pushing myself over with my feet until I was wedged in beside George. As two spindly legs hooked into the driver’s door, a third reached for me, stopping only two or three inches from my sweating face, stretched almost straight from each of its joints, some clear gel-like substance starting to ooze from its pointed tip turning white in the air before dripping onto the driver’s seat and controls below.

  In the corner of my vision I could see the burning eyes seeking me out through the thin protection of glass, and there was intelligence in them; angry, hateful intelligence, calculating the attack, taking its time, knowing we were no match for it.

  Fumbling hastily beside me, George flipped open the dashboard and scrabbled inside. “There’s nothing in here. I can’t find anything.” The frustration screeched in his trembling voice as the mundane and useless bits of life gone by tumbled out onto the floor. His elbow nudged into me as he reached desperately further within the dark recess, pushing me a breath away from the spewing legs that stretched out dripping their almost-liquid juice millimetres from my jeans and face. I allowed my eyes to flash at him for a second, the heat of fear burning my face.

  “Jesus, George!”

  “Sorry . . . sorry . . .”

  Beneath me, I could feel the thin brittle bones of his legs as I pressed into them, my body almost sitting on his lap, the sweat from my terrified skin no doubt melting into his. Behind us, Nigel scrambled to the other end of the backseat as the window became filled by the bulbous midsection of the nightmarish, sectioned, translucent torso.

  “It’s coming in, isn’t it? This isn’t exactly how I saw this all ending. Not quite so soon.” The brutal futility in George’s voice was inescapable, and I stared at the pulsing alien, which slowly twisted and bent itself in front of us so that its eyes dipped into view, pausing to enjoy its moment of power.

  It hissed at us in victory, filling our vision, and as we flinched and pulled back against the locked door, eyes squeezing tight, it mirrored us in preparation for the final attack. My heart pounding, I waited to feel its awful skin against mine as it came through the window.

  Instead, the hiss turned into a screech and my eyes flew open in time to see the widow twist angrily around and leap from the car. Behind it, everything was happening so fast that I couldn’t take it in. Flames and smoke leapt from something in Dave’s hand, and despite my shock I heard myself yelling at him to back away, the thing was too close, it was far too damn close to him, twisting and turning and lashing out, and then for a second the man was lost in a blur of limbs and people and smoke, and all I could see was John beating at it with a golf club and Katie coming in close, creating flames of her own with a large aerosol can and a lighter, her pretty face tight with grim determination. From beneath them a dark, thick smoke rose upwards, spreading its putrid aroma into the atmosphere. The insides of my nostrils burned, as the screeching finally stopped.

  For a moment none of us moved, and all I could hear was the panting of those outside, and the pounding of my trembling heart inside, until eventually there was a bout of dry coughing from ground level and Dave pulled himself to his feet.

  With my fingers chilly at the tips and clumsy with numbness, where no doubt the blood had withdrawn in mortal terror, I tried the lock. The button slid up smoothly and I stepped outside, looking down at the mangled leftover of the widow on the ground, my guts turning.

  His lungs clear, Dave sniffed. “Well, at least we know the pissed off bitches can die.” His smile was wan and I could feel that the one I returned wasn’t exactly confident. George appeared quietly beside us. “What happened to your wrist?”

  Following the old man’s gaze, I saw that Dave had one arm held carefully in his other hand. A small patch of blood crept through his shirt, staining it brightly. He shrugged. “I think it bit me. Doesn’t hurt much. I don’t think it was deep.”

  George nodded. “That’s as may be, but I think we’d better get it cleaned up and bandaged before we go. We can’t take any risks.”

  Dave didn’t fight the suggestion too hard, and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach as we sat subdued and silent, watching Katie and George work, that Dave had lied a little about the pain. The thin veneer of sweat on his pale face hinted that the bite was bothering him more than he let on. It was bothering him enough not to fight Katie’s suggestion that she drive his car, at any rate.

  Above us the clouds were darkening, giving the afternoon the impression of being much later, and it seemed to me that we had all aged a little in that twenty minutes or so. Just how long would we survive in this new world? And just how long would we be able to keep trying? Finally ready to get moving, I slid back into the driver’s seat of the truck, not taking much comfort from my quiet passengers, and this time when I turned the key, the engine purred into life without a hitch.

  As we pulled away from the glass and metal city, heading out of the manufactured grid system and into the older, wilder Buckinghamshire, I resisted the urge to look back. In fact, none of us turned in our seats. Perhaps we all realised that to look back was pointless. There was nothing there for us now except lost dreams and lives and loves. To look back meant death.

  There was one thing I was beginning to be sure of—if we were going to survive this thing, then we needed to concentrate on the future.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We’d been driving for about twenty minutes when the clouds roared and ripped themselves open, releasing their heavy wet cargo. The noise of the water beating against the windscreen was a welcome relief from the silence. None of us felt like talking, and although I’d put a CD on when we’d first left Milton Keynes, the haunting sounds of the past were too much to bear, and when I turned it off, there were no complaints from my passengers.

  I peered through the rhythmical sweeping of the wiper blades. The water seemed to be coming in sheets, whole puddles falling from the skies rather than drops, as if even the forces of nature were trying to wash us from the face of the earth. The world beyond the glass was a constantly shifting blur and I slowed down, dropping a gear. “This is all we need,” I muttered, leaning forward slightly, my eyes squinting.

  The wide dual carriageways of the new city had started to weave into the smaller darker roads that led into the outlying villages, and with the rain
and clouds blocking out the natural light and evening slowly coming upon us, we could have done with the benefit of street lamps. Beside me, George was equally alert, scanning the road ahead and its borders for any sign of widows, and I could feel the tension in his body. I glanced in my rearview mirror for a moment to check that the others were still close by. Katie was driving the car behind me, and I didn’t like the idea of her getting into any trouble whilst I was too lost in my own thoughts to notice. From her hesitancy when pulling away from the supermarket, I’d guessed that she didn’t have too much experience in handling a big four-wheel drive, and although Dave would be talking her through it, in his injured state I wasn’t sure how much comfort or relief he would be.

  “So, where are we going to go?” Nigel’s voice was calm, none of the irritating whine I now associated with him present. In fact, he just sounded the way I felt—tired to the bone. Maybe the shock of the attack had knocked that pretentious defensive-aggressiveness out of him. Glancing behind me, I reckoned I’d still be happier when he finally loosened that ridiculous tie. I reckoned he would be, too. I couldn’t see ties featuring heavily in the immediate dress code of our new society.

  “I don’t know. Right now, I’m just heading out of Milton Keynes. You got any suggestions?” I hoped he had, because despite having lived around Buckinghamshire all my life, my brain was pretty empty on ideas.

  “London?” He leaned forward. “Maybe the government’s got some kind of control of what’s going on there.”

  The good old faith in they again rearing its head. It seemed logical, but the thought of that teeming London population, half of it evolved and hungry, turned my stomach. What if we got there to find widows spewing their sticky trails over Downing Street? All I could see for the moment was a vivid image of Tony Blair, cocooned and terrified, as the unrecognisable Cherie approached for an afternoon snack. Perhaps we weren’t quite ready for London yet.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of an army base or something. Somewhere with relatively good defences where there may be some more survivors.”

  He nodded, but there was a small flash in his eye at the disagreement. The kind of look that said, You’re talking shit, and if I wasn’t so dependent on you right now and if I wasn’t so fucking tired then I’d so enjoy telling you where to shove your better ideas. Maybe the pain in the arse Nigel was still alive and kicking in there after all. But right now, I didn’t have the energy for him.

  “It’s just a suggestion. Maybe London is the best place to head.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” George twisted in his seat so that he could see both of us, and his ancient face was very much alive, his eyes bright. “There’s a place out by Hanstone. It’s a government place, Foreign Office, I think. A lot of the guys down at the bowls club used to work up there. It must be pretty secure, I mean it’s surrounded by barbwire and high walls, and I think we can’t ask for much more than that.” Listening to him, I felt my own tiredness lifting a little.

  “But the best thing is,” as he spoke he allowed himself an optimistic grin, “it’s a communications centre. That’s what the old boys at the club used to specialise in, anyway. So if we can get some contact with the outside world anywhere, then we’ve got a good chance of it being there.”

  The grin was infectious and I allowed myself a brief look away from the windscreen to share it. Even Nigel was smiling. Maybe he didn’t mind George having the best suggestion, as if he was beginning to realize our survival was not some kind of boyish competition.

  “Sounds good.” Hanstone was north of Milton Keynes, just across the border of Northamptonshire, pretty much back the way we’d come, maybe five or six miles from Stony Stratford. I’d been idly heading south, so we’d need to turn round. “Shall I go back through the city, or take the scenic route?”

  All of our spirits risen, I think I wasn’t alone in not wanting to invite depression by going back to such familiar territory, and so despite the treacherous weather, we opted to take the country roads and work our way through the villages. As I came to the next T-junction I veered to the left to start our circle back. Behind me, the other two cars followed like obedient children, no questions asked, but I had no illusion that it was me they had the faith in. George was the quiet, calm leader of our assorted band, and I was happy with it being that way.

  Despite the slightly renewed energy granted to us by having a destination, within fifteen minutes the weather was so bad that our speed dropped to about ten cautious miles an hour. The wind had picked up, driving the rain into us, making visibility worse, and the deluge of water collected rapidly beneath the wheels, occasionally sending us sliding heart-stoppingly out of control towards the fields on either side. It was getting darker too; the twilight was almost unnatural. My eyes began to hurt from squinting.

  “Perhaps we should have gone back through the city.” Nigel’s murmur sounded like an accusation, and I bit my tongue to stop the angry retort that burned there. George said nothing and we slipped into silence once again as we crawled through the miles. It was a relief when we drove under a small pool of light given off from a lone street lamp about half a mile outside the village of Pickford, the metal pole guarding a solitary one-story building, my vision for a brief second given a moment to relax.

  We were about thirty yards past it when behind us Katie flashed her headlights several times, her own vehicle stopped. Carefully reversing back up the dark road, I came to a stop in front of her bonnet, and jumping out of the car, ran the few steps to her driver’s window. The water soaked me instantly, but the shock was its warmth. I felt as if I were standing beneath a hot shower, and the wind was barely cooler than the liquid. As the force of air threatened to push me over, I felt a vague inner disquiet at how tropical the world around me felt. Not like England at all.

  Katie wound down her window, her tired face looking thin and even younger. “We’ve got a flat, rear left. We’ve had it for about half an hour but there didn’t seem to be anywhere safe to stop.”

  She was right. Standing outside alone in the darkness, with this wild weather cutting through my clothes, I didn’t feel safe at all.

  “You want to change the tyre here?” My heart sank, but she shook her head.

  “No. I thought we could rest up a bit here, in the scout hut. It seems far enough away from any houses or anything.”

  I looked behind me at the building we’d just passed and saw she was right. It was a solid old stone building with a thick oak door, small and secure. A worn wooden sign proclaimed it the Pickford Scouts Meeting Place, but from the state of the chipped lettering, it didn’t seem to me that the scouts were a thriving business in the little village. Staring at it, however, the idea of a rest was appealing. At the rate we were going it would take us half the night to get to Hanstone, and we’d still need to sort out Katie’s car. If she drove on it much longer she’d damage the wheel, especially with all the weight in there, and then we could be stuck in a much worse situation.

  She was still waiting for an answer, and I nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ll tell the others.”

  Behind the wheel of the third car and on his own, I could tell John was relieved even though he was trying not to show it. He pulled his Land Rover up onto the verge and turned it off before stepping out.

  “Shit, it’s warm out here.” He protected his face from the wind, but his surprise was obvious.

  Nodding, I led him past the street lamp and through the small gate. Away from the immediate light, the gloominess crept in threateningly.

  “Let’s worry about the weather later. How the hell are we going to get in?”

  John pointed up at a small window just above his head. “Can you give me a leg up to there? I think I could get through and see if I can open the door from the inside.”

  Crouching down, I locked my hands and his wet boot stepped into them, jumping up as I pushed. He wasn’t as heavy as I expected, but I hadn’t given anyone a leg up since my teens and the awkwardness of it mad
e me wobble slightly, John’s thin hands digging into my shoulder occasionally to steady his own body as we weaved in the wind, a pathetic human totem pole.

  “You okay up there?” Warm water sprayed into my mouth as I twisted my neck round and I spat it out, the abnormal tepidity unpleasant.

  “Yep,” he called down. “Now keep us steady and keep your face down! I’m going to break the glass.”

  Turning my face away from the rain was a welcome relief and I squeezed my eyes shut. My feet slipped slightly as John banged his elbow into the small pane, the shock of the hard contact echoing down his legs and through my body.

  “Fuck, that hurt. This glass is fucking tough.”

  As his muttered words drifted down from above me, his weight shifted back to central. Despite his slimness, the constant liquid made it hard to grip and I could feel my fingers slipping apart with the pressure.

  “Anytime now would be good.” I tried not to make my voice sound too much like a grunt, but it wasn’t working. My teeth were gritted together with the effort of keeping him up.

  “Hang on, old man. Here goes.”

  I pressed my back against the wall, not wanting to disturb his efforts with my own lack of stability. The idea of having to get back into the car and keep driving was even less appealing now that I was soaked to the skin and my arms ached.

  I didn’t have to worry. This time John was taking no prisoners, and his knee involuntarily dug painfully into my neck as he launched his elbow for the second time into the window. Small pieces of glass mixed with the rain and showered me from above, but most of the big shards fell inwards into the dry hut.

  John tapped out the dangerous jagged edges clinging to the frame. “Okay, Matt. Give me a shove.”

  As I pushed and he hauled himself up through the window, his weight disappeared from me, and listening to his clumsy landing on the other side, I rested for a second, letting my aching arms relax. Suddenly I regretted all those times I’d found an excuse not to go to the gym. I was going to have to get stronger quickly if I was even going to start feeling safe in this new terrain.