“It’s scary, isn’t it?” said Ian. “Knowing they are close, knowing that we are hunted.”
“Hunted?” said Jack, taking a rest.
“Yes, being hunted.” Ian took off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt tail. He was a thin man with spiny fingers and a long face. “This virus, it’s going to challenge the human race, let us show what we are made of.”
“You think?”
“Yes. We haven’t been hunted for a long time, not since we lived on the savannahs. We are prey again.”
Jack hoisted the sledgehammer above his head, “Or maybe the army will just kill them all, or they’ll find a cure and in a month we’ll all be back to normal.” He drove the hammer down hard on the pole. The dull thud got carried away by the wind. The post had been quite loose when they first found it, and had wobbled easily under light pressure. It was now tight in the sand, but low. Jack wondered if this would work.
“Ah, here we go,” said Ian, looking past Jack. “Just a teenager, very sad.”
Jack spun round to see what at first glance appeared to be a young, drunk girl. Swaying and stumbling across the sand, barely keeping balance. She was wearing a blood stained blue uniform, some sort of nurse. She nearly tripped over a clump of grass and her head turned to reveal a massive gash in the back of her neck, with what appeared to be brain matter hanging down her back, the uniform stained black.
Jack’s heart raced, and the memory of last night flashed into his head - his daughter screaming as he plunged the jack handle into the old man’s head; his wife disappearing through screams into the darkness of confused limbs and bodies.
“I’ll let you do the honours Jack,” said Ian, smiling.
Jack stared, but couldn’t move. Sweat formed on his palms, on his brow. His breathing became heavy and fast.
“Jack?” said Ian.
Was his wife now one of these things? Stumbling through a field, looking to kill someone. Maybe she had killed someone else already.
“For Pete’s sake Jack, you’ll have to be quicker than this.” Ian walked forward and raised this baseball bat. He waited until the girl reached the fence then raised his bat, and with a speed and strength that belied his thin frame, he smashed the bat hard into the girl’s head. The skull caved in quickly, blood and brain tissue spilling out to land on the sand with a plop.
Ian turned round, “Now, that’s how we need to… Jack!”
Jack spun round, feeling hands on his neck. He stumbled back and fell into the sand, a heavy weight landing on top of him. Hands grabbed his face and pulled at his skin, nails dug into his cheeks.
A face, an old man, covered in blood, teeth covered in blood, only a few inches away, snapped at him.
Jack pulled his arms up and pushed at the head of the man. The opposing force was great and Jack struggled to push him away, his hands slipping on the fresh blood on the man’s forehead.
Panic overcame him and he screamed, as he scrambled against the monster.
There was a crack and the man was gone. A few more cracks and Jack felt warm blood splatter on his face. He turned towards the sound and saw the face of the man - impacted, squashed into the sand, a mix of flesh, skull and blood. Its jaws gnashed once, slowly, then stopped. Ian stood above the mess, blood covered baseball bat in hand.
He pulled Jack up. “Are you ok?”
Jack nodded, not sure if he was.
“Bloody hell” said Ian. “We need to be sharper or we’re finished, Jack. That one came from no where.”
“He was on our side of the fence,” said Jack quietly.
“What?” said Ian, breathing heavily.
“He was on our side of the fence,” said Jack louder, his eyes opening wide. He grabbed Ian by the shoulders. “He was in the barriers!”
Ian stared at Jack. “That means…”
A loud shout rang out from behind, in the direction of the Holiday camp. Another shout, more urgent.
“They’re inside,” said Jack. “Annie…” He picked up the sledgehammer and ran back towards the camp, followed by Ian.
Charging down from the sand dunes into the park, Jack was met by chaos. He stared in dismay at the hoard of dead marauding through the park, on the roads, over the grass, in and out of chalets. Amongst them ran people, at least Jack thought they were people; the ones who were shouting for help, who weren’t covered in blood.
Annie was in Mike and Marge’s chalet, a few hundred metres away.
Jack and Ian looked at each other, nodded and ran off in different directions. Jack held the sledgehammer up ahead of him, and ran into the nearest infected, using the sledgehammer as a battering ram. The target’s head crushed on contact with the weight of the hammer. Jack pushed the body over.
He sensed movement to his left, and swung the hammer on instinct. It connected with the head of an old man covered in blood, his right arm hanging off. The old man collapsed as his skull shattered.
Jack ran forward a few yards and again found himself surrounded by more of the infected. He smashed and swung his way through, blood splattering over his face. He was already out of breath, but he couldn’t stop.
He managed to make good ground, running fast, ducking in and out of outstretched hands. He didn’t have the time or energy to tackle them all. He had to get back to the chalet, to Annie.
Then he fell.
As he tried to run round an old disfigured woman, he bent too far to the side, and caught the kerb, flying forward until he hit the floor hard. He rolled and the sledgehammer slipped out of his hand. There was a pain in his knee, but he forced himself up immediately. Two hands grabbed his shoulder, but he pushed them away, running backwards, looking for the sledgehammer. It was a few feet away from him. An old man stumbled in between Jack and his weapon, but Jack charged forward, shoulder barging the thin frame out of the way, the old man letting out a moan as he fell to the ground. Jack ducked down and grabbed the hammer, which he brought round and down onto the old man’s head.
Jack saw the chalet. He ran again, fighting the pain in his chest as his out of shape lungs fought for air. He ignored the stabbing pain in his knee; his only thought, Annie.
He ran on automatic, swinging the sledgehammer, barging bodies out his way, dodging grasping hands and snapping jaws.
And then he was there.
The chalet was clear, he ran up to the door with a quick look behind him. He was being followed. Jack opened the door with one hand, his other holding the hammer up, facing the body as it approached.
“You in there Annie?”
“Daddy!” Small arms clasped around Jack’s waist.
“Go back inside, Annie,” he shouted, “Go back inside!”
Annie screamed as she saw the approaching corpse, covered in blood.
“Back inside!” shouted Jack again. He felt her arms being pulled from him, and he glanced inside the chalet to see Marge yanking Annie away from the door.
The infected, an old woman with a gaping hole in her chest, her heart visible, was only a few feet away. Perfect distance, thought Jack, as he brought the sledgehammer down hard. Her head collapsed like a cardboard box. He pushed her motionless carcass away and jumped inside the chalet, closing the door behind him.
Saturday 21st May, evening, Cornwall
After comforting Annie until she slept, Jack joined the clean up patrols.
“They got in through the woods,” said James as they walked around the perimeter of the fence, the sun setting. “Must have been nearly a hundred of them. We think they were from the old people’s home. It’s about two miles away. So many of them I guess our fence just gave way.”
“We’ll need something stronger,” said Jack.
“We’re getting some cars and caravans out there now, use them as barriers until we can think of something more permanent.”
They stopped by the edge of the woods. The evening was peaceful, a dark red sky reflected in the sea. Almost as it the blood from the park had drained into the water.
“
How is Annie?” said James.
Jack shook his head. “She’s not good. I should be with her.”
“You should. You should go now. You’ve done enough to help today.”
“Have I?” asked Jack. “Will anything be enough?”
His knee was numb with pain, every muscle in his body ached, and his hands were red raw to the touch, covered in burst blisters from wielding the sledgehammer.
“Who knows what the hell is going on, Jack. Or how long it will last. We need to keep strong, pull together. Until help comes.”
“If it comes.”
James rested his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You need some rest, we all do. That nursing home thing has got to be a one off. We’ll get the stragglers, lock this place down. I’ve worked here for six years, I know it like the back of my hand. I’ll be up tonight, making sure we get that fence in the woods sealed.”
Jack saw the blackness and rings under James’ eyes. “You need rest too.”
“I can’t,” replied James. “If I do, I start thinking of my son.”
Images of Annie flashed through Jack’s mind. Her smiling face at last year’s birthday as she opened her presents. Then her screams as she watched her mother dying.
“I’m going to go back. I’ll come find you at first light.”
“Thank you,” said James. He turned to look into the woods, where the rumble of engines could be heard.
Jack walked back to the chalet, where his daughter was waiting.
His daughter without a mother, who would never have a mother again and who had to deal with watching her mother being killed by monsters. What sort of chance did she have?
The chance that I give her, he thought, as he picked up his pace.
I’m not going to stop. She’s going to make it, we’re going to make it.
He broke into a run, he wanted to show his daughter that he was there for her, that he wasn’t going to leave her, that they were going to survive, they were going to live.
He saw her face looking out of the window of the chalet. She smiled when she saw him, and ran to the front door.
The Inn at the End of the World
Chapter 1
Mac, the landlord of the Fox and Hounds, pulled another pint for Johnny. Bitter, as always.
“I tell you Mac, you ought to close, get things locked up. This virus…” said Johnny.
“Not before we finish our pints though,” said Gaz from the end of the bar.
Mac chuckled to himself, the sound deep and rounded through his thick frame. “Don’t worry fellas, I ain’t closing this place anytime soon. If you’re sick, you still need a pint.”
He looked up to the muted TV and saw the now familiar images of the military barricading the motorways, flames in London, and the Prime Minister’s face, no doubt calling for calm. Funny he wasn’t standing in Downing Street. The white wall behind him suggested he was far from Downing street, probably miles away from the madness.
“Oi, Mac, another pint please!”
Mac nodded to Gaz, “Coming up.”
Gaz and Johnny were his only customers tonight. Two die hards that made their way to the pub no matter the weather, nor the state of their health or finances. A young couple with a daughter had been in earlier, on their way to Cornwall, but they left straight after dinner. It was a quiet night alright.
“Hey Mac, mind if I light up?” said Johnny.
It was nearing eleven. Mac couldn’t imagine any new customers, never mind someone causing trouble over an old fella having a smoke inside. Not on a night like this, with everything that was happening.
“Sure, Johnny, knock yourself out.”
Johnny nodded his thanks and lit up his thin and bent hand-rolled cigarette.
Gaz sipped on his pint, looking thoughtful. “This virus, then, Mac. Sounds like one of them flesh eaters. What do you think?”
“I don’t know Gaz, I’m no doctor.”
“Nah, sure, but from what they say on the news, and them pictures on the internet…”
“Can’t ever be sure what you see on the internet. Could be kids with a make up kit for all I know. Probably is.” Mac poured himself a small whiskey.
“Ok, but if it is one of them flesh eaters,” continued the young man, “it must be eating the brain too, driving everyone crazy. I mean, I’ve seen it on the news, and it looks real enough - they had that one video where you saw that fella biting another fella.”
Johnny nodded, “Aye. Haven’t seen that video again though.” Smoke billowed around his head as he spoke.
“It’s being covered up I reckon.” Gaz took a sip from his pint. “You have to be pretty mad to eat someone, don’t you?”
Mac nodded his head, “Definitely something wrong with you if you have to eat someone.” He noted the fire was down to embers, it was getting late. Probably a good time to check on Angie. “You fellas alright for a minute? Give a shout if anyone comes in.”
He went over and poked the fire, then made his way upstairs. He walked past the B&B rooms and to his bedroom at the end of the dimly lit corridor. His wife was in bed, watching TV.
“It’s getting worse,” said Angie.
The TV news showed police and soldiers pushing back crowds of people in the darkness of London.
“I thought I said it’s best not to watch that.”
Angie waved him away. “What’s it matter. What happens, happens.”
Mac sighed. “Ok love. Anyway, I thought you’d be up, I wondered if you wanted some water or anything?”
She smiled at Mac, “That would be nice.”
He fetched a glass of water from the sink in the en suite bathroom, and put it down on her bedside table. He moved her walking sticks out of the way and rested on the side of the bed, giving her a quick hug.
“Oh, get off me, you big softy!” But she held on to him, tight. “Do you think we’ll be alright?”
“I don’t know love,” he said. “We always have in the past.”
“But this is different, Mac. Oh!” Angie let out a gasp.
He followed her gaze to the television. The picture had gone, in its place static.
“Mac…” Angie’s voice was high, filled with fear.
“Ok. Probably just the signal…” He changed through the channels, but nothing, static on each one.
“Mac, what’s happening?”
He shook his head and stared at the screen, “I don’t know.”
“Who’s downstairs?” asked Angie.
“Just Gaz and Johnny.”
“Can we close up?”
He squeezed his wife’s hand and gave her a smile. “No problem. I’ll lock up. They can leave when they leave.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
He kissed her on the forehead and got up to go, “And turn that tele off.”
Downstairs he found Gaz standing underneath the large TV that hung over the fire place. He was pointing the remote control at the TV.
“Looks like your TV is dead, Mac. Must be the aerial.”
Mac knew it wasn’t the aerial - he had cable.
“I’m going to lock up fellas. You’re welcome to stay the night of course.” Both Gaz and Johnny lived alone.
“Cheers Mac,” said Gaz. “I only live round the corner though. I’ll just finish my pint and I’ll be on my way, I don’t want to be any trouble.”
Mac walked to the front door and turned the deadlock, then bolted it. He tested it with a rough shake. “Don’t be daft lad. Get your head down in one of the rooms upstairs.”
Gaz started to protest again, but Johnny interrupted. “Listen to what he says Gaz. Mac knows his business. Don’t you Mac?”
Mac was testing all the windows were locked, and only glanced at Johnny.
“Mac thinks something funny is going to happen tonight, that’s right, ain’t it?” He lit another skinny cigarette. “Reckons we might be best not walking the streets.”
Gaz sat down and finished his pint, a confused look on his face. “What you mean?”
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“The virus,” said Mac.
“Oh.”
“Here lad, have another drink. On the house.” Mac pulled Gaz another pint of lager, and they sat in silence for a while, only the sound of the fire crackling softly. Mac thought how peaceful it all was, without the TV. It reminded him of back in the seventies when he first opened the pub, just a young lad, with Angie his beautiful young bride. No TV back then, no fruit machines. Just the noise of conversation, of laughter, of life.
Gaz broke the silence, “So you think the TV going off is to do with the virus?”
Johnny answered, “I think that when there’s riots, and when the police and army are shutting down whole cities, and when there’s a virus infecting all from America to China, that maybe it’s just best to stay put. Amongst friends like.”
“Ok,” said Gaz, his face suddenly pale. Gaz lifted his pint, a slight shake in his hand, and took several large gulps a little too quickly. “Since it’s on the house then, best make use of it…” He gave a weak smile.
“Careful son,” said Mac, “you don’t want to be passed out anytime. Anyway, you two, I’m going to go up and see to the missus,” said Mac. “She ain’t sleeping well. As I said, you fellas can help yourselves to the booze, but don’t go daft. No-one’s staying in any of the rooms upstairs, so take your pick.”
“Cheers Mac, I’ll see to it that we get sorted,” said Johnny, his voice croaking as the late night and cigarettes began to take their toll.
“Night Mac, and thanks,” said Gaz. “Reckon they’ll have the TV fixed tomorrow.”
“Reckon they will,” said Mac. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, “Oh, and don’t let anyone in.”
Chapter 2
“Ok Angie, that’s them two sorted. Are you right? Do you need help with your night business?”
Surviving the Fall: How England Died Page 4
