The Givers of Life (Book 1): The Risen Dead

by Neil Davies

  The thing that had been Graham crashed through as soon as the door moved, a low growl escaping from his throat. He dragged and clawed Chris Thomas down to the floor, clamping one bony hand over his mouth to prevent his calling for help, while his other tore at the throat with sharp, cracked fingernails.

  Chris's legs kicked, his hands pulled and hit. He twisted, struggled, tried to bite. But the eyes were wide and fearful, and rapidly losing their life.

  It was over in brutal, vicious seconds. Chris's throat was ripped open, and the thing once called Graham fed on the blood that welled out, burying his face in the warmth, feeling his strength increase with each mouthful.

  #

  John had not been asleep when the attack happened and he had heard some unidentifiable noise. But now, as he looked out from his window, all was quiet. He had seen the Thomas's front door close, and he presumed that Chris or Annie had been checking the outside of the house before settling down. He continued to think of Annie as he climbed back into bed.

  He fell asleep almost immediately with his fantasies.

  #

  The thing that had been Graham climbed the stairs slowly, blood still dripping from his chin. The grey corpse of Chris Thomas lay limp and strangely deflated behind him in the hallway.

  Now for the girl!

  He felt strong, replenished, but far from sated. He needed the girl's blood too, and something more. He needed the girl. It was a fantasy, a physical impossibility in his state, but there were vague memories, tantalising, sensual memories.

  He quickened his step.

  #

  Annie had half woken from her deep sleep at the noise caused by the attack below, but had almost immediately fallen back into her dream world.

  #

  He tried the second door on the landing with equal lack of success to the first. Nothing. He growled low and quiet in anger and frustration. He must find her soon.

  As he pushed open the third door he knew he had her.

  He moved quietly into the darkness of the room, his eyes fixed on the bed where she lay, one arm dangling loosely over the side, the hand twisted almost uncomfortably on the floor. As he drew nearer, he saw she was on her back, her hair splayed over the pillow like a golden explosion, her mouth slightly open, her closed eyes twitching occasionally as she dreamed. He watched the steady rise and fall of her breasts, knowing he could not deny his urges, regardless of whether they were true, or just the memories of feelings from when he was alive.

  She moaned and shifted slightly, but did not wake. A drop of blood splashed quietly onto the carpet at her bedside as the creature moved even closer.

  The thing that had been Graham stopped, suddenly confused. Other thoughts stirred within him, nudged at the carnal urges in his brain. The girl reminded him of something, someone. The hair, the pale skin. His urges drained away, leaving him empty and, somehow, sad. He was no longer certain of what he wanted, why he was there. Only one desire remained, one he did not understand but could not deny.

  Annie woke with a scream as his lips, warm with her father's blood, touched her forehead, leaving a red stain that trickled blood over her brow.

  Startled by the scream, the thing that had been Graham rose, growling, the shock of her waking pushing all but the most animal instincts from his mind. He slapped her heavily across the face, the force of the blow twisting her over onto her side. Not giving her time to recover, he pushed her further, pressing her face into the pillow.

  #

  The automatic was in John's hand a split second after the scream woke him from his dreams.

  He was out of his bedroom and clattering down the stairs as the second scream reached him.

  Annie!

  He didn't even consider stopping to dress, but sprinted, naked, from the house.

  As he crashed into the Thomas hallway, he was shocked motionless. Chris's body lay grotesquely on the carpet, his throat ripped apart. Then John heard the growl that came grumbling down the stairs, sending a shiver of primeval fear though him. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before. Animal, and yet like no animal he knew.

  Without another thought, he bounded up the stairs.

  #

  The thing that had been Graham, mouth open, salivating, watched the girl struggle in her near nakedness, face held against the pillow, legs kicking, arms flailing. Blood fell from his open mouth, splashing on her skin. Those strange, uncomfortable feelings from earlier were completely overpowered by blood lust and hunger. Ruthlessly, he held her down, her struggles slowly dying away as she began to suffocate. When she lay almost still, he twisted her over onto her back. She gasped for breath, gulping in air. The thing that had been Graham focused on the movement of her throat, already imagining the spurting of her hot blood into his mouth as his teeth ripped and tore.

  #

  John crashed into the bedroom just as the creature let out its howl of triumph.

  Interrupted, enraged, the thing that had been Graham turned on him, seeing nothing but the chance of more blood.

  John's reactions saved him, as the gore smeared thing lunged his way.

  The Browning automatic fired twice, both bullets ripping through the thing's chest. Blood spattered the far wall, Chris's blood torn from the body of his killer.

  The thing screamed as he fell short of John and writhed, not in agony, but in panic. He was losing blood, precious blood, blood so newly acquired. He would not die from the bullet wounds, the reborn were not killed so easily, but the loss of blood was weakening him.

  He cried out at the momentary agony of three more bullets tearing through him, spilling more blood.

  He had to escape before he lost any more. He had to get back to his people so they could make this human settlement suffer for the trouble it had caused him.

  He would be back, but not alone. This settlement would be wiped out!

  John was taken by surprise as the thing lurched to its feet and slammed him against the wall. He fired his remaining shots as the creature stumbled down the stairs and out into the darkness.

  He dropped the now empty gun and hurried over to where Annie lay sobbing. He put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  Neighbours began to appear, pulling night clothes around themselves, woken by the gunshots. Silently they covered the corpse of Chris Thomas.

  In the morning they would bury him. In the morning they would ask the questions that would tell what had happened. Until then, they could do nothing but try to comfort Annie who, still held in John's arms, shook and cried, staring blankly ahead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Lovers

  “Five!” John shook his head in disbelief and looked up at Geoff Hobsen. “Five bullets at point blank range, and the bastard got up, pushed me aside and ran away. If I hadn’t seen it…”

  His voice trailed off as he looked over to where Annie stood, sobbing, at the bottom of the garden, her back to the house. Mrs Jenna, an elderly lady from further up the street, widowed some years before The Incident, put her arm around the girl and tried to comfort her.

  Geoff Hobsen nodded, understanding.

  “I saw someone running like hell and heard you fire a couple of shots after him as I came out.”

  John rubbed a grubby hand over his face, and felt for the gun, held firmly in a holster he had brought from the camp. It was secure on the belt of the jeans Geoff had retrieved from his house. He would remain armed from now on.

  “I could maybe understand if it was a .22, or something like that. You know, a sudden burst of adrenaline and away. Maybe I could believe that, just maybe. But not with the 9mm. The first two should have stopped him. The other three should have glued him to the floor. But no, he gets up and runs. I’ve seen pain and I’ve seen panic on men’s faces in the army, and I tell you the expression on that bastard’s face was panic, not pain. Five fucking bullets at point blank range, and he wasn’t even in pain. Pure panic, that’s all. Panic.”

  Annie was being led away by Mrs Jenna towar
ds the old lady’s house. It made sense for her to stay there for a while. At least until her neighbours had cleaned up and buried her father.

  “She’s taking it well, considering,” said Geoff Hobsen.

  “She’s strong,” agreed John. “She may even manage to forget, given time.”

  But that bastard’s still out there, and I’m not sure I can stop him if he decides to come back!

  #

  He had been too weak to make it far. The sudden loss of newly acquired blood had affected him worse than he at first realised. He didn’t need to sleep, his kind were seldom tired, but he needed to stop and let his strength grow once more. Now, as he lay on his back among the burnt gorse and sandstone of Thurstaston Hill, he felt strong again, ready to return and report to his people, if he wanted to.

  If he wanted to.

  Last night, as he had struggled away from the light of the houses, hearing the man’s final two shots scream past him, there had been no question. Then, his one priority had been to reach his people and lead them in an attack on the settlement. However, as he rested in the dawn’s light, he reconsidered.

  He wanted, needed, revenge. The man who had shot him, caused those brief moments of pain, caused the loss of blood, blood that had continued to ooze from his wounds for some time, had to be punished. He knew there would be little satisfaction in watching the man die at the hands of others. No. The man must die at his hands. The thing that had been Graham wanted the satisfaction of killing the man himself.

  Then there was the girl. She, too, must die. Die in agony. If he had attacked her immediately, not hesitated, confused by strange thoughts, she would already be dead.

  He clutched the earth around him, fingers scraping on sandstone, as he remembered those same hands on her body. Later, he would inform his people. Later.

  With white flaking fingers, he worried at the bullet holes in his flesh, scratching away the trails of dried blood that smeared both himself and the tattered clothes he wore.

  I can wait, feed on anonymous living until the time is right to return and seek revenge.

  Then he would have enough blood to force home his attack, even if all the bullets from the magazine in the man’s gun were pumped into his body. He would lose much blood, but he would be satisfied. Afterwards, he could report to his people and watch the destruction of the whole settlement.

  He scrambled down the steep path that wound between the twisted fronds of blackened gorse. Already he could feel his wounds closing up.

  #

  Steve and Julie lay naked alongside each other, the blanket Steve had thoughtfully brought along in his backpack not quite flattening the stones and jagged gorse beneath it's worn wool. His breathing was returning to normal, her flush of orgasm slowly retreating.

  "So far, so good," she teased. "Still plenty of time before we have to head home, though."

  Steve laughed. "Just a short time to recuperate, then you better be ready."

  They lay in silence for a moment, Julie enjoying the soft caress of warm dawn air on her body. It felt decadent, a little wrong, to be here, naked, having sex in the open. No more hurried fumbling in cars, awkwardly placed gear sticks, strained backs and steamed-up windows. They had time and privacy and the open air. The older residents of the street worried about what, or who, had caused The Incident. They worried about the future. She had decided she wanted to live in the now, to enjoy herself. Not to forget the past, but not to fear the future either. The Incident had shown how suddenly things could end, if you were unlucky. But she was lucky, and she intended to take full advantage of that.

  “It’s a beautiful morning,” said Steve, rolling towards her, once more hard and ready. “And I've a promise to keep.”

  Julie just had time to return the smile, before the thing that had been Graham reared up from the surrounding gorse, a white, horrifying apparition, darkening the dawn.

  She screamed.

  Steve cried out as he was pulled, viciously, away and thrown face first into the gorse, its burnt sharpness scratching and tearing at him.

  The thing that had been Graham growled at the continuing screams of the naked girl.

  Steve staggered to his feet, shaking and bleeding. He half stepped, half fell, towards the creature. He had to protect Julie!

  A white claw flashed in the dim light of dawn and gripped Steve by the throat, lifting him from the ground, choking him, drawing him in. The creature opened its mouth, baring its black, decaying, sharp teeth to the watery sunlight.

  Steve gurgled to bloody silence as the creature savaged his face. His legs twitched and kicked as they dangled, the boneless legs of a rag doll. In seconds they hung still and lifeless.

  Julie managed to scramble up from the grass and run as the creature dropped Steve's lifeless body.

  The thing that had been Graham turned towards her, blood spilling over his bottom lip, his face streaked in the war paint of gore. He saw her running and leapt after her, determined not to lose another one. His aching, thin legs carried him speedily across the clearing, the unnatural strength of the reborn building within him.

  Julie was unsure whether to go for the bike or just keep running. The hesitation was fatal.

  She screamed again as the thing slammed into her back, forcing her hard to the ground. Her head cracked against a stone, and blood began to seep from between the dark strands of her hair. She was only vaguely aware of being rolled onto her back, of scratching, ragged fingers tearing at her flesh, pulling, ripping. She died with a twitch of her limbs and a bloody froth in her mouth.

  The thing that had been Graham threw his head back, droplets of the girl’s blood spattering the two bicycles nearby, and gave a howl of conquest that echoed over the hill.

  #

  Annie woke with a small scream as the distant howl cut through her troubled dreams. Mrs Jenna, sitting at her bedside, laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiled.

  “Don’t worry, child. It’s only some poor animal out there. It’s probably hungry.”

  Annie forced a weak smile and lay back, her hands clasped nervously over her chest.

  Mrs Jenna brushed a loose strand of hair from the girl’s tear-streaked face, and then reached for the damp cloth, bunched at the side of a bowl of water.

  “It’s good to cry,” she whispered, gently passing the cloth over Annie’s face. “Better out than in, as they say.”

  Annie smiled again, a little stronger this time, as the cloth was placed back by the bowl. The candle on the window ledge fluttered with the movement, shadows lunging about the dim room. Annie tried to ignore them, but every shadow held a ghost.

  To chase away the fears she asked, “How’s John?”

  “Mr Roundtree? He’s fine.”

  “He saved my life.”

  “Then he’s a good man, isn’t he?”

  Annie nodded.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aftermath

  When John woke, later that morning, in the spare room of Geoff Hobsen’s house, he had a headache. It was a slight inconvenience considering all that had happened, but nevertheless, as he opened the curtains and immediately shut his eyes to the bright sunlight, he wished it would go away.

  Why was he here? Why wasn’t he in his own bed?

  The memories came back slowly, achingly into his sore head. Geoff had invited him back to his house, and they had stayed up to watch the breaking dawn, talking and drinking. Drink, yes, now he remembered. Lots of homemade beer, some wine too. He had told Geoff that he needed it to calm his nerves. Maybe he just needed it to forget about Annie for a while.

  He dressed quickly and, squinting against the daylight, made his way to the bathroom to wash. Geoff Hobsen met him outside the door.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  John nodded. “Very well, yes. Thank you.”

  Geoff stared at him for a moment and then said, “You don’t look too well. Can I get you something?”

  “Painkillers would be welcome.”

  “I t
hink I have some in the cupboard. It’s so difficult to get things these days.”

  "I’ll be down in a minute. Just wash my hands and face first. Would you mind if I used your razor? I left mine behind in all the confusion and worry and, well, you know.”

  “You go ahead,” said Geoff, as he turned to descend the stairs.

  He was half-way down when the thought occurred to him.

  "I meant to ask, did you happen to see Steve and Julie yesterday?"

  "I rode with them for a while,” said John. “But then they headed off on their own. Why?"

  "They don't seem to have got back yet. They've been out all night."

  John smiled. "They were heading out to Thurstaston Hill. I don't know about in your day, but in mine that was the local place to make out. I wouldn't worry about those two. Probably had the time of the their lives out there on their own all night."

  Geoff nodded, forcing a smile. "I'm sure you're right."

  As he watched Geoff go down the stairs, John remembered an old photograph he had seen last night in the living room, before he had drunk too much for his memory to handle. In it, a very young looking Geoff Hobsen had been clutching the hand of a shapely dark haired woman. Celia, his wife. She had died some time before The Incident, and John could barely remember meeting her. To his mind she had been a matronly women, always smiling, always old. Sometimes it was hard to think of the older people you met as ever having been young, but in that photograph there was no denying that Celia Hobsen had been a very attractive and sexy young woman. And Geoff had been a strong, active-looking young man.

  “Breakfast is almost ready,” called Geoff from downstairs.

  The voice might be a little shaky, thought John, but the same strong heart is in there.

  Thinking of strength, of bravery, turned his thoughts, again, to Annie. As soon as breakfast was done with, he wanted to visit her. To see for himself that she was okay.