Class Four: Those Who Survive
Page 9
I couldn’t hear anything.
I spent ages trying to listen. I even opened his mouth up and tried to look down into his tummy, to see if I could see his heart, but I couldn’t. His eyes wouldn’t stay open either. That’s when I realised that poor old Patches must be like when I saw Nana the last time. I tried to remember what Mum said, but Patches didn’t look at all like brown bread. I hugged him again, and kept the flies away.
Stroking his fur didn’t feel the same, so I knew I hadn’t made a mistake. It’s weird though isn’t it? Those times when bad things happen, and people seem to always be there for you? I didn’t hear anything, but as I held Patches that last time, I felt a cold hand on my neck. There he was, my Dad. He’d come up to say goodbye to Patches.
Though he looked like my Dad, but a bit more grey, like those aliens we used to watch from olden times, when the doctors cut them up. He looked funny. He was still playing the ‘look at me sideways’ game, even after I told him ‘Quitsies’.
Summat wasn’t right.
Summat wasn’t right at all.
His neck was all purple and swollen. He still had his winky out as well. I remember it made this little slapping sound as it hit my coat. All he wanted to do was hug me.
To begin with anyway.
I moved out of the way so that Dad could hug Patches and say goodbye to him, but instead of doing that, he just kept following me, and I told him to stop it, but he just wouldn’t listen. He was making the moaning sound again, and was still trying to grab me. I stayed ahead of him, but only just.
When I was walking round the garden, that’s when I realised. He was one of those zombies from the television.
He had gone Russian.
I started crying. If they had got him, they could get anyone, damn bastards. He’d fought all his life so that me and Mum were free of their embrace, and now, well, his name was probably Ivan or summat.
This must have been why Mum left; there would be no way she could stay with someone from there. Dad did all this stuff for her and me. To see him become the very thing that he hated must’ve been too much for her.
Me and Dad were always the strong ones.
I pleaded with him to stop. I even tried in Russian, though one of the only words I knew was ‘ot'ebis'’. He didn’t even understand that. They must’ve got him good. The radio said that if you had to take the zombies on, you had to do so by removing the head or destroying the brain. Dad was the cleverest man I met, so I knew his brains would be difficult to destroy.
Luckily, though, in Mum’s hurry to leave Ivan, she had left the rotary washing line in the garden. I pulled it out of the ground and just about managed to get away before he grabbed me. I knew that I’d only get one shot at this, as I could hear some more Russian moans not far from me. Who’d have known, even when he was gardening and pushing the daisies up, that Patches would save me?
Dad came for me again, but didn’t see my trusty pal. His foot caught on Patches and he went flying, landing on his front. I never realised dad had such a hairy bum-bum.
Those aliens must’ve had to trim loads away before they got anything up there.
I stood over him, and he looked like that turtle I had when I was younger. I used to put him on his back and his little arms and legs thrashed around, but they couldn’t help him stand up. Dad’s neck looked even worse. There was a bone or two sticking out of this hole just above his shoulder, and you could see raw pork chops inside.
His hands were grabbing the lawn. He was pulling clumps of dirt up with his hand. Mum would be well mad when she got back and saw what he done. Those hands…
I pulled the rotary line together and clipped in the arms; it was like a pole I held in my hands, it felt so big.
Why are you laughing, Dee? Have you held a big pole in your hands before, too?
Sorry, please don’t pull my tongue out of my head and what?
Beat me to death with the wet end?
I’ll remember that when I’m fighting the Russian zombies next, thanks!
I looked down at him. He looked so strange. His moaning had changed, probably because he was eating dirt. I froze. I couldn’t do it. Then he kinda growled ‘nyet’, and that’s when I knew that he was gone. Cos that’s Russian, he knew what I was going to do.
So I did it.
He would’ve been proud of me. I did it in one go, and didn’t cry. His hands stopped digging straight away. His legs kinda kicked out a bit and then he stopped, like someone had turned him off.
I don’t really remember what happened next. I could hear the moans nearby. I think I ran. The next thing I know these men had stopped me in the street, said they were going off to a biscuit factory to get away from the zombies and said they’d look after me. I said if they were going to a biscuit factory, I’d love to go with them.
I miss my dad.
And my mum.
But most of all, I miss Patches.
Chapter Thirteen
Steve removed his glasses carefully, rubbed his tired eyes and said, “Thank you Matt, that was…a real eye opener. I hope that you feel better after sharing your tale with the group?”
Matt stared gormlessly at his inquisitor, shrugged as a clump of slick matted hair slipped from its cordon behind his ear and swung in front of his face. He looked around the group and raised a cautious hand. “Yes, what is it Matt?” Steve asked.
“Do you think we’ll get fish fingers for tea tonight? I love fish fingers. Mum used to cook them for me after I did something good. Ha. Which wasn’t much, she said. I think I’ve only had them four times. Each time I had potato wedges, normal ones, and baked beans. Once I put brown sauce on the beans, but they tasted well funny, so I didn’t do it again.” Once the words were expunged, his head disengaged social protocol and dropped to look at the floor again.
“What an absolute bellend,” Anton quipped, scratching the scar around his eye. “If I have to put up with any more fucking sadsack stories, I think I might just top myself.”
Sylvia winced at his words. She started to stroke the inside of her arm again, trying to calm herself down.
Steve hastily put his glasses back on. The arm broke off and got embedded in his hair. He knelt down by her and whispered calming words.
Dee’s eyes darted from Sylvia to Anton in a hummingbird’s heartbeat. He raised his hands. “Woah, calm down mental bird. Didn’t mean nuffin’ by it, till next time, yeah?” With that, he stood up and made his way out of the room. Matt and Tristan stirred and followed suit.
“It’ll be alright, Sylvia. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you, shhh.” Steve looked over to Dee and nodded towards the door. She gratefully took the cue to leave.
She was so preoccupied that as she left she bumped into a man standing in the doorway. “Steady on, Dee,” Andy said. She looked at him with disdain and stomped off into the factory.
Andy gently rapped on the open door. “Steve, sorry mate, Chopper needs you. Our new guest has woken up. Could do with you having a little chat with him. Just to make sure he’s not a policeman short of the Village People, cheers mate.”
He headed back into the factory, walking past people going about their daily tasks. With some he exchanged nods of greeting. Best get Thomas, assign him his duties. He’s quite handy but bloody hell, he must have a bladder the size of a walnut.
Chapter Fourteen
The garage door slid down rusty runners; a sound like a hundred mice having prickly pears inserted roughly into a usually outbound-only orifice made the hair on the guards’ necks stand on end.
“Man, that was one mental day,” one said to the other. “How much longer is it until we attack?”
Guard number two sneezed. “Fucking dust. Not sure. Feels like forever right now though. Still, better to be doing this than what the other chapters are doing. You heard about the Reverend didn’t ya?”
Lackey number one nodded solemnly. “Yeah, man. That was all kinds of wrong. I heard they found his head still reciting chapter and
verse from the Book of Ishtar.”
“His devotion is an example to us all, Brother, that much is true. Still, we keep his fire burning through the work we do now, the camps of the unrighteous that we cull, the heathens we bring to Rapture. Did She not say—”
A sound like a blocked vacuum cleaner gasped behind them. The two guards jumped and looked at the source, calming when they realised it was the penitent who had been interred in the cage that morning.
“Hey, Malky, this one’s still breathing, a regular Duracell bunny if ever I saw one,” guard number one said, the panic still in his voice.
Malky made his way round the side of the RV and looked at the man in the cage. He had lost a couple of fingers after passing out holding onto the frame. One of the undead groupies had managed to clamp down on the back swing and remove them clean from the joint between the middle and proximal phalanx. He had learnt then he’d better stay awake, or he would be eaten piece by piece.
The hulk surveyed the whimpering husk and looked down on the floor. “Perhaps he is still with us, because the person who put him in there this morning did not commence bleeding before we set off.” The guard gulped as the imposing figure loomed over him.
A pause followed which seemed to bookend the Palaeolithic and Neolithic time periods. “No matter. He will provide us with a distraction before we leave in the morning. Make sure the penitents are fed and that we are secure. We don’t want any visitors in the night.” Malky turned and headed into the gloom of the building.
“How many do we have?” a voice asked from the shadows.
Malky stopped and bowed. “Estimates are just over a hundred, your Grace. A few days in so far, it appears that we have not been as blessed as we had hoped.”
Devin manifested from the murk. “It matters not, we don’t want too many first off. It’s the second week where we will be going through the larger towns; we should attract quite the following then. Though sleeping in the vans with them outside will test the initiates resolve. As long as our Brothers have prepared the refuelling and safe zones, we have nothing to fear.”
Malky nodded in agreement. “Everything will be as you asked, of that I am sure.”
“Of course it will. They know the price of failure,” Devin replied succinctly. He regarded the two guards who were bowed in deference. “I also think it best that acolytes do not make assumptions as to the fate of the other chapters. Speculation and hearsay are the work of the unbelievers. These poisonous and seditious words will infect our harmony, do I make myself clear?”
The two guards saluted Devin with a hand to their chests. “Of course, your Grace. We meant no disrespect. We are Her children, and guided by your hand,” they stuttered between them.
Devin nodded and allowed them to return to their evening tasks. “Malky, a word if I may?”
“Your Grace?” Malky asked softly.
“The Apostle has signalled to our scouts that he is in place and knows when to strike. He has gone dark, we will soon be able to remove another feeble bastion of resistance,” Devin said fervently.
“That is excellent news indeed, your Grace. The snake is within their midst, coiled and ready to strike. It is truly a beautiful sight to see the heathens take the Apostle in as one of their own. Matched only by his blade being the first to be held against their throats,” Malky said whilst smiling.
“Indeed it is. Come, we need to rest. Ensure the acolytes have read chapters eight through to ten; it will gird them for the days ahead.”
May 14th 2014
20:05
“No problem, Mr Davidson. Ms Webber has the doctor in with her at the moment, but you should be fine to go in,” the nurse said, pointing to the closed door barring access to Room Three. Mumbled voices could be heard beyond.
As he gained entry into the room, he caught the end of a sentence. “…orry Ms Webber, but we should be able to do an ultrasound in the next ten minutes or so. We’ve been having problems with the power in the last half hour—” the Doctor stopped as Francis entered, and raised his hands in apology.
Diane looked across and smiled. Though it broke a face which was red as a result of crying.
The doctor saw his opportunity and left the room in a hurry. Francis walked over to Diane and held her hand. “Got here as quickly as I could, baby. You should see the sky out there, it’s—”
His story was interrupted by his hand being crushed and a flood of tears. Diane pulled Francis into her and bawled, “Something’s wrong, Francis, I can feel it. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“Shhh, it’s okay baby, I’m here now, it’ll be okay,” he assured her, gently rubbing her back and kissing her forehead. “How doesn’t it feel right?” he asked softly, still trying to stem her crying with his soothing.
Diane looked up, sniffed back a chunk of spit and mucus and swallowed it, coughing after it went down. “When I was ha…having dinner, he was just going crazy, kicking out, almost thrashing about. You know how he likes listening to Crosses? Well, it just didn’t do anything. Even when I got here he was still flailing around. I must’ve been to the toilet five or six times. He’s playing havoc with my bladder.”
Francis pulled a tissue from a box next to the bed and passed it to Diane, who took it and blew into it with a noise akin to an elephant saying ‘hello, how are you today?’. “Thanks baby,” she said, wiping the dripping tissue across her nose.
“About five minutes ago, though, when the doctor came in, he just stopped. He’s not doing anything now. I’m scared Francis. Something has happened, I know it,” Diane whimpered.
Chapter Fifteen
“Are we nearly there yet?” Nathan whinged, his feet dragging along the sodden ground. Clumps of dead leaves and moss stuck to the toes of his trainers, leaving them looking like the prow of a Roman bireme.
Francis grunted and pushed on through the skeletal bushes. The buds of new life were just beginning to burst out of the finger-like ends. The going had been tough; they’d had to camp in the bough of an oak tree having failed to escape the clutches of night and nature the previous day.
“Not long now kid,” Francis muttered, almost willing the words to be true rather than having any actual belief in them. His stomach growled in rebellion at him. The past two weeks of canned fish and soft Ritz crackers were not providing the fuel needed to traverse the bleak, seemingly never-ending terrain.
Nathan grumbled under his breath, huffed, and continued to half walk and half slide through the mulch underfoot. “Do you miss her?” he asked. His breath formed a cloud in front of his ruddy face. Francis turned and looked down at him, causing the child to walk into the back of his legs.
“No idea who you’re talking about, kid,” he mumbled. A hand moved from its temporary home of armpit and rubbed his nose. A trail of snot glistened like a comet trail. Francis turned and plodded onwards, head down; branches scratched and pawed at his face, but he paid them no heed.
The boy galloped for a few steps to catch up. “You were talking about her in your sleep again last night. You mention her a lot more these days, never used to,” he said, matter of factly.
Francis plunged his hands back between his armpits, trying to hug the warmth into the fabric of his body.
“Was she like my mummy?” Nate asked softly. He had picked up a small stick and was poking it into small muddy hillocks as they clomped forwards. The mist hung like a thick pair of net curtains around them.
“I never knew your mother,” Francis sniffed. “Only spoke to her briefly, before, y’know, she turned. I can’t honestly say if she was like her.”
Nathan trotted forward to walk by the man’s side. “I get scared some days, Francis.”
Francis wilted slightly and looked down at the boy. “Scared of what, kid? I’m gonna look after you. Nothing is going to hurt you. I promise.”
The boy gave a toothy grin. “I know, that doesn’t scare me. I know you’ll always look after me.”
“Then what are you scared of, Nate?”
Francis stopped and knelt down. “Hey kid, don’t worry, come here.” Nathan planted the stick into the ground like a flagless pole and sauntered across to the man.
“Close your eyes, Nate. Not too tight this time, okay. They closed? Not too tight?”
Nathan nodded wildly.
“Good, okay. I want you to think about your last birthday for me, okay? Think back to when all of this didn’t exist. You there?”
The nod was more subdued.
“Okay, kid. So what did you get for your last birthday?”
The boy’s eyes flickered under their lids, chasing the memory down like a cup trying to trap a rolling ball.
“I didn’t get my presents until after school. Mummy had to work late sometimes, and that meant my Grandad had to look after me in the morning. I got back from school, and went into the dining room. Mummy was there with my Auntie Sue, Uncle Ken, and my cousins, Karen and Brian. Nanny and Grandad were there, too. They were all stood around a table where there was a cake with candles all glowing.”
Francis placed his hands on Nathan’s bony shoulders. The contact made the boy shudder slightly, before relaxing; his eyes, still closed, lazily looked around the memory he was back in.
“They all sang happy birthday to me, and then said I had to blow out the candles and make a wish. Mummy lifted me up and stood me up on the chair, and I started crying. I don’t know why. Mummy hugged me and said ‘don’t cry, Nathan, for the wish you make today will come true, just keep it close and tell no one’. She smelt of cake and her skin felt so smooth and soft. I wiped the tears, made a wish and blew out the candles.” As he finished, Nathan opened his eyes as if waking up for the first time that day. They were red and welling up with water.