National Emergency

by Jobling, James

  “I’ve had enough of you, you little shit!” Harold spat. The words sounded like phlegmy gravel being stomped on. “Never did like me, did you? Always looked down your fucking nose at me. Thought you had it all, didn’t you? Nice house, beautiful son, family business, money, gorgeous wife. You thought you were fucking made! Thought you were better than me! Thought I’d never have any of that!”

  “And I was right! You had to steal it! But you couldn’t even get that right!”

  “The money was plan A. Now it’s time for plan B. You’ve made this personal! Now I want something that’s only yours!” He looked across to Karris. “Now I want her!”

  CHAPTER 23

  Ethan tried to speak, but the combination of a parched mouth and the serrated blade of the steak knife pressing against his thyroid cartilage prevented any words from forming. He could feel fetid breath on the back of his neck and knew Kieran would not hesitate about slashing his throat if his father demanded so. He tried stepping forward, but Kieran yanked his head back, applying even more pressure to the blade.

  Bryan was in a similar quandary. Stretch had forced him onto his stomach; his bloody nose curled into the thick weave of the carpet, hands clasped behind his head, the Beretta trained on him. Every time he inhaled, dust mites filled his swollen nostrils.

  Harold grabbed Karris by the elbow, dragging her across to the table. He tried bending her over, but didn’t consider the fighting spirit of Karris Hardcastle. She’d been a victim all her life; a victim of weight; a victim of bullying; a victim of depression. She was determined not to become a victim of rape, as well. She arched her back, kicked her legs, scratched long fingernails down Harold’s jowls. A weighty backhander to the face put an end to that nonsense, though.

  Teeth grated manically against the insides of his mouth as Ethan closed his eyes. He could still hear her screaming, pleading, begging. When he opened them, he saw Harold groping Karris’s backside. Ethan opened his mouth to roar, but thousands of threats became a log-jam in his larynx and he merely closed it again.

  “Hey,” Harold gasped at Stretch, crooking a thumb towards Belinda. “Make sure she watches the show.”

  Do something, you prick!

  Harold pulled Karris towards him, ripping open her blouse. Buttons fell like pearl snowflakes. He grabbed her breasts, snatching, squeezing, pushing filthy fingers under her bra, kneading nipples, mounding flesh, biting, sucking at her neck. Karris closed her eyes. Belinda retched and vomited all over the dining room floor.

  Harold ignored his girlfriend, yanking Karris’s jeans past her thighs, twisting them around her legs. Her knees stopped their descent, but it was only a temporary pit-stop.

  “Please don’t do this, Harold,” Karris begged. “You don’t have to.”

  “No, you’re right,” Harold groaned. Trembling fingers unbuckled the belt from around his waist. His breath smelt like sewer gas. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

  “No, please, Harold, I’m begging—”

  He gagged her with his hand. “Always had a thing for you, you know? Of course, you did. That’s why you’d wear short skirts and get dolled up whenever I came over. Did you get a kick out of that? Give you a thrill did it, infuriating an old dinosaur like me?”

  Karris shook her head. Tears spilled down her flushed cheeks.

  “Did you know that, Ethan?” Harold shouted. Rough hands seized her hips. “Did you know she had a thing for me?”

  Ethan opened his mouth. The knife pressed against his throat. Belinda moaned loudly.

  With his forearm pressed against the base of her neck, Harold shoved Karris over the dining table. An eager hand pulled at her thong, tearing the flimsy material away, exposing tanned stretchmarks. The other hand released his erect member and positioned himself behind her bare buttocks. With a glaring look at Belinda, Harold pushed himself deep into Karris. A sharp pain made her scream. Her hair fell across her beautiful face, fingernails scratching the surface of the table. He began to thrust his hips as he entered deeper. She called out for Ethan to help.

  Do something, you fucking coward! He’s raping your wife!

  Ethan tried to look away, look at the floor, the wall—anywhere—but the bastard behind grabbed Ethan by his fringe, jerking his head back. He tried to close his eyes, but the image of Harold pounding against Karris’s backside plagued him. He blinked them open, realising that from the position Harold was in (combined with the painful wails of Karris), his wife was being violated in such a way that not even he - her husband - dared consider.

  Ethan balled up his fists.

  Then the dining room door crashed open, bounced off the wall, catching Kieran off-guard. Lincoln charged into the room, breathing raggedly. He looked like a wild dog cornered by a circle of humans.

  Ethan reacted immediately. He didn’t bother wondering what had urged his son to barge into the room; refused to waste time thinking about why he looked so feral. The word INFECTION flitted through his brain, of course it did, but it was only a whisper in the wind due to the chaos. He saw his one and only chance, and he was going to grab it with both hands.

  He fired the elbow of his injured arm into Kieran’s throat, the impact hard, bruising tissue. He grabbed the wrist holding the knife and twisted it. Bone snapped and the blade hit the floor. He managed to grab a snatch of Lincoln before Kieran crunched them both against the wall. He shoved the youth aside, watched Lincoln leap forward, using the back of Harold’s legs as a launch pad, and scrambled up his spine. The unexpected weight of the infant made Harold fall away from the boy’s screaming mother. Milk teeth sank into Harold’s trapezius muscle and blood coursed down the child’s throat.

  Jesus Christ!

  Bryan took advantage of the anarchy and grabbed Stretch by the throat, pushing him up, driving a fist into the bridge of his nose. The youth cried out in pain and fell away. Bryan rolled onto his side, galloping on hands and knees underneath the dining table just as the bastard fired the Beretta. The bullet obliterated the wooden leg holding the table up and the entire thing lopsided, falling to a ninety-degree angle, giving Bryan the cover he needed.

  “Bryan!” Ethan roared.

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “We need’a get the fuck out of here!”

  “I know. You head towards the door. I’m going for Karris and Mum!”

  Ethan crept around the table and leapt at Stretch, taking him by surprise. He charged into him, introducing his knee to the lad’s crotch. The youth slid down the wall, wailing in agony, holding his mistreated manhood. But before Ethan could make for his wife, Harold barged into him. He was clutching the bloodied steak knife above his head, ready to strike, when suddenly Lincoln was hugging Harold’s leg, biting his inner thigh. A mouthful of denim and flesh was torn away. Harold yowled in pain and tried to stab the child, but Lincoln was relentless, biting, chewing, swallowing; Harold doubled over, crying, screaming, threatening… then the workhorse hands of Ethan Hardcastle grabbed Harold and turned revenge into a four-knuckled word. Ethan shouted for Karris to get out of the house.

  “What about you?”

  “The hell with me! Just go!”

  “Lincoln?”

  “I’ll grab him. Go! Now!”

  His semi-conscious stepfather had landed perched against the lopsided table. Ethan crouched in front of him, placing a bloody hand on Lincoln’s shoulder. As soon as contact was made with the five-year-old boy – the same boy who Ethan had taught to ride a bike, built a cushion-fort with in the front room, read A Tiger Comes to Tea to a million times, wrestled on the kitchen floor with, kicked a football about on the moors – that boy evaporated.

  Instead of allowing his father’s loving arms to embrace him, Lincoln charged forward, blood-drenched jaws snapping at Ethan’s throat. Petrified, Ethan fell backwards, his racing brain refusing to accept that his son - his flesh, his blood - had just tried inflicting physical harm on him. He scrabbled backwards on heels and elbows and, luckily, an overturn
ed chair provided the obstacle required to stop Lincoln from reaching his intended target.

  Karris pushed herself over the table and hopped towards Belinda. Apart from the thong and bra, she was stark naked, the back of her legs bloody. Reaching Belinda, she pulled her jeans up, fastened them, and took the older woman by the hand, yanking her towards the dining room door. Belinda refused to budge. Words were exchanged. Ethan couldn’t hear what. Then Belinda walloped Karris across her bruised face. The whole scene played out in Rocky-slow-motion. Ethan, shocked, stepped forward just as Kieran pounced again. Both men hit the dining table. Ethan managed to toss the vile youth aside.

  “What’re you doing, Mum?”

  “She’s a slut!”

  “He was lying!”

  “No! My Harold is a good man!”

  “A good man?” Karris laughed hysterically. “He just fucking raped me!”

  “No, no, I saw it with my own eyes. This girl’s a… a… jezebel!”

  The remainder of the dining room window imploded fully with a deafening krrssshhhh and a phantasmagoria of hands and rain-slicked fingers surged into the room. Immediately, they claimed the old woman, dragging her out into the thundery morning. He heard her screaming his name. Heard her begging for help. Then he heard her no more.

  A stream of hooded youths poured through the glass-toothed orifice. Stretch staggered forward, but Ethan sailed a fist into the bastard’s jaw. He turned towards the doorway, looking desperately at Bryan and Karris, the biggest dilemma of his life beating the hell out of him.

  Do I get out now or go back? I can’t even see Mum and I doubt Lincoln recognises me.

  But then the heart-breaking decision was made for him as the rampaging horde scrambling through the broken window pinned Harold by his arms and legs against the partially collapsed table, a barrage of hooded children stomping and kicking him, turning over chairs, splintering legs free, beating him with makeshift batons.

  “Help! Help me!” Harold shouted, looking pleadingly towards Ethan. “Help me, son!”

  Ethan stepped forward. “I’m not your fucking son.”

  Harold yelped as something cold, rigid, and serrated plunged into his stomach. White stars floated in front of his eyes as the air exploded from his skewered lungs. Blood-slicked fingers reached for the handle of the steak knife, his search only revealing the clenched fist of the stabber. Bloodshot eyes reported to his pain-filled brain the identity of the person that had just turned his stomach into human coleslaw. The knife was yanked free, making a wet sucking noise, and Kieran Singleton brought the blade plunging down again and again and again.

  CHAPTER 24

  Ethan slammed the door closed and quickly looked around for something to barricade it with. Apart from the corner table, there was nothing, and they’d easily dispose of that. Karris, wearing only jeans and a bra, reached for the door handle. Ethan grabbed her by the shoulder.

  “Lincoln’s in there!” she croaked.

  Ethan could taste his heart at the back of his throat. “There’s nothing we can do for him.”

  “What do you mean?” Karris cried. She shrugged his hands free. “He’s our son!”

  “No, he’s not. Not anymore.”

  A fist clattered against the other side of the door.

  Bryan nervously licked his lips. “What are you talking about, Eth?”

  “He’s changed.”

  “Changed?” Bryan asked, dumbfounded.

  “Changed into one of them. Karris. Earl Topinka, he was telling the truth. An infection or a virus or something is spreading, changing all the children. We have to get out of here.”

  There was another crash against the door. Wood splintered.

  “Wait a minute,” Bryan said, unzipping his jacket and draping it around Karris’s trembling shoulders, reinstating her dignity. “What infection? I heard you say something in there, but I just thought you were bargaining for time.”

  More fists rebounded off the door. He could feel the handle twisting in his grip; could hear Harold screaming - screaming as though Edvard Munch’s portrait had sprung to life.

  They’ll be out soon! There’s nothing to stop them!

  “Bryan, I don’t have time for a discussion. Go in the front room, see if you can find something to hold this fucking door shut with.”

  Before the lawyer could move, something smashed through the door, something small, zooming at 1100 feet per second, blasting a hole roughly the size of a fist into the door and hammering into Ethan’s shoulder. He recognised the chaperoning crack of the gunshot, but didn’t feel any pain, not even when the hollow-tipped bullet burrowed into his flesh, fender-bending bone, throwing Ethan flat on his back in the hall. His head ricocheted off the floor. Fried flesh, fragmented bone, dregs of blood sprayed the wall opposite.

  “Ethan!” Karris shrieked.

  It felt as though somebody had thrust freezing cold iron tongues into his shoulder, numbing all the way down to the tip of his middle finger. His forearm had already been mangled by the steak knife. Now, the whole limb was deadweight. He was bleeding badly; his vest blossoming into a dark maroon. Breathlessly, he tried to climb to his feet, but the trauma had turned his legs to jelly. He fell back on the floor.

  “Ethan!” Bryan roared, creeping forward. “I’m coming, mate!”

  “No!” Ethan held up one blood-soaked hand to bring his friend to a standstill. “Don’t come any closer! There’s a taxi at the top of the driveway! Get yourself and Karris as far from here as possible!”

  “No!” Karris babbled. “I’ll bring the car around the front. Bryan, get Ethan to his feet, meet me on the driveway!”

  “Karris—”

  “This isn’t up for a debate! They’ll be out soon!”

  As though right on cue, two hooded youths kicked open the dining room door and barged into the corridor, sprinting towards them. Ethan gritted his teeth, forced himself to his feet. Bryan grabbed the first Neanderthal by the scruff of his coat and punched the little fucker straight in the mouth, cursing as the second jumped on his back, and they both fell to the floor. Carpet burns shredded his chin. Bryan drove the point of his elbow into something soft. He heard the gruff moan in distress and shrugged him free. Two more tried clambering free of the mob in the dining room, but Ethan kicked the door closed, bolting it with his body.

  “Karris! Go! Please! Now!”

  The door burst open.

  Ethan slammed it closed with his good shoulder. When he looked back, his wife had vanished. The front door was wide open.

  Thank God!

  Another gunshot blasted through the wooden door, this one at head height, narrowly missing Ethan by inches. He roared in fear and pain.

  Then the door blew open completely.

  The menace standing on the opposite side of the door with wide eyes and the steak knife in his grasp stepped forward. Ethan Hardcastle backed away from Kieran Singleton, watching the tip of the knife dripping Harold’s blood onto the carpet like ash tumbling from a burning cigarette. Ethan turned, rushed into the kitchen, Kieran in hot, blood-famished pursuit.

  *

  Bryan tried for the front door, but an advancing legion of hooded morons blew like a hurricane into the corridor, cutting him off, leaving him with no other choice than to run in the opposite direction. He raced into the front room, flinging open the back doors. Galloping through the skeleton of the conservatory, he sprinted towards the back fence leading to the moors. The atmosphere was still thick with smoke from the two burnt-out cars in the driveway. It filled his lungs, clogged the back of his throat, made his eyes stream, but he refused to slow down. Any moment now the bastards would be on him. They’d kill him. He had no doubt about that.

  Rain was still pouring heavily from the roiling thunderheads, falling in saturating sheets and drenching him, sticking his clothes to his body, the deluge making a hissing noise, reminding him of those National Geographic documentaries Aiko used to watch.

  Belinda’s corpse was sprawled in the mid
dle of the lawn, bloody, beaten, soaking, looking like roadkill left for Mother Nature to nibble on. Her right arm had been hacked from her body and lay a few steps in front of her. Blood turned dewy grass slushy. He didn’t stop. He pumped his arms faster, stretched his legs wider, but he did not stop. Slamming into the mesh fence face-first, grunting in pain, he scaled the slippery divider, dropping recklessly to freedom. Pausing for the briefest of moments to catch his breath, he saw thirteen or fourteen hooded misfits racing across the lawn, their ages ranging between children to teenagers to mini-adults.

  Lightning flashed. Thunder roared.

  Bryan heard the parping of a car horn from the front of the bungalow. It looked as though Karris had reached the taxi and was signalling for departure. Envious fingers rolled into tight fists. He wouldn’t be able to make it around the front of the house without being seen. An army of bellowing youths were already climbing the fence and jumping into obliqueness, spitting threats. His chances of getting out of here in that taxi were more than just slim – they were fucking anorexic!

  He turned and glanced at the moorlands stretching in front of him. Fervent wind blasted through inky tree-shaped walls, wailing in and out of distorted trunks. The gales stunk with the vile stench of wood rot. Branches creaked. Twisted coils of bruise-yellow streaked across the black horizon. Birdsong filled his ears. It wouldn’t be long before dawn broke.

  Bryan swallowed hard and scrambled across the gurgling creek, slipping on peat-smeared rockery, splashing through icy water. Grabbing tufts of grass and tree roots to haul himself free, he winced as stinging nettles nipped at his hands and face, attacking him like mini Triffids. Cursing loudly, he crashed free, galloping across the moors as fast as his aching legs could carry him. By the time the first youth had landed on the opposite side of the fence, Bryan had been devoured by black wilderness.