by M. W. Duncan
A young woman, another jogger, entered the park a moment later and saw Andy lying on the floor ahead of her. She raced over to him, but she knew that he was clearly dead. Assuming he had suffered a heart attack, she didn’t touch his body, but left him alone and called for an ambulance, the police, and then finally her boyfriend to tell him of the excitement. In all the confusion and drama, she didn’t notice the unnatural hole in the ground. She was so busy tweeting about the dead jogger in the park that she failed to notice when the ambulance men took Andy away, and a strange, furry, creature with huge wings flew up into the air above her.
* * * *
The bus journey to work changed little, no matter where you were headed, thought Tom. He looked around the bus at the coughing lady, the stinking old man with rolls of newspapers under his arms, the obnoxious school children playing obnoxious music from their obnoxious phones, and the atypical surly driver. Tom tried shuffling further to the window, away from the fat woman next to him whose blubbery rolls of fat were threatening to engulf him and his bag. He cursed her in his head and focused on the street outside, raindrops spilling down the glass and obscuring his vision. He used to get off here, go into college, grab a coffee, chat to a couple of guys on his course, pretend to be interested in what his boring tutor was lecturing him about, shoot home as quickly as possible to avoid doing any real work, and get straight back to doing nothing.
There was no escaping it though - those cushy days were over. One week. His parents had given him one week’s grace between leaving college and forcing him to get a job. So here he was, squashed up on a bus that smelt of piss and chips, headed to what was probably going to be a very boring day at a new job. His father had a word with a friend, and got him in ‘Fiscal Industries.’ Even the company’s name sounded boring. Apparently, it was a call centre and he didn’t know what he’d be selling. Thanks dad, thought Tom.
He yawned and his breath fogged up the glass. The fat lady got up as the bus stopped, and Tom was grateful he wouldn’t have to squeeze past her when he got off at the next stop. The streets were full of people, scurrying through the rain to work. His father had told him he was wasting his time taking media studies at college. Certainly Tom couldn’t see how he was going to use his knowledge in a call centre, selling foot-rot pills to old folks for seven quid an hour.
He’d rarely been to this area of the city, but then he’d seldom had cause to. Tom preferred to stay near home or college; there were enough pubs not to need to go into the city. Here, executives, rushing from one meeting to the next, populated it. Why would he want to mix with people he had nothing in common with? Abundant skyscrapers scratched the skyline whilst at ground level, the rain pelted down on grey concrete and black suits.
Tom finally spied the building he had to get to, and pushed the button to get off. He tried not to breathe in as he passed the old man with the newspapers. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, and stepped off the bus into the rain as it pulled up by the side of the road.
“Watch out, idiot,” said a nondescript man bumping past him, trying to dodge the raindrops as he rushed to his office. Tom shrugged and looked at his watch: nine a.m. He looked around at where he would be working as the bus pulled away. He stood under the bus shelter, sheltered from the rain, marvelling at the skyscraper in front of him. He tried counting the floors, but could only get up to twelve before the misty rain hid the rest. We used to build churches, he thought, now we have giant, glass, monoliths to worship, and money. C’est la vie.
Tom checked the road and ran across to the entrance. He was struck by how much glass there was: the doors, the walls, and even the tables. Hope they’ve at least got proper walls in the toilets, he thought, as he slipped unobtrusively through the large sliding doors. The interior of the foyer was huge: marble columns sprouted from a smooth, slippery marble floor, and vast chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Men and women bustled past him, to and fro, ignoring him; Tom felt invisible. He approached the reception desk.
“Good morning,” said the beautiful young girl behind the glass desk. Tom couldn’t help but notice that her complexion was perfect, and her hands were perfectly manicured. Through the glass desk, he also noticed her long legs. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad working here.
“Hi, I’m Tom, Tom Goode. I’m here to start work today at Fiscal Industries,” he said, smiling, while reading her nametag: Jessica.
“Certainly, sir, please take a seat, I’ll get someone to come and fetch you,” said Jessica. She gave him a smile and picked up the phone.
“Thanks,” Tom said. “So, Jessica, what’s it like working here? You like it?”
She ignored him and proceeded to ask someone to come down to get him.
“Seats are over there, sir,” she said, ignoring his gaze, and spinning her chair around to talk to her colleague.
“Pleased to meet you, too,” he muttered, walking away to the black leather sofas. He sat down and marvelled again at the building. The entrance alone was bigger than his entire flat, and the whole place was spotless. Men and women sped past him to the lifts at the far end, already at work on their mobiles. Suddenly Tom felt very out of place. He straightened his tie and looked down at his shoes; he hadn’t even polished them this morning. He surreptitiously licked one finger and bent down to rub the scuff marks and dirt off. As he did so, his phone vibrated and he took it out.
“Hi, Mum, I can’t really talk, I just got here,” he said glancing around and talking quietly. He bet none of the suits filing past him talked to their mothers in the morning.
“You’re there already? Oh God, Tom, just leave, come home quick, come now,” said his mother rapidly. She spoke without pause, without hesitation. Tom frowned. His mother was not the nervous type or one to worry unduly. Plus, his parents lived miles away, on the edge of the city. It would take him hours to get home.
“What’s wrong, Mum?” he asked. “I just got here, I don’t think I should leave before I’ve even...”
“Shut up, Tom, just leave now, something’s happened... city... you...”
“Mum? Hello? Mum?” Tom looked at his phone. The line was dead. He tried calling her back, but he just got an engaged tone. Surely if something was wrong, then everyone would know about it? Queues of people were still going past him into the building and outside, it appeared normal. He could see buses and taxis driving past, trees blowing in the storm, and bits of rubbish swirling down the drain. Hundreds of people were spilling out of the tube station. Surely, his mother was mistaken?
“Hi, Tom Goode? I’m Jillian, from Fiscal Industries. Welcome,” said the woman standing beside him. She stared at him, holding out her hand.
“Oh, hi, yes, I’m Tom,” he said shaking her hand. He stuffed his phone back into his satchel and got up.
“Great, follow me please, I’ll take you up. We’re on sixteen. Best views across the city - when it’s not raining,” said Jillian, winking at him.
Tom smiled back and followed her. He would call his mother later at lunch time; she was probably worried about nothing. He was already anxious about his first day at work and an odd phone call from his mother was not helping settle his nerves. He couldn’t help but think that today was not going according to plan; the receptionist had been hot, but was a bit of a bitch quite frankly, and then being told to leave the city? He couldn’t very well ask his new boss if he could just go and call his mummy, could he?
He followed Jillian to the lift, where she swiped a card outside the door and took him in. She stood facing the doors with Tom behind her, as they rode up with two suits to his right. He looked her up and down; she was probably thirty something, married with kids, no doubt, slim, smartly dressed. She seemed nice enough. Perhaps he was worried about nothing. He would spend the day in a nice warm office, meet some new people, and go home a little bit richer than when he started. Sadly for Tom, he was wrong; he would never go home again.
* * * *
Sally ran so hard; she thought her lungs were going to bu
rst. As a trained nurse, she knew that was not possible, not literally, but she had seen other things today that she knew were not possible; not in the world she lived in, and yet she had seen them. The unimaginable horrors she had seen would not be shaken from her; she forced herself to forget and think about home. She had to get home. Her son would need picking up from school soon. She had to get out of here. Her son needed her.
Sally kicked off her shoes as she ran and left them behind. Her bare feet hurt on the road, but she could run faster without her shoes slipping in the rain. She glanced over her shoulder; they were still coming.
When they had brought the body in, they hadn’t known the true issue they were dealing with. A male had been found in Stepney Green Park, apparently attacked, the victim of a mugging, and left for dead. First reports were that he had suffered a heart attack, but he had suffered facial wounds consistent with a beating. Whoever had called it in, had been a poor judge, as they had told them that the man was dead. When he arrived at the hospital, he was very much alive. They had to restrain him as he lashed out whenever they tried to help him.
They had taken him straight to ER and worked on him, but he died shortly after. They thought it was a simple mugging gone wrong, although gouging someone’s eyes out for twenty quid was unusual. The police went to inform his next of kin, while they, Doctor Collins and Nurse Tina, noted the time of death and began tidying up. The man had fought for his life; he had regained consciousness very briefly before the end, spluttering something about the dark before passing out. His body had been wracked with convulsions and he had vomited blood everywhere. From the state he was in, she had wondered if it really was a simple mugging gone wrong; now she knew better.
As she cleaned the blood off the floor, she heard Tina cry out. Sally had looked up to find the deceased jogger sitting up on the hospital bed, and biting Tina’s arm. As Tina tried to push him off, the man bit her harder, ripping skin and tissue away. As the blood poured over Tina’s uniform, Doctor Collins tried to push the man back down. Sally could see the Doctor was confused. He had been declared dead two minutes ago, and there was no way they had got it wrong. Sally had to admit she had frozen. She had been trained to deal with angry patients, dangerous ones, and people with mental problems or on drugs; but a dead man coming back to life?
By the time she sounded the alarm, it was too late. Doctor Collins was dead and Tina lay dying. The deceased ran out into the corridor, oblivious to Sally, and she could still hear the echoing screams from the corridor now. After that, it was total mayhem. People were been running all over the place. She heard the police firing shots, something she never dreamed would happen in her hospital, ever.
Venturing out into the corridor, she saw bodies everywhere, people bleeding all over the floor, bloody hand prints on the wall, and a trail of blood and vomit indicating where the deceased man had gone. Doctor Collins rushed out of the emergency room behind her and grabbed her. Luckily, he slipped in a pool of blood and crashed into a gurney. Sally had frozen once again, incredulous that the Doctor could be back on his feet. She had seen his throat being ripped out only minutes earlier. She saw other people in the hospital too, patients she had treated earlier, running around, biting, and clawing at anyone moving. An old wheelchair bound woman, Edith Smyth, crippled with Parkinsons, was holding a young boy up against the wall, sucking at his ragged neck like a vampire. As a doctor ran past, Sally watched Edith drop the boy and run after the doctor. Tina sprung out of the ER, too, blazing past Sally and knocking her over as she ran toward the dying boy on the floor. At that point, Sally ran and didn’t look back.
She managed to get out of the hospital with a few others. There was utter chaos and confusion in the entrance as she fled, ignoring her training, and the cries for help. Outside, it was raining and she ran straight across the road, headed for the tube station. She called her sister, Kathleen, and told her what was going on as she waited to get into the station. A crowd of people blocked the entrance though, so she hadn’t been able to get in and she knew better than to wait any longer; in seconds, they would be everywhere. She heard the shouts and screams close behind her, and ignored them. If she ran down the embankment, she might make the next tube stop. She prayed it was still running. Dropping her phone while she ran, she left the mob at the station.
Sally ran across the road, dodging taxis, buses, and reached the steps to the river. Fifteen or so wet concrete steps faced her, the hospital was behind her, and her future was in front of her. Looking down, she saw a couple holding hands beneath a large umbrella. They looked up at her and the woman smiled. Sally paused.
“Run. Run! Get away from here as fast as you can!” Sally screamed at them from the top of the steps, and they looked at her, clearly thinking she was mad. It wasn’t just the bizarre command to run, but she had bare feet and was drenched. The rain had mixed with the blood soaked shirt she wore and bright crimson drips of water trickled down her arms and fingers.
“Are you all right?” said the man taking a step toward her.
“Brian, be careful,” said the young woman.
“It’s okay, Lyn,” he said. There were sounds of cars sliding and screeching to a halt, horns blaring, and glass shattering from behind the strange woman on the bridge.
“Please,” said Sally sniffing, taking a step forward, and trying not to breakdown and cry. She couldn’t, not yet; her son would need fetching from school. As the rain splashed her face, she realised she couldn’t leave these poor people standing here. It wasn’t fair to do that to them. How many people at the hospital had she abandoned: patients, colleagues, and friends? How many were dead, how many alive? “Please trust me and just run.”
A figure appeared behind Sally and grabbed her, sending them both flying down the steps and crashing at the couple’s feet. The woman screamed as Sally landed on her head, breaking her neck instantly. The man who grabbed her, rolled on top of Sally and his teeth latched onto her cheek, ripping it off. He tore at Sally’s face, biting and chewing her supple flesh. Sitting on top of Sally’s body, the attacker chewed her skin as blood oozed from his mouth. Lyn screamed. Brian stood stock still, in shock, ignorant to his girlfriend’s screaming. The man who killed Sally, stood up and pounced.
Lyn’s screaming stopped as they fought; the young woman tried to fend him off, but he was too strong. He fought with her and they inadvertently found themselves by the edge of the Thames. Lyn kicked and punched him, but to no avail. Eventually, she lost her balance and they both fell over the side and into the water.
“Lyn?” whispered Brian. His brain could not process what his eyes were telling him.
“Lyn? Honey?” He slowly approached the river bank and looked over the side. His wife was floating away downstream, face down, in the brown, choppy, water. Her overcoat was heavy and dragging her down into the sludge at the river’s edge. The man who had attacked her was stuck in the sludge too, trying to drag himself up the bank and out. The man looked up at Brian and snarled.
Brian dropped the umbrella and fell to his knees. He had to call the police. He had to do something. Lyn was...she had been there a second ago. What had happened? There was no time to do anything though; he had been too slow.
Sally stretched her limbs and crawled to her knees, her crooked neck sloping to the left, and her bloodied face was twisted cruelly. Her eyes locked onto Brian as he sat in the gutter, rainwater puddling around him as he stared at Lyn floating away. Sally crawled over to him on hands and knees. She did not feel the cold concrete beneath her, or hear the vehicles crashing on the bridge above, and she would never reach her son. Brian turned around just in time to see Sally’s dead eyes and sharp teeth bearing down on him. It was the last thing Brian saw.
Devouring The Dead is available from Amazon here
ive.
