by Amy Cross
Finally a face peers out from inside the truck, and I see a middle-aged man staring at me.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I...” For a few seconds, I'm not quite sure what to say. “I'm going to see some friends,” I manage finally. “There's no bus service, so...”
My voice trails off.
“Where?” the man asks.
“It's quite a walk,” I reply, “but they live in Borrell Avenue and -”
“You don't want to go there,” he says firmly.
“You see, my friends live there and -”
“If your friends have got any sense, they won't be there now anyway,” he adds, cutting me off yet again. “I just went that way and it's not good up there.”
“Well, I still think that my friends -”
“You'd be better off coming with me.”
I hesitate for a moment. This man seems friendly enough, but in the current situation one cannot be too careful. Finally, as the man climbs out of his truck and comes closer, I start to realize that I'm rather defenseless. Still, if he has as go at me, I'll fight back. I might be in my seventies but that doesn't mean I can't swing a punch.
“I've been to the city,” the man says, putting his hands on his hips, “and it's a bad place to be right now. I saw dead bodies just left out on the side of the road, and people who looked like they'd gone completely nuts. The way I figure, the best thing right now is to hunker down somewhere and wait for all this madness to pass over. That's why I'm going out to visit some people I know who have a farm. Good people. Safe people.”
“That's all well and good,” I reply, “but my friends will be -”
“Your friends'll be dead if they're still at Borrell Avenue,” he says, apparently unwilling to let me complete a single sentence. “Either that, or they'll be raging crazies by now. I don't know how to put this any other way, but the city's a death-trap right now.” He pauses, looking me up and down. “You don't seem so crazy,” he adds finally. “How about you come along with me. It's better than the way you're going right now.”
“You're very kind,” I reply, “but...”
My voice trails off again. This man seems nice enough, but at the same time there's something a little unusual about him, something I can't quite put my finger on. As much as I'm sure he's very earnest in his advice, I think I should continue with my original plan. I'm a good judge of character, and this fellow doesn't seem right to me.
“You're very kind,” I say again, “but I really think I should get going. Thank you all the same, and good luck to you.”
With that, I turn to walk away.
“Hey, aren't you Derek Harrisford?” he asks suddenly.
Stopping, I look back at him.
“The singer,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “The musician. You had that song back in the 'eighties, didn't you? The one that was everywhere for a few weeks.”
“Well...”
Pausing, I realize that I've been recognized.
“We used to listen to that song all the time,” he says, smiling as he takes a step closer. “I worked at a car repair place at the time, and we actually wore out two tape copies 'cause we played it so much. That song was a real ear-worm, huh?”
“It was certainly popular,” I reply.
“I liked that follow-up you did, too,” he says. “Too bad it wasn't as big, but I thought it was great.”
“Thank you.”
He pauses, before taking a step back.
“Okay,” he continues, “well, I really don't think you should go to the city, not until things get better. But I get it, you've got your own plans. Stay safe, Mr. Harrisford. I hope one day everything goes back to normal. I had no idea you lived round here. I'll keep an eye out in case you play somewhere.”
He turns to head back to his truck.
“Where did you say you were going?” I ask.
He glances at me again.
“I was thinking,” I continue, “maybe you have a point about the city.”
“It's not nice there at the moment.”
“That offer of a ride in your truck was very generous,” I say, stepping toward him, “and I was wondering, is there any chance that I could change my mind and accept?”
“I can take you to the farm,” he replies.
“That would be extremely kind of you.”
He comes closer and we shake hands.
“Dean Clarke,” he says with a smile. “It's a real honor to meet you, Mr. Harrisford, but I think we should get going. I want to reach the farm before sundown.”
As we head to the truck, I tell myself that this chap seems very trustworthy. I have been very lucky, running into someone who is clearly so trustworthy, and I feel rather bad for doubting him earlier. I'm sure he's right about the city being a dangerous place, and I quite like the idea of hiding out on a farm until all this madness has passed. I can only hope that some day we shall all be able to get back to normal, and that this nightmare will not mark the complete breakdown of human civilization.
Eleven
“There she is,” Dean says a few hours later, as the truck bumps along a dirt road. “Big place, huh?”
Squinting, I'm just about able to make out a farmhouse in the distance, along with a large barn and several out-buildings. The journey has been rather uncomfortable so far and I'm glad that it's almost over, although Dean and I have managed to keep the conversation going. For the most post, he wanted to hear my stories of the music industry, and I confess that I dropped a few names. Still, this fellow's musical tastes are not terribly sophisticated, and I doubt he would have wanted me to talk about my more recent classical work.
“Don't worry,” he continues, “I'll introduce you to Donald and Sharon. They're friends of mine from a long way back. They'll take real good care of you.”
“That's very generous,” I reply, “and -”
Before I can finish, the truck hits a particularly large bump and I'm jolted forward. At the same time, my right knee bangs hard against the side of the door and I feel a sharp pain bursting up my leg.
“Sorry about that,” Dean says. “Like I said, nearly there!”
***
“Sure, I remember that song,” this Donald chap says as we stand in his yard. “I think so, anyway. It was a hit for a while.”
“A modest one,” I reply.
“It wasn't really my cup of tea,” he continues with a loud sniff. “I heard it on the radio a few times, mainly when other people had it on. I've never really been a fan of the poppy, lowest-common-denominator stuff that fills the charts.”
“What my friend is trying to say,” Dean interjects, “is that it's nice to meet you.”
“That's true enough,” Donald adds with a nod. “We'll be glad to give you a place to rest your head, Mr. Harrisford. Let's just hope that things start getting back to normal soon. The power went out this afternoon, which isn't a good sign, and the phone lines are all down. We've still got water for now, but we're starting to stockpile it in case the pipes start running dry. As for food, luckily we -”
“What are you all doing out here?” a woman's voice shouts suddenly, and a moment later a worried, harried-looking lady emerges from the house and glares at us. “Donald, get them inside,” she adds, before looking past us as if she's seen something that upsets her.
I turn and follow her gaze, but all I see is the dirt road and the forest.
“Hurry!” she continues as I turn back to her. “It's getting dark!”
“You'll have to forgive my wife,” Donald says with a sigh. “She's easily spooked at the moment, although I guess she has a point. Why don't you come in and we'll see about making you comfortable.”
“You're very kind,” I reply as I follow him and Dean into the farmhouse, although I can't help glancing back once again toward the forest, and wondering why the lady seems so troubled.
“This is our daughter Jessie,” Donald says as I reach the kitchen, where a gangly young girl is
sitting at the table with a pair of headphones on her ears and a mobile telephone in her hands. She barely even looks up at me as I enter. “And over there,” he adds, “is our son Adam and his friend Craig.”
Turning, I see two young men – teenagers, really – sitting on a sofa in the next room.
“This is a lovely place,” I say to Donald, as I notice that his wife is staring out the window as if she's still afraid of something. “Might I ask what kind of farming you do?”
“Potatoes,” he replies, “as far as the eye can see. And some chickens.” He turns to Sharon. “Honey, can you get away from that window? You're making us all tense.”
“Damn it!” Jessie hisses, and I turn to see the girl gripping her phone tightly. “Why can't this thing just work? Is it really that hard for them to just leave the transmitters on?”
“Easy there,” Donald says, wandering over and putting a hand on her shoulder, only for her to swat the hand away. “The phones'll be on again at some point, you just have to be patient.”
“I've been patient for days now!” she snaps, her voice shaking with anger. “We need to be able to communicate, Dad! We need to know what's going on out there!”
“We'll find out when we find out,” he tells her, before looking over at his wife again. “Sharon, can you talk some sense into this girl?”
As they continue to argue, I drift over toward the door that leads into the next room, and I find myself looking through at the two young boys on the sofa.
“Good evening,” I say.
“Who are you?” one of them asks.
“My name's Derek and -”
“What are you doing here?”
“Don't be rude, Adam,” the other boy says, nudging his companion. “You've got loads of room here.”
“We don't have loads of food, though,” Adam says, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “Did you bring food, old man? Or are you just planning of freeloading?”
“I -”
“That's enough,” Dean says, slipping past me and stepping into the room. “It's good to see the pair of you. Your father has very kindly agreed to let Derek and I stay for a few days. If there's still been no improvement by the weekend, I think we're all going to have to re-think our approach.”
“I'm going to go and check that the barn's locked,” Adam mutters, getting to his feet and heading out into the kitchen. As he goes, he glares at me. “We don't all have time to stand around doing nothing and expecting other people to help out.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I'd be glad to go with him, but he's already hurrying out through the front door, and it's clear that the young man is decidedly angry.
“Ignore him,” Dean says, keeping his voice low. “That kid's had a chip on his shoulder for as long as I've known him.”
“Food'll be ready soon,” Donald says, coming over to join us. “We don't have much, Mr. Harrisford, but we're happy to share. To be honest, we've been cooped up in here for a few days now. It'll be nice to have someone fresh to talk to over dinner.”
“Thank you so much,” I reply, although I can't help noticing that his wife is still peering out the window, watching the darkening yard. “You've all been so very kind.”
“Come on, you stupid thing!” Jessie says, still desperately tapping at her phone. “Why won't you work? It's not rocket science! Just work!”
Twelve
“I knew it was trouble, right from the start,” Donald says later, as we sit at the dinner table. Candles are flickering between us, bringing just enough light for us to eat. “I had a hunch. I said to Sharon on the first day, that this is going to be trouble.”
He turns to his wife.
“Remember that, honey?”
We all wait, but she's staring at the window.
“It's okay,” he continues, nudging her arm. “Come on, stop worrying. I told you, the barn's perfectly secure now.”
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
Sharon turns to me and opens her mouth to say something.
“My wife just worries about the chickens,” Donald says firmly, as if he's keen to keep her from telling me what's really on her mind. “We've had some trouble with foxes over the past few days.”
“Sure,” Adam murmurs nearby. “Foxes.”
“It's foxes, alright,” Donald continues. “There's no doubt about that.”
I feel as if I'm coming in at the tail-end of a disagreement that has been going on for some time, so I focus on setting some vegetables onto my plate. After a moment, however, there's a sudden bumping sound and I turn to see that Sharon has jumped to her feet, sending her chair scraping across the floor in the process.
“What was that?” she gasps.
“It was nothing!” Donald says with a sigh, grabbing her arm. “Sit down, you'll get everyone spooked.”
“Didn't you hear?” she asks, before turning to each of us in turn. “I swear, there's something out there!”
“It's just the wind,” Donald tells her firmly. “We've talked about this before. That barn is fox-proof now, there's no way anything's getting in there.”
“Unless it's not a fox,” Adam mutters.
Sharon sits back down, although I can tell from the look on her face that she's still not convinced. The whole rooms seems tense. Jessie is still tapping at her phone, but everyone else is now sitting in silence and carefully avoiding eye contact. I want to say something to break the ice, although I can't really think of anything. Usually, in situations like this I'd fetch my guitar and play a few songs, just to lighten the mood, but that's not an option right now.
“Are you okay with the camp-bed in the back room, Mr. Harrisford?” Donald asks finally. It's clear that he wants to move the conversation on. “It's not much, but I'm afraid it's all we can offer.”
“It's very good, thank you,” I reply. “I should only -”
Before I can finish, there's a loud bang from outside.
Donald, Sharon and the two boys immediately get to their feet and look toward the window, although all that can be seen is a reflection of our candlelit dinner. A moment later, however, Sharon blows out all the candles and rushes over to peer out at the yard, and Donald goes to join her.
“Don't tell me that was a fox!” Sharon hisses. “That thing is back again!”
“What thing?” I ask, before turning to Dean and seeing that he seems to have no idea either.
“Sharon, Jessie, you both stay here,” Donald says firmly, before turning and heading toward the front door. “Adam, Craig, you're with me.”
“We'll come too,” Dean adds, and he and I go after the others as they head outside.
Donald has taken a shotgun that was resting near the shoes, and once I'm out in the yard I can just about see him heading toward the barn. There's a decent amount of moonlight tonight, bathing us all in an ethereal blue haze, but there's no time to take in the beauty of the scene. Already, there are more loud bangs and bumping sounds coming from the barn, along with the clucks of disturbed chickens.
“I told you it'd come back!” Adam shouts. “It's getting braver!”
“What is?” I ask, struggling to keep up with them all. I'm already a little out of breath.
Before anyone can answer, there's another – louder – bang straight ahead, accompanied by an almighty growl that sounds like nothing I've ever heard before.
We all stop, and now it's clear that something is causing havoc inside the barn.
“You've got to kill it this time, Dad!” Adam sneers. “You've got to make sure you hit it right. Give me the gun, I can do it.”
“Leave it to me,” Donald replies.
“But Dad, I -”
“I said, leave it to me.” After pausing for a moment, Donald starts making his way once again toward the barn. “Everyone else stay back.”
“I grew up on a farm,” I say, watching the yard ahead for any hint of movement coming from the barn's large, bolted main door, “and I never knew of a fox that could make all that racket.”
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“That's because it isn't a fox,” Craig says, turning to me in the moonlight. “We all know that.”
“Then what is it?” I ask.
“We haven't seen it,” he replies, “not properly, but we've seen what it can do. And we heard about them, right before all the TV channels and the internet went off. People were saying that they'd seen them on the day the music went away. At first it sounded crazy, we just assumed everyone was imagining stuff, but then...”
I wait, but there's fear in his eyes.
“Then what?” I ask.
“Then we realized one was here,” he continues. “I don't know how, but it's as if -”
Suddenly a shot rings out, and we both turn to see that Donald is racing around the side of the barn. Adam and Craig immediately start running after him, and then Dean goes too, while I limp along as fast as I can manage. My battered body is fighting back, begging me to rest, but as I reach the side of the barn I realize that pure adrenaline must be keeping me going. I can hear Donald and the others shouting, and a moment later there's another gunshot.
And then silence.
I wait, standing all alone in the darkness. The barn towers high above me, blocking out the moonlight, and after a moment I realize that I can hear a series of bumping sounds coming from inside. I want to call out to the others, to ask what's happening, but I tell myself that they must have fallen silent for a reason.
Watching the barn's dark wall, I realize after a moment that the bumping sound seems to be coming closer. Something's on the other side of the wall, coming this way, and finally I take a step back as I realize that I can feel the ground rumbling beneath my feet.
Before I can react, a shape smashes through the barn's wall, sending pieces of wood flying in all directions. I turn away and slip, slamming down hard in the mud, and then as I start to sit up something brushes against me. After pulling away, I look around, and finally I spot a dark, human-sized shape scrambling away across the yard and heading toward the forest. Whatever that thing was, however, it seemed to have very long arms and legs, and I think I made out a domed, bald head.
