The Music Man

by Amy Cross

  Another gunshot booms in the distance, and then another, and then Adam's voice rings out from the forest.

  “I got it!” he screams. “Hurry! I finally brought the bastard down!”

  Eighteen

  Rain is still pouring as Craig and I pick our way through the forest. The ground is uneven beneath our feet, and I have to support myself against the soaking wet trees, but up ahead I can already see Adam and Dean standing at the edge of a clearing.

  Just as we get closer, Adam raises the shotgun and fires twice, aiming at something on the ground. Almost immediately, the air around us fills with an agonized, howling cry of pain.

  “What is it?” Craig gasps, getting further ahead of me and then stopping next to the others.

  I can barely breathe as I reach them, and then I stop as I see the writhing, wriggling shape of the creature on the forest floor. Several chunks of its body have been blown away, including both of its legs, and the damaged body parts have been left strewn across the ground. The main part of the creature, meanwhile, is struggling desperately to drag itself away from us, while emitting a sound that seems to switch constantly from snarl to scream.

  “I've only got one more shot left,” Adam mutters angrily as he aims the gun again.

  I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but I'm too late. He fires again, hitting the creature in the chest area and sending it rolling across the ground as it cries out.

  “Okay,” Adam snarls, turning and thrusting the gun into Craig's hands before heading away and grabbing a fallen branch from the forest floor, “now it's time to really put this thing out of its misery.”

  “Let me see,” I say, limping after him as I try to get a better look at the creature. “It's hurt!”

  As I get closer, I see that this is the exact same creature that I encountered in my dream. It turns its head toward me, and for a moment I see ripples of sharp little shapes struggling to break through the surface of its smooth black face. The shapes are in two patches near the top of the face, and finally I realize that they look a little like eyes. Not that they are eyes, of course, but I can't help feeling that perhaps the creature is attempting to mimic the human face.

  Adam steps past me with the branch raised high.

  “Wait!” I snap, trying but failing to grab his arm and pull him back. “You can't just kill it!”

  “Keep out of this, old man,” he replies, stepping around the side of the creature.

  “But -”

  Before I can finish, he slams the branch down against the creature's head. The creature emits a low howl as it falls to one side, and then it cries out again as Adam hits it several more times.

  “Stop!” I shout. “Don't you want to know what it is? Don't you want to try to communicate with it?”

  “There'll be time for questions later!” Adam snaps, as he hits the creature with more and more ferocity. “Once it's dead, you can cut it open and see how it works! Right now, I'm going to make sure that it can't attack our farm ever again!”

  I watch with a growing sense of horror as he continues to strike the creature, until suddenly I see more and more of the little teeth starting to burst through to the surface.

  “Wait!” I call out. “Adam, be careful!”

  “I'm gonna bust this thing apart!” he replies.

  “No, stop!” I shout, watching as more and more of the teeth appear, until the creature's entire body seems to be made of a swarm of those things. “It's in pain! It's going to fight back!”

  “Not if I finish it off first!”

  He raises the branch again, but suddenly one of the little black teeth snaps away from the creature's body and hits Adam's arm, slicing clean through and then bursting out the other side.

  “What the -”

  Clutching his arm, Adam takes a step back as a small patch of blood begins to soak through the fabric of his t-shirt.

  “You have to be very careful,” I tell him. “I think that was a warning. You don't know what this thing is, but you can't just keep attacking it and not expect it to defend itself. Please -”

  “Oh, you think you're smart, do you?” Adam hisses, before stepping closer to the creature and hitting it several more times. “That hurt! You just made a big mistake, my friend. You just made me even angrier than I was before!”

  He hits the creature again and again, battering it with the branch.

  And then, suddenly, the creature's entire body seems to fall apart. All the sharp little black teeth come away from one another, and after a moment they rise up in front of Adam and hang in the air. It's almost like that moment in my dream when the creature rushed at me.

  “Get away from it!” I shout, as Adam stares at the thousands of floating teeth. “Don't -”

  Before I can say another word, the teeth all rush straight at Adam, slamming into his body and slicing straight through before emerging from the other side and then falling to the ground, when they immediately begin to reform themselves to recreate the creature's body.

  Horrified, I stare at Adam as he takes a faltering step forward, and then he turns to reveal that all over his body there are thousands of small bloodied cuts where the teeth passed straight through him. There are even cuts on his face, as if some of the teeth went through his brain.

  He opens his mouth and lets out a faint groan as blood starts trickling down his face. He takes a step toward us and drops the branch, and then – as rain continues to crash down – he drops to his knees and then topples over.

  “Adam!”

  Donald rushes past us, hurrying to his son and scrambling to pull him up.

  Craig, Dean and I step closer, but it's already clear that we're too late. Thousands upon thousands of those sharp little teeth sliced straight through the poor boy, no doubt causing untold damage to his organs, and blood is now starting to soak out through his clothes. He's still twitching slightly, and he lets out a faint, rattling gasp, but then he falls still in his father's arms and I realize that he's dead.

  Turning, I look down at the creature and see that it has already reformed the central part of its body. Meanwhile, some of its severed sections are starting to break down and swarm back to rejoin the torso, although it's clear that overall the creature is extremely weak.

  “Metal,” Craig says suddenly, next to me. “We need metal boxes, metal cases, metal anything from the barn. Hurry!”

  Nineteen

  “It can break through wood, but not metal,” Craig says a short while later, as he sets the metal boxes on the floor in the barn. “If it could break through metal, it would have done so when it was trying to escape before.”

  There are six boxes in front of us, of varying shapes and sizes, and each contains a section of the creature's body. At first, I wasn't quite sure what Craig was planning, but now I understand that he means to keep the creature's different parts separate so that they can't recombine. Even now, as rain continues to fall outside, I can hear faint bumping sounds coming from inside some of the boxes, as if the creature is starting to recover.

  Suddenly there's a scream from the farmhouse, and I turn to look out across the yard.

  “He told her,” Craig says, and we both listen to the sound of Sharon sobbing loudly as she learns of Adam's death.

  “Why didn't he listen?” I reply after a moment. “I told him to stand back. I told him it was dangerous.”

  “How did you know?” Craig asks.

  “I -”

  Turning to him, I realize that I'm not sure how to explain. I would feel extremely foolish if I claimed to have encountered the creature before in a dream, although that is in fact what seems to have happened. Still, I tell myself that there must be some other explanation, that something else must have happened to give my dream that incredible lucidity and detail.

  One of the boxes bumps loudly, and it's clear that the creature is gathering strength. Still, the boxes seem to be keeping it contained, at least for now.

  “There should have been another way,” Craig says af
ter a moment. “I've never seen someone die before. He was my friend. There should have been another way to deal with this.”

  ***

  “She's inconsolable,” Dean says quietly as we stand in the kitchen, listening to the sound of Sharon sobbing in one of the upstairs bedrooms. “I think it's finally broken her.”

  “I'm not surprised,” I reply. “Did he tell her exactly how the poor boy died?”

  “He didn't go into all the details. I'm not sure he even understands it himself. I think he's going to try to give her one of the sedatives they usually use for Jessie, and then he's going to come down and we're going to figure out what to do with Adam's body. I guess we'll have to bury him somewhere.”

  “These young people shouldn't be dying,” I tell him. “They had their whole lives ahead of them.”

  “We need to know what's going on,” Dean says. “In the rest of the world, I mean. I feel like I'm going crazy, just sitting here and waiting to see what happens.”

  “You said the city was too dangerous,” I remind him.

  “I did, but maybe that's not a reason to stay away.” He pauses. “I think I was wrong, Mr. Harrisford. Regardless of the risk, I think I'd rather go and face whatever's out there, instead of hiding away like this. How many more of these creatures are there? Is this some kind of invasion? And how is it connected to what happened to the music?”

  “I think they came for the music,” I tell him, “and they took it. How and why, I can't even begin to imagine, but I think that's fundamentally what happened. And now this one, for whatever reason, seems to have been left behind.”

  “That sounds nuts,” he points out.

  “It does indeed,” I reply, “but if you'd told me two weeks ago that all the music could be drained from the world, I'd have said that too sounded nuts.”

  He sighs.

  “I'm going to go and look for some shovels,” he mutters, turning and heading to the door. “Donald shouldn't have to dig the grave. I can at least do that for him.”

  Once he's gone, I lean back against the wall and try to work out what to do next. I have now seen two young, healthy people get cut down right before my eyes, and I don't think I can bear to see it happen again. The world has deteriorated so fast and by such an extreme, and I feel that at any moment I might sit down and find that I lack the will to keep going. What's the point, if all that's left is death and misery?

  “Damn it!” a voice hisses nearby.

  Turning, I look at the empty doorway that leads through to the front room, and then I wander over and see Jessie sitting cross-legged on the sofa, still tapping at her mobile telephone.

  “Do you have any battery?” she asks, turning to me. “I'm down to almost nothing. If it dies, I won't know when the network comes back up.”

  “I'm so sorry about your brother,” I reply.

  “Do you have any battery?” she asks again. “Can I have it? I need to keep my phone alive.”

  “Your brother -”

  “You must have battery,” she continues, before suddenly getting to her feet and stepping toward me. “You have to give it to me. I'm in charge of checking to see if the phones work, it's selfish of you to keep your battery when other people need it.”

  “I wanted to say that I -”

  “Where's your battery?” she snaps, suddenly shoving me hard in the chest. “What's wrong with you? Are you stupid? Can't you understand what I'm saying?”

  She leans closer, and then she starts speaking slowly, as if to a child.

  “Give. Me. Your. Battery. Old. Man.”

  I wait, but now she's glaring at me with barely concealed anger.

  “I'm sorry about your brother,” I say finally. “I didn't know him very well, but he seemed like a fine, upstanding young man.”

  She stares at me, as if she can't quite believe what I'm saying. And then, just as I begin to wonder whether I should try again to console her, she steps back and screams before slamming the door shut in my face.

  Twenty

  “I'm not sure where to begin,” Donald says as he stands at the head of the grave. “When this is all over, we'll get a proper priest to come and speak. And we'll move him. We'll move Adam to a proper grave in a churchyard.”

  Down at the bottom of the grave, Adam's body rests wrapped in white sheets. It has been almost exactly twenty-four hours since he died, but the rain did not relent until this morning. I'm shivering slightly in the cold air, and I already regret leaving my jacket on a chair in the kitchen.

  “So this is just temporary,” Donald continues. “I promise you that, son. We'll get you a proper grave just as soon as we can. We'll come back and do that, you won't be here forever. I'd like to thank Dean for digging the grave, I know it must have been difficult with the ground being so wet. And of course I'd like to thank my dear wife for dressing our son and getting him ready. And I'd like to thank everyone else for coming, too. Amen.”

  He pauses, before taking the shovel that was leaning against the wall, and starting to fill the grave. As he works, his wife sobs and Jessie continues to tap angrily at her phone.

  ***

  “We're leaving,” Donald announces later, once we're all back inside the farmhouse. “Sharon and I have talked about it, and we can't just sit around here and hope that things work out. We're going to go to town and see what's what, and then I think we'll probably go on to London. Things are bound to be better organized there.”

  “I think that's wise,” Dean tells him. “Thinking about it, we're just waiting to die if we stay here. I'm going to go too.”

  “There's something else I have to tell you,” Donald continues, before turning to me. “You seem like a very nice gentleman, Mr. Harrisford, and I have nothing but good wishes for you. At the same time, I have to protect my family, and we're already low on food and water. I hope you'll understand that I can't invite you to come with us. I can't even offer you a lift in our vehicle, on account of how the extra weight would be a burden.”

  “I understand,” I reply, as I realize that I am to be left alone.

  “And that goes for you too, Craig,” he adds, turning to address the boy who stands next to me. “I'm very sorry, you were Adam's friend growing up and we love you like a son. Almost like a son. Anyway, the point is, family's family and Sharon and Jessie and I have to stick together. We can't take you either.”

  “Sure,” he says, although he sounds a little scared. “I get it.”

  “Maybe you think I'm being selfish,” Donald says as his wife heads out of the room and goes upstairs, no doubt to pack some possessions for the journey, “but like I told you, it's about family. We're going to struggle as it is, and I can't put my wife and daughter in jeopardy just because I try to help other people. They have to be my priority.”

  “You don't have to explain,” I tell him. “It's entirely understandable.”

  “You're welcome to sit around here,” he replies. “I don't know how long it'll be before we're back, but at least here you'll have a roof over your heads. Just don't cause any damage to the place, 'cause we fully intend to return eventually. Maybe that'll be in days, or weeks, or months or... Well, like I said, we plan on coming back, so I'd thank you to not do anything that messes the farm up.”

  “Of course,” I say. “That's very kind of you.”

  “We aim to be gone within the hour,” he adds, stepping past me and heading toward the door. “Jessie, get some things together.”

  “Tell them to give me their batteries,” she replies, barely even looking up from her phone. “Tell them, Dad!”

  He ignores her and instead makes his way upstairs.

  “I can give you both a ride,” Dean says, turning first to Craig and then to me. “If you don't want to come to London, I can drop you off somewhere along the way. I can't just leave you here, it wouldn't be right.”

  “That's very kind of you,” I reply, “but I think I shall remain here, if it's all the same to you.”

  “But -”

&nb
sp; “I saw enough when I was back at my flat,” I add. “I saw what people are capable of, and how they're acting. The idea of going to a city and seeing more of that... Well, I think I'd prefer to stay here and see what I can manage. I'm no spring chicken, that's true, but I know a few tricks.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Good luck,” I continue. “I mean that, and I think you'll need it. Perhaps it's because I'm getting old, but I think I prefer the solitude of this place right now. I have no desire whatsoever to rush headlong back into the company of others.”

  “I'm going to stay too,” Craig says suddenly.

  I turn to him.

  “I feel the same,” he continues. “I don't know what it's like in London right now, but I don't think I want to find out. I've seen enough movies and read enough books to know that people tend to go crazy sometimes. I'd rather stay here and wait it all out.” He glances at me. “If you don't mind the company.”

  “Of course not,” I reply cautiously, “but... are you sure?”

  “I've never been more sure of anything in my life,” he tells me. “We can survive here, at least for a while. I'd rather try that than go rushing headfirst into some kind of dystopian nightmare in the city.”

  I pause for a moment, wondering whether I should dissuade him from this idea, before telling myself that I should let the young man make his own decisions. Taking my jacket from the back of the chair, I slip it on in an attempt to keep myself warm, and then I hear Donald and Sharon coming downstairs.

  Half an hour later, they're all gone, leaving me alone at the farm with just Craig for company.

  Twenty-One

  “I got rid of the mosquito larvae from the water,” Craig says a few hours later, as he comes back into the house. “It's getting too dark out there to do a lot more tonight.”

  “Very good,” I reply, as I light another candle. “Very good indeed. Tomorrow, as they say, is another day. We can start taking stock and working out how best to proceed.” I force a smile, hoping to appear optimistic even though I fear we face an uphill battle.