by Craig Jones
18
I poured the last of the cereal into a bowl with the final drop of the milk. It was the first thing I had eaten since the slice of toast Nick had forced down my throat at breakfast. I didn’t feel hungry, but knew I had to put something in my stomach to stop the horrible acidic ache taking up residence there.
It was close to two in the morning and, looking out of the kitchen window, the sky was dark with heavy rainclouds. It wouldn’t be long before a storm hit, by the looks of it. Our black Range Rover was back out in the driveway, but this time it was facing the open gates. I got up from the table and checked that the back door was firmly locked, opened the cupboard, took Simon’s keys and pushed them deep into the left pocket of my black combat trousers. I had my motorbike boots and jacket on. Leaving the lights on, I marched through the house and out of the front door, pausing to lock it and check it was secure with a couple of firm shoves.
I popped the house keys into the right-hand pocket of my trousers and withdrew the car key in the same movement. I opened the driver’s door of the SUV and boosted myself up into the front seat, slipped the key into the ignition and started the engine. I was on autopilot, there could be no doubting that, my body reacting and moving more quickly than it should have been given the fear swirling around inside of me. Every action was achieved by ticking off an item on a highly precise checklist that I had drilled into my brain.
The journey into Usk was a blissful blur. It was only when a car full of teenagers from the town passed me going the other way, windows open, arms waving, music and horn blaring, that I paid a little more attention to what I was doing rather than thinking over what I was going to have to do. I eased out to the right and pulled across the bridge, turning immediately right again, so the hairdressers’ shop was on my left. There were more cars parked a little further on, so I tucked in behind the last one, which meant the boot of the Range Rover was about one and a half metres from the shop door.
I snipped the lights off and halted the engine. I got out and walked away from the shop, towards the King’s Head, pressing the little button on the key fob to make the doors lock.
Placing the keys in my pocket, I walked for about forty metres to where the path diverted left and followed the pavement through the narrow gap between two houses. I kept my head down as I walked, maintaining a brisk pace. I was acutely aware of the amount of noise that could still be heard around the town even at this time of night. Music, voices talking, plenty of laughter. I stuck to the path as it swung left and past the Spar, towards the archway. This had been the route Danny had taken.
I tried to get the thoughts out of my mind as I emerged from the arch onto Bridge Street, turned to the left yet again and walked back towards the bridge itself. Light and music spilled from the pub opposite as two people, a man and a woman, came out arm-in-arm. They turned and called their goodnights and then, with a shout and a wave to me, began their walk home in the opposite direction to which I was going.
As I came level with the side windows of the hairdressers’ I could feel my chest constrict and I forced myself to breath slowly and deeply. It wasn’t easy. I turned left for the final time, bringing myself full circle. I could see the Range Rover in front of me as I withdrew Simon’s keys from my pocket. I positioned what I was best guessing to be the front door key between my right index finger and thumb and, as casually as possible, paused at the door and somehow, more by luck than judgement, slipped the key straight into the lock.
It turned and I stepped inside, not even bothering to look around me to see if I had been spotted. I closed the door gently, making as little noise as I could, and then crouched low so I would not be able to be seen from outside, pushing the keys into one of the zippered pockets of my jacket.
I waited, as had been my plan, for at least twenty minutes. I just sat there in the dark. If anyone had seen me, then they would either have investigated themselves or reported the suspicious behaviour to the police station just down the road. I had made the assumption that there would be some sort of presence in there on a fulltime basis in the coming weeks, so if they did come to search the abandoned shop, I had my story all ready and straight in my head. I just wanted to be close to where Danny had died, just one last time. Even the most hard-faced coppers would have understood that, wouldn’t they?
I sat with my back to the wooden panelling of the bottom of the door. I knew the Army’s plan had been to search every empty premises, and I wondered if they had some sort of skeleton key because, despite the door and its lock still being in one piece, they had definitely been in here; the blood had been cleaned up and there was no sign of Danny’s chain or the discarded leather glove. It looked like they had finally done something properly. They had clearly not found anything else untoward or the place would have been sealed up.
Every now and then, the walls of the shop would be bathed in car headlights and, if the car was coming into Usk from the bridge, the light would reflect from the mirrors on the opposite wall and blind me. I was glad to temporarily lose my vision; I was continuously staring at the shop’s counter and what I knew to be behind there.
Time slipped away and I finally began to crawl forward to the right of the counter. I took a deep breath, could feel the sweat beading up on my forehead, and scooted myself around the other side, so once again I could not be seen from anyone peering in through the door or windows of the shop. My last movement had shifted the plain blue rug that covered the hatch into the cellar.
The hairdressers’ had, of course, previously been the Cardiff Arms pub, and pubs, particularly in buildings this old, had cellars. It was my initial intention just to drag Danny behind the counter and hope that no one would see him, but when, just as it had now, the rug revealed its secret, I knew I could do even better than that for my brother.
* * *
I had found the little loop of bronze metal imbedded into the wood, opened the hatch, dropped onto my stomach to look down and spotted the drawstring pull for the lights. A single strip fluorescent lamp had jumped to life, bathing the room in yellow radiance. The steps down to the bare concrete floor were quite steep and two of the four walls had metal and wood shelving units bolted to them. Danny still had his motorbike leathers on and I had replaced his crash helmet over his head, but had put it on him backwards, so if he regained consciousness he would not be able to bite me.
Using the ties from the hairdressers’ aprons, I had bound his ankles together as well as securing his wrists behind his back. It made it easier when I lowered him down into the cellar, holding onto him under his armpits until I couldn’t stretch any further down.
‘Sorry, Danny,’ I had told him as I let him fall the rest of the way, the motorbike helmet protecting his head as it slid across the concrete. His body lay at the bottom of the steps as if he were just asleep. If only that was the case.
I had quickly descended the narrow, wooden stairs and checked what there was to assist me in the cellar. The shelves held numerous hairdressing supplies: peroxide, shampoo, conditioners, scissors, towels, aprons. I dragged Danny into a sitting position with his back against one of the strong metal struts that supported the shelving, and, after having taken a dozen or so more ties from the spare aprons, attached him to the strut as tightly as I could. The final cord went around his neck. I knew I had to do it, but it was this last effort that hurt the most. But do it I did, and then I was back up the stairs, pulling the light off as I went.
I closed over the hatch, grabbed a couple of towels and mopped up as much of Danny’s blood as I could, lobbing them into the pool of Simon’s blood as I prepared to leave. I made sure the rug covered the edges of the cellar entrance perfectly. If I was lucky, the next people in here would not find the way down. If I was unlucky, then I was just trying to save my brother. And there was nothing wrong with that.
* * *
Now, I peeled the rug back and lifted the hatch as much as I needed to reach down and pop on the overhead lighting. It seemed to burn into my retin
as after so long in the dark. I squinted and closed the hatch over a little, giving my eyes a chance to re-adjust. Once the bright spots in my vision began to fade, I opened it up again, this time just enough to look down and pick out my brother’s form.
Danny had not broken free of his bonds. He was still tied to the strut of the shelving unit but was clearly no longer unconscious. The heels of his boots had left black streaks along the floor as he had tried to push himself up, and his head, still in the backward motorbike helmet, jerked back and forth like a chicken waiting for its feed.
I crept down the stairs, closing the trapdoor gently with as little noise as possible. It was only when I was in the confined area that I became aware of the continual ‘mmmm’ coming from beneath the helmet, from Danny. I approached him slowly and reached over the back of his head, lifting the visor and then using the space it left to get a tight grip on the helmet. I whipped it off over his head as quickly as possible, tearing small clumps of his hair out at the same time. I pulled so hard that I lost my balance, falling backwards and away from Danny, the dust from the floor coating my black trousers. I rolled myself over and we sat facing each other.
The sudden brightness had silenced him and he tucked his chin in close to his chest, his eyelids partially closed as if the light was stabbing into the grey mess that had once been his eyes. His skin was already pale like the others I had seen, tight across his cheekbones and around his jaw. Then, he saw me properly and all his fear of the illumination dissipated and he stared straight at me, body rigid, teeth bared by his grotesquely peeled back lips, occasionally snapping but making that evil, terrifying noise over and over and over.
‘MMMMMMMMMMMM.’
Maybe being around the military and listening to the formal news reports on the BBC had gotten to me; my brother was infected, but there was no way that my brother was a zombie. For the second time, I smashed a motorcycle helmet into his face, and for the second time, I was not sure if I had killed him or knocked him out. But even then, from his limp jaw, the occasional distant noise would escape. I quickly pulled the helmet back into position over his head. I did not want to see Danny this way. This was not going to be easy but at least it meant that, now, I could bring my brother home safely.
I snatched one of the scissors from the shelf above Danny and snipped away all of the ties that held him in place. His upper body slumped forward to the floor. His wrists and ankles remained bound. The wound that had once been his little finger was a red, gory mess. It was no longer bleeding, but since he had regained whatever form of consciousness that this was, he had been rubbing his hands on the floor behind him, trying to get some purchase, leaving a gloopy smear of flesh and blood on the floor.
I was in no rush so I made sure the extra ties I put in place around his knees and elbows were as tight as could be. By the time I was ready to lift him back up the stairs, I knew there was no way that he could escape, and that I, in turn, was safe. Hooking my arms under his, I was able to work my way backwards up the stairs. I used the top of my head to lift the hatch as I stood up straight, and it fell over with a muffled bang as I finally got him to the top.
Luckily, it had overbalanced onto the rug, which had bunched up on the other side of the hole from which we emerged, so the sound it made was relatively muted. Now, I moved quickly, pulling Danny over as close to the front door as possible and dumping him down on the floor. I made one final trip into the cellar to hide the remains of the cut-up ties right under the bottom shelves, and used a clean towel to rub up the blood that Danny’s injury had left behind. I stashed the towel with the ties, mounted the stairs and turned the light off. I closed the trap door and once again replaced the rug.
Crouching, I advanced to the window on my far left. I raised my head just enough to see the back of the Range Rover. I pulled the key fob from my pocket and clicked it to unlock the doors, making the indicators blink once. It must have been quiet out there because I could hear the clunk of the lock opening even in the shop. I quickly ran to every window, checking for any passersby or any people in the windows of the houses that overlooked my position. Nothing. It was time.
I returned to the first window and slipped my thumb to the button at the very bottom of the fob, pressed, and held it. The boot of the Range Rover opened. That was my cue to move quickly. I crossed to Danny and, using my right arm, pulled him to his feet, realising for the first time just how light he felt. I got him balanced between my arm and my right hip, my hand gripping the leather of his jacket as tightly as I could. With my left hand I opened the shop door, let it swing inwards and then bundled Danny towards the boot of my vehicle.
From a distance, even with the helmet, it would have looked like I was man-handling a drunk, and as long as it seemed like we had just come around the corner as opposed to having exited the hairdressers’, maybe this would work. I half carried, half dragged his upright body as quickly as I could to the back of the Range Rover, basically throwing him inside.
I closed the boot with as much grace as possible, locked the car again and walked back past the shop door, casually reaching in and pulling it towards me as I went. It made a dull but resonant noise of metal on metal as the mechanisms slotted into place. I walked back to the Range Rover, unlocked it and got in, hoping that no one had seen me, and hoping that my brother would not get free.
19
I unravelled the rope and considered where it should be looped up over the rafters. I had to be sure I was positioning him in the right place. I didn’t want him too close to the door, although I didn’t want him too far out of sight of the open door, either; I needed to know straight away before I even stepped inside the shed if he had gotten himself loose at all. I couldn’t position him too close to the side panel, because if he started to kick out, not only could he damage the wood but he might also draw attention to himself. That would not be good.
The rafters overlapped in several places, and one junction, just off to the left of the centre of the shed, seemed to present the best option. I threaded the rope over the top, tied it off a couple of times, took the longest end over again, knotted and repeated once more. The two ends of rope left hanging were about one metre long and I swung on them, making sure both the rope and the wood were strong enough. They were. That was good enough for me. It was time to bring Danny down.
I had too many keys in my trouser pocket, so I diverted into the kitchen and left the house keys and Simon’s shop keys on the table. The car keys and the padlock keys remained with me. I had not been sure how I was going to secure the shed door and had searched around the garage over the last couple of days of the Williams’ stay; I had only found one small and rusted hasp and just enough screws to hold it in place. It had not taken long to screw it into position and one of our bike padlocks would do for the time being until I was able to get two far more substantial security devices.
I pressed the button that opened the boot and leant over my brother to see if he had come round yet. His body was still limp, the helmet still on his head, and it was easy to drag him out and down the path. The padlock lay on the floor just outside of the shed and was opened, ready to be snipped into place. I gently lay Danny on the grass next to it and pulled the shed open, wedged it wide with my left foot and with no ceremony at all, virtually bounced Danny inside. I let the door swing shut and stepped fully in after him. And then I realised that I possibly had not thought this through enough. How was I meant to hold him up and tie his hands at the same time? Some engineer I would have turned out to be.
He still made no sound and had not made any voluntary movements, so I lifted him to his feet with my left arm under his left armpit. I raised the arm up and stretched across his chest with my right hand and wrapped one of the loose strands of rope around his wrist, pushing the sleeve of his leather jacket up his forearm as I did so. Holding on to the rope tightly with my right hand, I slid my left hand up to his arm and grabbed hold of the jacket, stepping back slightly and letting Danny’s weight slip off me.
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He stayed upright, and I had just enough hold on him to stop him from sliding to the floor again. I worked quickly, feeling gravity turn against me, but within a couple of minutes, he was tightly tied to the rafter.
I had chosen his left hand intentionally. The thought of touching where the girl had bitten him repulsed me. It was from that point where the infection had spread, had taken over his whole body.
Maybe the infection was still spreading? And what if it was emanating from that very source?
I undid his leather jacket and tried to take it off him, but only got it halfway down his right arm before realising I would never get it off his bound left wrist. To rectify my mistake, I exited the shed and ran up towards the house to fetch the heavy duty scissors from the cutlery drawer. I stopped halfway.
Damn.
I had to get into the right habits from the off, and one of those would be to always keep the shed locked. It may only be for a few seconds, but it was not a risk I was prepared to take, full stop. I jogged back, put the padlock in place and this time walked up to the house. When I approached the back door, the security light blinked on. It did not have time to switch itself off before I was back out again, scissors in hand. I unlocked the shed and stepped back inside.
Danny was no longer hanging there by his left arm. He must have started to regain his senses and now his feet held him up. Not all his senses had returned, however, as he was still blinded by the motorcycle helmet, and I was glad of that when his right arm started trying to grab the air around him, restricted by still being half stuck in the sleeve of the jacket. I was able to pivot away from it but realised I would need to get more rope.
What if he managed to free himself before then?
