Dead Beat

by Remy Porter

  My mind snapped back to reality when I saw what had breached the fence. In the hollow lay the smouldering remains of an over-turned police car. Behind it the steel fence was torn and twisted. I counted two bodies down on their knees scrabbling for a way through the broken windows. I’d seen enough nature documentaries to recognise animals feeding. I pulled the 4x4 alongside and stopped.

  ‘Are you sure you really want to see this, Johnny?’ Summer said.

  ‘That’s fucking disgusting,’ Lester added from the back.

  I got out the vehicle and raised the twelve bore. I fired two shots into the backs and spinal cords of the two feeding men. It might not kill them outright but at least it disabled them and made it safer to be near. Bending down I craned to look inside the wreck. Bracing for an awful sight, I knew enough about these things already to guess one of my colleagues must still have the remnants of life.

  ‘Hello mate,’ I said, staring into the ruined face of Rogers, the one police officer who was unaccounted for yesterday. He was suspended upside down by his seat belt. I guess he hadn’t stuck with the infected and deceased sergeant Dolan after all, not that it made much difference in the end. On the road behind the fence, I could see a broken zombie. I guessed they had swerved to avoid him, perhaps not knowing that the rules had changed.

  ‘Johnny,’ came a hissing reply. It could see blood bubbles on Rogers’ lips. It brought back memories of the seal on the beach.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I said, ridiculously.

  ‘I don’t feel so good. Is there an ambulance coming?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure they won’t be long,’ I said. I didn’t know what to say to him. ‘Shall I get you out?’

  ‘You can’t do that mate. I’m broken, I can feel my bones all moving. Those people, they bit me. I thought they were going to help me but they just wouldn’t stop eating at me.’

  It was dark with shadow in the interior but I could see nearly everything awash with blood. There were mouth-sized gouges all over his face, bare tendon and cheek bone exposed to see. His legs looked crushed by the impacted dashboard. I knew there was nothing I could do.

  ‘You shot them and look they are still moving. I don’t understand ... any of this.’ Rogers struggled. ‘I just feel so tired now.’

  I watched him slip into some sort of deep sleep.

  ‘Rogers!’ I said loudly.

  When he didn’t rouse or move I shot him once in the face. It seemed the kindest thing under the circumstances. I wondered if I would ever forget or be able to sleep again. I walked back to the 4x4. Already the two dead I’d shot were trying to crawl away. What remained in the overturned vehicle no longer held any interest to their sick senses.

  ‘Well done,’ Summer managed. In the back, Lester was making loud gulps on his tinny.

  Back at the turbines, Bob appeared finished and was waiting patiently in his white transit van. Two of the three turbine blades rotated at speed.

  ‘I got them going,’ said Bob. ‘But they won’t last us forever. Cyclic stresses will destroy them in the end, and there ain’t nothing I can do about that. But we could have a few years of power here.’

  ‘Okay, Bob,’ I said. ‘Let’s go back to the village.’

  CHAPTER 12

  The green Land Rover was followed by a motley stream of vehicles down the lane to Jack’s farm. Griffin and his father’s show of strength back at the WI had persuaded over half the people present that their best chance in the crazy new world was to leave behind the isolation of their own dwellings and join the promised stronghold at Jack’s place. He had sold them the idea that the high tensile fence was the only way to keep this enemy at bay, and talked of a collective, of everyone working together in a new community at the farm. They wanted – they needed – to be part of this. People wanted to survive.

  The vehicles began to park in what space they could find around the muddied yard. Griffin Nation was already out and prowling around with a loaded gun in his hands.

  Toby and Jean Hanson frowned at each other with worried expressions, both wondering if this foul smelling, run down old farmhouse was really where they wanted to be.

  ‘What a shit hole,’ Phillip, their twelve year old son said loudly.

  Jack Nation was standing close enough to hear. ‘Great kid you have there.’

  ‘Are those more dead people there?’ their other child Mark said, pointing.

  The adults all looked across the yard and saw the five human forms semi-submerged in cow muck near the barn.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get those cleared up in no time,’ Jack said.

  ‘More hands make tidy work,’ Griffin added and gave his best gap-toothed smile.

  A woman wearing a red coat emerged from the farmhouse front door.

  ‘Have you been alright, Alison?’ Jack called. He woman had a slightly skittish and haunted look about her, and didn’t seem to want to reply.

  ‘Is our Dexter still unwell?’ Jack pressed on.

  ‘No change,’ she said not meeting his eyes. She saw Jean Hanson then and smiled. ‘When’s it due?’

  ‘Two months give or take,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know how we’ll cope now.’

  Jean was starting to cry. Alison and a few other women who had heard came forward as if to comfort her.

  ‘Let’s go inside and get some tea,’ Alison suggested.

  ‘Yes, that would be good,’ Jean said. ‘Boys, you are coming in too.’

  The men were left outside staring at Jack and Griffin.

  ‘Right, lets get this shit hole cleared up shall we,’ Jack said, eyeing Toby. ‘And then we can make some plans.’

  By the evening, the new arrivals had been assigned new rooms in the farmhouse; attics, storerooms and parlours filled up with people. The shortage of beds meant that most people had to make do with blankets and cushions on the hard wooden boards. Jack and Griffin made it clear from the start that this would be temporary, and they’d build some more permanent accommodation next door. ‘Turn the barn into a fortress. Planners don’t have no say no more, we can do what we fucking please,’ Jack had said.

  The farmhouse kitchen was abuzz with activity as a tropical haze of steam evaporated from the numerous pots and pans bubbling and hissing on the hobs. Alison had led a few of the other woman in preparing a stew, which according to Jack was the best way to feed so many new mouths. As she stirred the boiling vegetables and meat, she had never had felt so unsettled in her life. Her husband had turned into some kind of monster, had tried to kill her. Her life had been saved by Griffin and Jack, farmers, a world away from the life she had at the bank in the city. It seemed Jack would keep her safe, but as always, there was a price to be paid. What he had done last night when he came into her room made her feel numb inside, but to survive she had to live with it.

  ‘We need more chairs,’ Jack told Griffin as he made arrangements around the large kitchen table. ‘People will have to eat in stages.’

  ‘Right then,’ said Griffin and called over some of the other men. ‘There’s more out in one of the garages.’

  The men returned as huge steaming bowls of broth were placed on the table. Everyone began to file in and take their seats, with Jack making sure he had the head of the table all to himself. He patted the seat next to him and obediently Alison came over and sat down. She gave a forced smile and looked at the sea of new faces. They looked worried and stressed, maybe a little like concentration camp survivors she wondered.

  ‘No one stands on ceremony around here. Come on tuck in everyone,’ Jack said.

  ‘Shouldn’t we say grace,’ a small, spectacled man at the end of the table said weakly.

  ‘If you think it would help go ahead. Myself, I think God has left the building,’ Jack said and Griffin led a few chuckles.

  ‘Lord may we be thankful for what we are about to receive ...’ the spectacled man went on. Alison tuned out and looked across at Jack. She could tell he was mad because the ruddy lines of capillaries on his cheek flushed with re
d. Jack was a man with a temper, she knew that already.

  ‘Thank you for that,’ Jack said harshly as knives and forks began to clink and scrape on the china. ‘As I said back at the Institute, I’ve got an idea that I think can save us all.’

  ‘Build a bloody big fence,’ chipped in Griffin.

  ‘I’ve got stacks of high tensile fencing stored up in the barn which I never got chance to put to good use. It’s not enough of course but it’s a start. We can get more of the stuff from other farms I know around here that have as much stock as I do,’ Jack continued. ‘It’ll be hard work, not pen pushing in some bloody office. Your soft hands won’t know what’s hit ’em. We’ll sink the fence posts deep and concrete them in. Set them wide because we have a lot of country to cover. Then we’ll lay a line of the toughest fence you ever saw and all those dead things will be able to do is stand there and whistle, cause they won’t be visiting no more.’

  ‘Sounds brilliant,’ Toby Hanson said. Others around the table agreed. Alison was already warming to the Hansons. She wanted their baby to be safe.

  ‘I’ll pray tonight that it works,’ the spectacled man added.

  ‘You do that,’ Griffin snarled.

  Later the plates were cleared and the dark evening drew on into night. Pockets of people grouped around the farmhouse rooms and tried to establish a little private space. Jack had handed out candles after he decided the low, flickering light would act as less of a beacon. People stood at the windows and stared out over the dark fields, fearful of what might be wandering amongst rutted furrows. It was too dark for anyone to be sure they were alone, but as the hours ticked by no more bodies came stumbling into the farmyard. Eventually people grew weary and drifted off to their makeshift sleeping quarters. Everyone knew now that dangerous days of work lay ahead.

  Alison went up to the room she now shared with Jack. It was horribly old-fashioned, like a relic from the 1970’s. Pictures of Jack’s wife seemed to cover all the walls and the dressing table. In the candle light, she felt there were a thousand ghostly eyes on her, the dead wife watching her every move. The stair boards down the hallway creaked, already Jack’s heavy boot steps were unmistakeable to her. It made her stomach sink and swim with butterflies. She didn’t know if it was fear or excitement.

  The door opened and there he was. ‘A good day,’ he called it. He removed his tweedy farmer’s clothes that smelled richly of soil and animal waste. His body appeared strong in some muscle groups, but his chest was sagging as age and gravity took their toll. In places, his skin looked tired and wrinkled, the elasticity used up.

  Alison withdrew back across the bed to make sure he had plenty of space. She didn’t want him to touch her but knew inevitably that he would. The candles went out one by one and then he was next to her, breathing his rasping breaths into her ear.

  ‘I’d like it if I could call you Millie in bed. Would you do that for me?’

  She told him ‘yes,’ he could use his dead wife’s name. She knew she loathed him then. But what could she do? Outside on her own she would die quickly, perhaps turn into one of those monsters.

  Pyjamas pulled free, his bulk started to press down on her and between her legs. Jack grunted down like a beast, like a wild hog at feeding time. His noise must have woken Dexter because he began to howl and moan in the next room along.

  ‘He has to go out,’ he said, stopping. Alison felt too frightened to reply. She knew what Dexter had become.

  Alison felt Jack move off her and saw his bulky outline start to re-dress in the darkness. She could hear other people start to stir in the farmhouse as Dexter’s loud howls continued.

  ‘His gag must have worked its way loose,’ Jack said matter-of-factly. ‘I can’t be dealing with him in the house any longer.’

  Alison could picture Dexter strapped to his bed, bailing wires cutting into the greying skin of his wrists and ankles. The crude rags thrust deep down his throat by Jack had dislodged. It hardly mattered because whatever thing Dexter had transformed into no longer seemed to crave oxygen as part of its existence. He would lay dormant for prolonged periods and then seemed to explode with fearsome rages, eyes protruding out of their sockets like chunks of jet stone. She knew Jack had kept the door locked and off-limits, telling none of the new arrivals why.

  Alison stayed in bed as he heard Jack leave the bedroom and talk in hushed, mumbled tones with Griffin in the corridor. Bangs and crashes followed in the minutes afterwards as they bundled Dexter out of his room. She heard the heavy bang of the front door over the lash of wind and rain hitting the window.

  Alison looked down as Jack and Griffin carried the thrashing body of Dexter towards the barn. She could see the farmyard had become a brown pit of flowing mud as they slipped and struggled. The three passed out of her line of sight as an explosion cracked in the air. A blinding flash of light followed and illuminated the fields and woods. She thought she saw the silhouette of more dark figures up at the tower.

  A storm was upon us.

  CHAPTER 13

  The trainer shoe twitched in the seawater pool, flicking up a fine spray. The foot inside the trainer shifted again and the body slowly picked itself upright once again. In the week since it had transformed, the man had stumbled and fallen hundreds of times when roaming around the rocky beaches and peninsulas that led from Haven around the horseshoe bay. Initial grazing of grey skin in these falls had given way to raw, bloodless wounds and open fractures around both knees.

  Alan Temple no longer remembered setting off from his bungalow in the heart of the village to set off on his regular five mile run along the beach and woodland trails. Neither did he remember leaving his wife of more than ten years behind with a kiss and a promise of a night of fine dining. Alan did not recall laughter in his four year old daughter’s face when he tickled her ribs and left.

  As Alan’s feet dragged strange, ragged grooves through the wet sand past the bloating carcass of a dead seal he didn’t really think much of anything anymore. He no longer consciously knew his way anywhere; he had become a creature of pure instincts. At some point a blinding pain had placed his mind in a vice and squeezed it shut. What followed was like a black cancer; an invisible, chemical force that stripped out his identity and dissolved it into a metaphorical acid bath.

  Alan no longer had the memories or the daydreams that used to flow so willingly. The kernel that remained was an intangible, heartless need to feed on the living. Nothing mattered in his world anymore other than the sweet caress of hot blood and organs, and the overwhelming, nihilistic, primitive desire to wipe the flesh off every living thing. Alan steered an arbitrary course away from the seal and staggered inland. His stuttering steps picked their way off the beach and finally found a shallow incline onto the woodland path. He moved slowly but, like a shark, never stopped.

  The sounds of living creatures chattering and scratching around in the woods led him quickly off the path and into a steep climb through thick, brambled foliage. Alan moved forward, oblivious to the ripe thorns tearing dark lines across his face. His senses had changed and mutated. No longer dominated by sight, he followed a jumbled blur of all six. He sensed the vibrations of living things on the stilled air and moved to follow. Small, wild rabbits danced mockingly around his feet as he swept his hands around in windmill motions and fell over again. His dirty fingers reached into the earth and smeared wood lice into his mouth. They hung oozing and half-alive from his lips; a grotesque spectacle.

  Pushing his way over a crumbling dry stone wall he found himself in a huge field with a steep downward slope. A few small trees and scatterings of scree marked out the barren grassy space. Alan should have remembered bringing his daughter Jennifer up there in the winter snow, and her giggling screams of ‘again, again’ after every race of the plastic sledges. He remembered nothing and no longer noticed the picture postcard views of the village and the watery sweep of the bay beyond.

  Gravity took hold of his legs and sped him down the field that, under diff
erent circumstances, may have even appeared comical. He tumbled again over a barbed wire fence that raked an ugly tear through his tattered Nike t-shirt into the muscle of his abdomen. Like a clockwork machine, he picked himself up again and walked on. No attention to the other human figures in the field, his senses tuned to the fact that they were also walking dead, as aimless and directionless as he. Gravity took his hand again and led him down the tarmac road into the village, past houses cold and empty inside.

  Further and he felt something drawing him closer. He passed broken and ruined cars, one with the bloodied face of a woman clawing at the windows to find release. Noticing her, in a flickering instant he discarded her as non-living and unwanted. A row of detached houses stretched before him and made him pause and flick his head back and forth like a lizard. Something buried fathoms deep told him he had been here before, in a life out of reach but not all forgotten. Alan passed one door and then another, finally stopping dead centre at one coloured sickest green. A grey hand reached out and pressed against the door, and by pure chance caught on the handle and flicked it down. The lever sprang and the PVC door opened inward.

  The small toy was held tightly in a clammy grip. The origin of the blue animal was unclear, with its hide plucked clean of fur and its ears torn and misshapen. Little fingers gripped and plucked at the toy, doing as any adult would with a stress reliever. The owner of the small hands had a pretty face, an angel’s face her Mummy had told her. She loved it when her Mummy combed her hair and tied it back in beautiful bows, hair that now hung in restless knots over her face. Her Mummy wasn’t well but she would be back soon, she often thought, just like my Daddy will.

  She was scared all the time but especially when it got dark. She was scared of the things outside, the people who were not well like Mummy. She used to stand at the window and wave, but then they banged and banged to come inside and she hadn’t dared go back to the window again. She was getting hungry now and the fridge smelled bad. She had tried, but couldn’t open tins like Mummy and Daddy could. When it went dark, she felt safer in the cupboard under the stairs. It was always her favourite place to hide when she played hide and seek. It was her best game.