Plagued

by Barnett, Nicola

  Sarah watched as Mark clenched his jaw, visibly pained. A lump rose in Sarah’s throat but she forced it back down and held her head high. Jack couldn’t see her vulnerable. “I didn’t know you then. But now I do. I remember everything. Not just the day of the outbreak, but our whole relationship,” Sarah said, the words giving her confidence.

  Jack's hard stare faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly. “You are crazy, you know that?” he said, playing the crowd. “We were good together, we were strong.”

  “No, we weren’t. I left you that day. Do you remember that? The day the virus took over, I left you locked in the house and I ran away,” Sarah said, beginning to yell. “Do you want to tell them why, Jack?”

  Jack's face turned red, his eyes glared at her intensely and his top lip curled upwards into a snarl.

  “That never happened!” Jack said through gritted teeth. “You’ve been through a lot. If you come back to me now then we can forget this whole thing ever happened,” he said, trying to smile.

  “Oh, it happened alright. I knew something wasn’t right about you but I couldn’t remember what. Now I can and everything makes sense! The reason you never came for me and why you told my family and friends that I was dead! Twice!”

  “Don’t do this, baby,” Jack whispered to her, his fists curled tight at his side.

  “I’m not scared of you anymore….and I’m not your baby.”

  Sarah turned to face the crowd. “I wasn’t here during the outbreak because I ran away from him!” she said loudly.

  Jack tried to grab her but she held up the shotgun and pointed it at him. He backed off in surprise.

  “He’s not the man you all think he is,” Sarah continued.

  “Sarah,” Jack warned, his eyes bright with rage.

  “Jack Archer beat me to a pulp that afternoon, because I went to town with my friends. I wouldn’t let him control me and he didn’t like it, so he knocked the living shit out of me. And it wasn’t the first time,” Sarah exclaimed.

  The crowd gasped and her father swore at him loudly. Jamie held him back but was snarling at Jack himself.

  “She’s lying!” Jack accused and tried to laugh it off. “She’s fucking lying!”

  “It’s true! He did the same to my best friend weeks ago, she told me! She’s not here to testify so I will have to do it for her. He beat her and he raped her because she wouldn’t do what he wanted her to do. The same thing he did to me for over a year.”

  “I’ll kill you!” Mark shouted and ran at him.

  Sarah tried to stop them by standing between them, but Jack pushed her out of the way and she dropped the gun on the floor.

  Mark punched Jack in the mouth and he fell to the ground, blood dripping from his lip. He went for Jack again but Sarah grabbed his arm. As he tried to free himself from Sarah’s grasp, he yelled, “You bastard, you’ll never fucking touch her again!”

  “Stop,” she whispered. “You’re not like him. Please.”

  Mark stopped dead, completely disarmed.

  “Mark!” Annie screamed in the crowd.

  Jack had taken his knife from his belt and was walking to Sarah. She turned around to see what was happening as he grabbed her by the hair, pulling her backwards away from Mark.

  “Get your fucking hands off of him,” Jack growled.

  Mark ran for them but Jack spun her around and held the knife to her throat. Mark stopped in horror. Her mother screamed in the background.

  “Let her go, Jack,” Mark said, as calmly as he could. His heart pounded in his chest.

  Jack backed himself around towards the exit door, dragging Sarah with him. Members of the crowd ran towards him to help but as they did, the knife pressed into her skin and drew blood.

  “Back off!” Mark shouted at the crowd. “He’s going to kill her!”

  They backed away, her parents in hysterics.

  “You shouldn’t have done this, Sarah,” Jack growled. “I didn’t want to have to do things this way. You could have just done as you were told.”

  “I’ll never be yours to control, Jack. I never was. Killing me now won’t change that,” she said, wincing in pain as blood trickled down her neck.

  “I think I might be able to change your might on that.”

  As he shoved the door open behind him, the knife moved a fraction away from Sarah’s throat. She felt the change and grabbed his hand, pushed it away from her neck, and leapt out under his arm.

  “Fucking bitch!” Jack yelled and ran after her as she ran towards Mark.

  Jack lunged to grab for Sarah’s back and she felt his hands grasp on her vest as he dragged her back towards him. She tried to wriggle out of it but he grabbed her hair instead, getting a much firmer grip. He pulled her towards him with a swift yank and pushed the knife to her throat again, this time much tighter. He pulled her down to the floor, so she was kneeling in front of him.

  “You’ll always be mine,” Jack whispered in her ear. He pressed the knife in her neck.

  Sarah felt white hot pain at the side of her neck a second before the shotgun came sliding across the floor, landing at her knees. Without thinking, she picked it up and turned it over, aiming it at Jack’s face behind her. Jack saw this and began pulling the knife across her throat. Sarah screamed from the pain as she pulled the trigger.

  The sound was deafening. The recoil from the gun knocked her over and she fell to the ground; a high pitched whine filled her head and her ear was in agony. She turned around weakly to see the damage. Jack’s body—slumped on the ground with half of his head pulverized—was the last thing she saw before she passed out on the cold, sports hall floor.

  Chapter 18

  The next day, smoke covered the village like an eerie fog. From somewhere inside the dense grey clouds, moans and maddening screams got louder and louder. The infected had finally come.

  The survivors stayed awake, watching the smoke rise from the east and listening to the terrifying sounds of the infected as they followed the smoke trails right to the village. Those inside the Centre were trapped, like a princess in her tower, and they knew there was a good chance they would never go outside again.

  Something screamed outside the building and Sarah’s eyes shot open in panic. The first thing she noticed on consciousness was the burning pain in her throat and ears. She winced as the pain flooded her, shocking her wide awake. Her shoulder was heavily bruised from the impact of the shotgun and her collar bone was swollen and purple. Mark was looking down at her, his blue eyes weary and sore.

  “Morning beautiful,” he smiled.

  “Is he dead?” she said, wide eyed.

  “He’s dead. Don’t worry,” Mark smiled reassuringly. “You were pretty bad-ass last night. Scared me for a while.” He chuckled. “Are you okay?”

  Sarah smiled in relief and kissed him passionately on the lips. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “You can stop worrying about me now.” She fingered the bandage on her throat and winced.

  “Never,” he whispered, smiling defiantly.

  They got up slowly—nursing their wounds—and went to see what food was left. The others had spent the morning piling up any remaining food and water in a small, storage cupboard in the corner of the hall, under Jamie’s orders. Sarah opened it, while the others watched over her shoulder.

  “What’s the damage, Rambo?” Jamie said, appearing behind her with a concerned smile.

  Sarah turned to him and winced as she moved aside so he could see for himself. There were only four tins left: one tin of beans and sausages, a chilli con carne, luncheon meat, and a tin of peach halves in syrup.

  “Fuck,” Jamie muttered.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to ration this, assuming that none of it has gone bad,” Mark said, turning to face the others.

  “What about water?” Alan shouted from the back.

  Mark turned to Sarah and she peered inside the cupboard further. She turned back to him and shook her head gloomily. People muttered amongst the
mselves anxiously.

  “What are we going to do now?” Sarah whispered to him, and he shrugged in reply.

  “Does anyone have any water left? Any at all?” he shouted around the room.

  Some of them shouted back saying they did and Mark ordered them to pass it to the front for counting. He unscrewed all the small bottles and tipped the remaining water into a five litre bottle to see how much was left. It filled it nearly to the top.

  “It’s better than nothing at all,” Frank said, appearing at the side of Jamie. He had dark circles under his eyes.

  “It’s still not enough,” Jackie—the lady from the Post Office said. “We’re each supposed to drink two litres of that a day.”

  “Yeah, but we can survive on less,” Frank replied quietly.

  “A few of us could, yes. But there’s…” she paused to count the heads in the room, “eighteen of us here, Frank. We’re not going to make it very long on that much water. Unless you want to start drinking what’s left in the toilet.”

  Frank sighed in defeat and Jackie patted him on the back gently. “Thanks for trying though, Frank,” she said.

  “So that’s it?” Jamie asked with genuine curiosity. “Are we fucked then?”

  “No, we’ll find some more,” Mark said, as he moved to Sarah’s side, who was watching the scene in silence. “Duke managed to get hold of plenty, who knows, some might have survived the fires.”

  “I don’t see how we can go outside with the infected swarming around. Plus we don’t have enough petrol to get us very far,” said Jamie.

  “Point taken,” Mark said as the group began to gather around the fire. “Anyone else got any ideas?”

  Sarah sat next to her mother and father as they threw cardboard onto the fire to keep it going. The fog was so dense that it seemed to block the morning sunlight from warming up the building. Many of the residents wore their coats and shivered.

  “Okay, here’s what we know,” Mark addressed the crowd. “We have a day’s worth of food and water, if that. We only have a small amount of petrol and the streets are swarming with infected. What are our options?”

  A spirited debate commenced, people began voicing their ideas with growing frustration as each of them were shot down by the others.

  “What if we drive to Barnmouth? It’s not that far and it’s a much bigger town than Winding,” said Jamie.

  “There could be more infected there than there are here! It’s too dangerous without knowing what we’d be getting ourselves into,” Alan retorted and some of the older members nodded their agreement.

  “What about Winding?” an elderly man in a blue anorak said. “We might have a better chance there than we do here.”

  Mark shook his head. “I’ve been there for months and there’s nothing left. Every store I went into was empty. The only hope we have in Winding is my father and—given our fuel situation—I don’t think it would be wise to risk it, it pains me to say that but right now it’s true. Barnmouth is a lot closer.”

  “Why? I’d have thought you’d want to go to him,” the elderly man asked.

  “Only four of us can fit in this car and we have one weapon. If we don’t make it back, you’re all sitting ducks and if we don’t make it to Winding, we’ll be sitting ducks,” Mark said. His heart panged as he thought of his father, the pain from hunger was nothing compared to how much he missed him.

  “There’s always my farm,” Annie said, calmly picking at one of her fingernails. “It might not be in good knick right now but at least we’ve got the man power to grow our own food. All we gotta do is survive the winter. There are things we can grow in the greenhouse until then.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea,” Frank said, smiling kindly at her, “but it’s the now that we need to worry about.”

  “So that’s it then, we’re all fucked?” a squeaky voice came from near the windows.

  A young man that Sarah knew only from passing, stood at the window watching the infected outside. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. He looked—at the most—eighteen or nineteen years old; his face was dotted with acne. He stood taller than everyone else in the room and was a little underweight; his fleece jumper hung from his frame.

  The infected screamed outside, making the boy jump nervously. His eyes were wide and skittish and he was breathing quickly. Something banged on the doors and windows downstairs—as they had been doing for hours—and the boy jumped away from the window and let out a terrified wail.

  “I can’t stand this anymore!” he shrieked.

  “Calm down, Stuart,” Alan said quietly from beside the fire. “They’ll hear you.”

  “What does it matter? We’re sitting ducks here! They’re going to get in eventually! We have to leave!” the boy called Stuart screamed. Sweat poured from his brow and his head twitched nervously as he spoke.

  “Stuart, take a deep breath and relax,” Mark said, smiling kindly. “We can’t leave here just yet, not until we’ve got a plan.”

  The boy started hyperventilating. Tears rolled down his cheeks and snot dribbled out of his nose. “We can’t stay here!” Stuart screamed pathetically. “I’m not staying here to die like a rat in a cage!”

  The others exchanged horrified looks. Most of them felt the same way as he did, but knew the risks of leaving were worse than staying put.

  “Calm down,” Mark purred. “It’s going to be okay. They’ll get fed up of trying soon and they’ll leave. We just have to ride this out. Someone will come for us.”

  “Are you all insane!?” the boy spat, pacing wildly now. “No one is coming for us! There’s no one left but us and I’m not staying here to die with the rest of you idiots!”

  Mark opened his mouth to speak but the boy pushed past him and ran for the door. Mark reached out to grab his arm to stop him but missed.

  Someone called to Stuart and he turned around one last time. “Fuck you!” he screamed, his eyes wild. “You’re all fucking dead! If you stay here, you’re all walking dead!” He laughed hysterically as he ran down the staircase.

  “Fuck’s sake!” Mark growled to himself and ran to the window. “What is he doing?!”

  Jamie ran downstairs after Stuart, shouting his name frantically.

  A crowd of people gathered around the window, watching in morbid fascination.

  A few seconds later, Stuart burst through the front doors of the building. Jamie made a last ditch attempt to grab him but the boy was too fast. Jamie waited for a few seconds and shouted something to Stuart with a frustrated look on his face, but he was ignored. Jamie pulled the doors closed as he saw the number of infected in the fog and ran back up the stairs to join the rest of the group, who were watching helplessly through the window. “I tried.”

  “We know,” Mark said sombrely, as he looked down through the window, hand-in-hand with Sarah.

  The infected were scattered around the boy, fighting with each other and engaged in lively ‘conversation’, completely unaware of his presence. Stuart watched them curiously with his mouth wide open.

  There were five infected altogether; two of them were hungrily ripping into a dead man on the floor, his purple sores were evidence that he was once himself infected. One of them—a male with long, blonde hair and a biker’s jacket—had the dead man’s intestines in his hands and wrapped them around his neck like a scarf. Blood and brown gunk dripped all over his tattered clothes and he span around, swinging the guts gaily and smiling to himself, seemingly pleased with his new attire.

  Seeing this, Stuart gagged into his hands.

  “Yaaaa!” the biker screamed happily, smearing the blood all over his face like a mask. He jumped up and down in triumph.

  The sight was too much for a shell-shocked Stuart. In a panic, he changed his mind and turned back around to the front doors. He pushed the door but it held strong as he began hammering with his fists. “Let me back in!” Stuart screamed hysterically.

  Jamie, turned to run back down, but Mark grabbed his arm quickly. Jamie
looked at him in surprise.

  Mark nodded to the window. “You open that door and they’ll follow him inside. We’ll all be dead.”

  “He’s right,” Alan said, looking at Jamie sympathetically.

  Jamie nodded and wiped at his eyes with his arm. He knew they were right—if the infected noticed there were people inside, they’d all be doomed. “He’s just a kid.”

  The infected heard the boy's screams and turned to see what was happening. They saw Stuart banging on the door frantically. An infected boy, no older than Stuart himself watched him with his head cocked to the side, as if fascinated by the skinny man in front of him. The biker with the intestine scarf pointed to Stuart and roared angrily. Stuart looked behind him and let out a high-pitched shriek.