Rhos Meadow

by Lex Sinclair

  ‘We’re safe for the time being, anyway,’ Eric said, sitting down.

  Diana didn’t respond.

  Eric carefully opened the bottle of Diet Coke. Then he got up lifted the counter flap and took two glasses off the shelves and returned to the booth in the far corner. ‘Here we are,’ he said, doing his utmost to sound cheerful. Need to recharge our batteries, as the old saying goes.’ He poured them the fizzy liquid to the brim, let the froth go down and added more Coke to each glass. Then he slid a glass over to Diana and took a thirsty gulp of his own.

  As though she were obligated - not at all parched - Diana lifted her glass and took a meagre sip. Eric couldn’t help but notice her deflated demeanour, in spite of the fact that they’d just escaped certain death.

  ‘I’m gonna help myself to some of those Doritos,’ Eric said.

  He proceeded to tear open the bag and fork out a handful of crisps before methodically crunching through them, moaning in pleasure. Then he proffered the open bag to Diana. She declined. Eric sighed, arching his head back and staring heavenward.

  ‘Look, Diana,’ he said, finishing his first Dorito, ‘I know you’re all upset and everythin’, okay. But do me a favour and gimme a break, would ya? I’m doing my best. Bear in mind what just happened in there.’ He pointed to the wall indicating the store next door. ‘I’ll do everythin’ in my power to find your daughter. But the fog is relentless. There’s barely enough light to see in here never mind out there.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Diana said.

  Burying his head in his hands, the young, inexperienced policeman rubbed his haggard face until it was raw. ‘I can’t perform miracles,’ he said. ‘I dunno what it is you expect me to do.’

  Eric waited for a response.

  ‘Forget putting on the beacons and the siren now. That’ll attract...’ He stopped himself, realising how perilous the situation was all of a sudden.

  ‘...more of them,’ Diana finished in a morbid tone.

  They both stared at each other, more frightened now than they’d been when they’d been in the store next door running for their lives.

  ‘More of them,’ Eric said, enunciating every word.

  ‘More of the ones like... what was her name?’

  ‘Sara.’

  ‘More like Sara.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Eric asked, leaning forward, tense.

  ‘I don’t really know. All I know is what Tulisa told me.’

  ‘Tulisa?’ Eric couldn’t hide his baffled tone or expression.

  ‘She said Rhos Meadow is the town of the dead,’ Diana said in a monotone voice.

  To stop his hands from trembling again, Eric picked up his glass gulped down the rest of the Coke and refilled it. After he drained the second glass and gathered his fragmented thoughts, he said, ‘Town of the dead? What’re you talkin’ about?’

  ‘It’s just what Tulisa told me. She said something that happened a long time ago, shouldn’t have. But it did, although residents of Rhos Meadow didn’t want it to. The effects of this “operation” were imperceptible at first. But then shortly after, too many incidents kept following the other for it to be coincidence. You’re a cop you should know, there’s no such thing as coincidences.’

  ‘That’s more of a detective inspector’s aphorism.’

  ‘Well, whatever! You know what I mean,’ Diana said through gritted teeth.

  Eric apologised for being pedantic. Then he resumed eating some more Doritos. Now that his adrenaline had subsided a ravenous hunger and an empty stomach urged him to get as many of those Doritos down his cakehole as soon as possible.

  ‘I just don’t get how a young girl could know - or rather believe - all this, though.’

  Diana leaned back in her seat. ‘You think I’m lying?’

  ‘No.’ Eric waved his hand at her dismissively. ‘I meant exactly what I said. How can a seven-year-old girl know all this? I mean I didn’t know anything had gone tits up here and I work for the law enforcement in the local area.’

  ‘You know what a prophecy is?’ Diana asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Eric said. Then he paused, contemplating what Diana had asked. ‘You’re saying that Tulisa prophesised the fog and a few residents of Rhos Meadow becoming infected?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You gotta be kiddin’ me, right?’ Eric said, incredulous.

  ‘Then go and put the siren and the beacons on your patrol car on,’ Diana said. ‘I didn’t pre-empt you on thinking this. You yourself had been about to say it but couldn’t finish the sentence, so I did it for you. Now, either start facing reality or get out there and get on dispatch and fire up the siren and the flashing beacon. What’s it gonna be? The way I look at it is you’re a bit too young to be wearin’ that uniform and a bit too wet to be enforcing anything to anyone never mind the law.’

  ‘I’m not the one cryin’ my eyes out like some spoilt brat. Maybe you’re the one who needs to get a grip, not me. I just saved your life. Not bad considering I’m a bit too young and a bit too wet. Fuck site more ‘n you’ve done!’

  Diana leaned over the table and slapped Eric hard across the face. Immediately the raised voices halted and a cherry-coloured rash flamed up on Eric’s cheek. ‘I’m crying my eyes out ‘cause my little precious girl is out there, swallowed up by this nightmarish fog amongst the infected. Fuck you!’

  Stunned by what had happened Eric put a trembling hand to his blemished cheek. He’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him. However, Diana had done the same. What she’d done was against the law. Nevertheless, he examined everything and the reasons behind it. They both made apt points about each other and the situation.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Diana said, half-heartedly.

  ‘Me too,’ Eric said.

  ‘What’re we gonna do now?’

  Eric didn’t know what Diana expected him to say. ‘I don’t have the experience - as you aptly pointed out - to know what the best thing to do next is. Having said that, I’m gonna eat some more Doritos, have some more Coke, use the men’s room and then assess the situation.’

  ‘Maybe there’s a phone ‘round here somewhere,’ Diana said.

  ‘Yeah. Maybe.’ Eric turned his head to the right, scanning the wall behind the counter.

  ‘Look,’ Diana said, pointing directly behind Eric.

  He pivoted in his seat and got up when he saw a payphone. He depressed the button that said EMERGENCY DIAL. There was no dialling tone. He placed the receiver back on its cradle and returned to the leatherette booth, dejected.

  ‘I don’t understand how none of the phones or your radio dispatch doesn’t work,’ Diana said.

  ‘The Ariel mast must be down or damaged. Mobile phones might not work in the fog but dispatch and landlines should still be in use.’

  ‘This isn’t just a case of bad luck, is it?’ Diana asked.

  ‘It does seem as though there are too many strange occurrences for that to be the case, yes. The only thing I got that could attract attention like I said is the siren, the flashing beacon and a flare outside in the patrol car. Other than that, we’re fucked.’ Eric said it matter-of-factly.

  Diana finished her Coke.

  ‘Why did you bring Tulisa up here if she told you ‘bout the “infected”?’ Eric asked.

  After a short pause, Diana spoke. ‘I didn’t believe her at first; thought she’d had a bad dream and remembered the name Rhos Meadow and put the two together. Some kids with a vast imagination do that. Some have imaginary friends to play with when their alone. People say that a person is crazy if they start talkin’ to themselves, but in some cases having an imaginary friend is what keeps that person sane. See the paradox?’

  Eric shrugged in an I-don’t-know gesture.

  ‘Well, believe me, it’s true.’
/>   ‘Did Tulisa ever have an imaginary friend?’

  Diana nodded. ‘Tulisa’s father wanted no part of family life. He had no desire or intention of fathering a child. He worked on construction sites when he could find work. I had to work long hours just to keep up with payments. Poor Tulisa had to be left alone for longer than she should’ve. I’d be late picking her up from school ‘cause of work. Or during my meal relief I would have to pick her up or head back to the house and make sure she was all right. I worked as a cleaner in LIDL’s superstore. The money was crap; minimum wage. But it was regular work. I tried bringing Tulisa to work with me but the manager found out and threatened to sack me if I did again. He only didn’t the first time ‘cause Tulisa started crying in front of him. She begged him not to sack me. I’d reiterated how imperative the job was to her on nights when I came home and she hadn’t fallen asleep. I hardly ever got to put my little girl to bed; tell her a story or sing her a lullaby.

  ‘Anyway, in her solitude, Tulisa coped with her long hours of loneliness by having an imaginary friend, Jack, who told her he was a ghost that came to children who were alone and lost in the world.

  ‘Jack told Tulisa things that no one else could possibly know. Jack told her that Tulisa’s loneliness then would be her saviour when she arrived at Rhos Meadow and was taken away from me and swallowed up in the dense fog.’ Diana fought back the tears.

  By now Eric was captivated by Tulisa and her imaginary friend, Jack.

  ‘What else did Jack tell her?’

  ‘Jack told her the small town of Rhos Meadow would soon belong to the dead. The drilling operation had some side effects that were irreversible and hardly palpable. It wasn’t just livestock being infected now but also the residents and their pets.

  ‘Jack said he’d died young and very suddenly in excruciating pain ‘cause he’d constantly been drinking water straight from the tap. The water was flammable and had burned his innards. His heart rate had accelerated until it exploded like a ticking time bomb. Others would die from breathing in contaminated air; others of gastroenteritis and eventually suffer with neurosis damage. Chronic sickness would also ensue as the residents ate meat bought cheap from the Gillespie farm right next to the hydraulic fracturing operation, which consisted of drilling and injecting more than a million gallons of water, sand and chemicals into the ground into wells.’

  ‘There was a hydraulic fracturing drilling operation going on up here for the last few years,’ Eric said in a faraway voice. ‘Numerous trucks started driving up here, distracting the residents and putting any tourists from coming here. The trucks delivered gallons upon gallons of water on a daily basis. I remember vaguely reading about the protests. But by then the protestors were too late.’

  ‘Jack must’ve been real,’ Diana said.

  ‘Unless she saw it on the news,’ Eric said, hoping that Diana would concur.

  ‘She’s seven going on eight. The only thing she watches on TV are the children’s channels and DVDs for children. Not only that, but the news isn’t that forthcoming.’

  Sudden realisation made the glass of Coke slip out of Eric’s unfeeling grasp and crack like a crystallised spider-web on the tabletop.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Eric’s throated bobbed up and down convulsively. When he spoke his voice was straining against the vocal chords. ‘You said the boy’s name was Jack, right?’

  ‘Yeah, Jack,’ Diana said, nodding.

  ‘I remember a young boy dying a few years back in Rhos Meadow. Jack Zane.’

  Diana didn’t say anything. She did, however, pour herself another glass of Diet Coke and drain it in one gulp.

  ‘Tulisa’s imaginary friend isn’t imaginary,’ Eric said. ‘Tulisa’s friend is a... ghost.’

  ***

  Together, Eric and Diana finished the big bag of Doritos and helped themselves to a Mars bar Diana had pinched from the store next door. Eric didn’t mention that that was a crime. They had far more important issues to deal with.

  ‘I need to use the toilet,’ Eric said. He slid out off the cherry-red upholstery and rose to his feet. ‘Stay here till I get back.’

  ‘I need to go too,’ Diana said.

  ‘No. One at a time. Someone’s gotta stay here to keep guard. I won’t be long.’

  Diana watched the PCSO pushed the door open and disappear down the dark corridor.

  Slightly disorientated, Eric squinted in the gloom until he saw the black figure on the front of the door to his right indicating the men’s restroom. His mind was in turmoil, pondering fruitlessly at how he was going to get himself, Diana and Tulisa out of this God forsaken town. Had he not had so much on his plate, Eric might have been more vigilant. Instead he waltzed into the bathroom and stumbled over his own feet going backwards.

  ‘OhJesusfuckin’Christ!’ he blurted.

  In front of him was massacre painted crimson. Every one of his senses attuned itself in rapid fire speed at the intricate details before him. The decapitated head matted with a long mane of blonde tousled hair. Crimson rivulets had chased each other down the pallid visage and dried itself on the shrinking flesh and prominent bone. The washing basin was filled to brim of coagulated blood. The unmoving headless cadaver sprawled out on the tiled floor swam in a pool that had spiralled off down the crevices of each tile. The pungent scent of body fluids assailed Eric’s nostrils. He retched violently. His wobbly knees gave way under the upper half of his body shuddering and swaying to and fro. He opened and closed his mouth, drawing in as much oxygen to his lungs as he could. He saw his reflection in the wall of cracked mirrors and saw dozens of police officers, ashen-faced doing a good impression of a fish out of water.

  The cadaver’s sprawled out limbs contorted at impossible angles wore a white blouse and red skirt. The blouse had been ripped open. Huge chunks of flesh were missing. The abdomen had been pried open after being sliced from the breastbone to the pelvic area. Dissected intestines and a shrunken heart lay on the floor next to the cadaver. The name tag on the once ample breast read Caroline. Eric did what would have been a comical double-take if not for the mutilated cadaver.

  Using the wall behind him as leverage, He got to a vertical base and staggered out of the men’s room and fell. Fortunately, he got his hands up as the ground rushed to meet his head with a sickening impact.

  He fought diligently to stay awake; although it would have been easier to not resist. Eric crawled across the hallway groaning in despair as his polluted mind replayed the graphic images of the snake-like intestines and punctured heart that had been chewed and sucked dry. Suddenly, hot, thick bile rushed into his oesophagus, stinging his eyes and spilled out of his gaping mouth.

  His lungs burned. His vision became blurry. The sound of heavy, fast footfalls thundered. The figure standing in the hallway rushed over to him and kneeled. Eric was grateful that the figure was Diana. For a few nerve-shredding seconds he assumed another ghastly creature in the form of a human would discover him and do what had been done to a young woman by the name of Caroline.

  He’d never seen, nor did he wish to see, such macabre in the men’s restroom had he lived to be a thousand. Diana’s rosemary scent filled his flaring nostrils, distinguishing the pungent smell of coagulated blood spilled and sprayed from major arteries. His head weighed a ton as he strained to lift it. The veins on his neck surfaced and resembled thick wires.

  ‘D-Don’t go in there,’ he croaked.

  Diana’s tender voice reverberated down a long tunnel. ‘Go in where?’

  ‘Men’s r-r-room,’ Eric stuttered, resisting unconsciousness.

  Diana stared at the men’s restroom, anxiety pouring from the windows to her soul. Then she took Eric’s hand in her smaller, delicate hand. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Eric tried fruitlessly to shake his head. Then he croaked, ‘No.’

  Bey
ond that the video cut out.

  The things he saw next came in a staccato monologue.

  The dim hallway floor where he lay appeared to be moving beneath him. Dim light shone on him. Black and white framed photographs adorning the walls came and went. The sight of Diana struggling with pulling something heavy... and then the smell of Doritos, Diet Coke, floor polish and clean upholstery overcame him.

  He didn’t remember much after that.

  7.

  THEN

  March 2012

  Bobbie Hopkins and Greg Zane still lived with the secret that penetrated every other thought from the cold January night a couple of days after New Year’s Eve. They hadn’t seen Tony Little since the night they saw him in the process of digging up a corpse with alacrity.

  Greg had seen his wife, Amy, at the Texaco garage over the rise. She’d been filling her Vauxhall up with diesel while Greg had purchased a propane tank to ignite his barbecue. He’d paid the Sara Banks and was waiting for a receipt. Amy crossed the fuelling station as thin as a waif. A good strong wind would have blown her off her feet effortlessly, Greg thought. He folded his receipt into his Levis pocket, gripped the barrel by the handle and started heading towards the door when Amy entered. She struggled with the weight of the door and had to use both hands and her full bodyweight to open it.

  Greg remembered Bobbie telling him that Amy looked like shit when he’d seen her a couple of months ago. But this was worse than that. Amy was so pale she could have passed for transparent. Her bone structure was so prominent that her flesh had evidently withdrawn. Her benevolent eyes had shrunken back into the skull. It literally looked as though she hadn’t eaten in months. She had, of course. Otherwise she’d be dead. Yet she must have been living on scraps.

  ‘Oh hi, Amy,’ Greg said, disguising his trepidation with cheerfulness.

  ‘Hi...’ Amy barely managed that one word.

  ‘How’s Tony? Haven’t seen him in a while. You either.’

  Amy’s lethargic gait halted. It took her an eternity to turn around and face him, and when she did Greg regretted ever saying anything.