by Lex Sinclair
‘Too many of us have already become... monsters for me to disagree with that,’ Bobbie said.
‘But the thing is how long do we have to wait?’ Greg asked. ‘All well and good sitting tight, being patient. But if no one comes by and notices anything wrong then what? Stay here until our number is up like sitting ducks? No thanks. I’d rather do something productive and find a way out of this godforsaken nightmare.’
‘How much ammo do you have on you with your shotgun, Greg?’ Alan asked.
‘Two in the chamber, four in my pocket.’
‘And how many infected do you think are out there?’
Greg mulled this over. He’d seen more than a dozen infected chasing a middle-aged woman flying past his house only to trip over a broken brick. In the next moment the poor soul was swarmed by the bodies of the infected. They leapt upon her, panting and hissing. Greg could still hear the shrill screaming as arterial blood sprayed across the pavement in a geyser. The ravenous grunts and moans of snapping jaws, gnawing and slavering over wrinkled flesh.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, resigning himself.
‘Six bullets to the head, providing they’re clean shots will only take out six of the infected. Had we transport and we were being chased I’d risk it. But we don’t. And in case you hadn’t noticed but those fuckers aren’t wandering around aimlessly, arms out in front of them groaning at a lethargic pace. They’re running full pelt with one thing on their contaminated minds - to find any living creature and rip its fucking throat out and feast upon us until there are no more.’
Bobbie drained the rest of his red wine and placed the glass on a coaster. ‘One thing we will need if we’re all gonna haul up here together until someone comes for us is provisions.’
They all nodded in unison with Bobbie’s comment.
Abigail consulted her wristwatch and was visibly surprised by the time - 12:03a.m.
‘Merry Christmas everyone,’ Abigail said. Her voice had no trace of joy whatsoever.
13.
NOW
January 2015
The darkness and the eerie silence heightened Eric’s trepidation. He followed Diana and Tulisa outside and shivered at the frosty chill. The temperature had dropped like a stone and yet the sky above was still obscured by swirling fog.
‘I tried to get out of this town,’ Eric told Tulisa, ‘but there was a black void where the road used to be.’
Tulisa halted and faced the young policeman. ‘The world and Rhos Meadow are two separate places. My friend Jack said the only way for us to escape this nightmare is to kill all the infected. The authorities are slowly catching on that something is not right here. But if they enter Rhos Meadow not knowing they’ll be in great danger.’
‘How’d you know all this, hon?’ Diana asked. ‘Is it that boy, Jack?’
Tulisa nodded. ‘He’s standing right next to me, telling me what to say so you and the policeman can understand. Jack also says we need to hurry otherwise we’ll end up stuck here and become like the others too.’
Eric scanned the meadows and deserted main road. ‘Does Jack know where they are right now?’
‘Most of them are in the school and the church,’ Tulisa said.
‘What’re they doin’ there?’ Diana wanted to know.
‘When they killed the last remaining humans they took their bodies to the church and school to feast upon. There’s nothing left, except their skeletons. Jack say’s his mother had become infected and his father ended her life. He got infected too. But he hid and turned into one of them. Jack thinks they’re lying in wait to kill anyone who unexpectedly enters Rhos Meadow. And soon they will. There’s no electricity, no mobile phone connection or any other communication from anyone living in Rhos Meadow. Then the infected will attack. They will flee Rhos Meadow and go to other places and pass on the infection.’
‘But how are we gonna kill all of them?’ Eric asked, incredulous.
Tulisa didn’t answer immediately. She contemplated the question then frowned seemingly listening to someone not present.
‘Jack said you’ll find a way. He said the propane tanks and fuel tanks from the Texaco station might give you some ideas.’
Eric shook his head, smiling derisively. ‘And how am I gonna get the infected outta there hiding places and to the Texaco station, huh?’
‘Jack believes that every good person was born for a reason. He believes you took this shortcut against your conscience for a reason. And that reason was because it was your destiny to be here, stranded with my mum and I. Without you my mum wouldn’t have survived this long. And without Jack guiding me I wouldn’t have survived this long, either. But Jack say’s in order for us all to survive we need to start believing in ourselves.’
‘Why can’t I see Jack?’ Eric asked.
‘It’s not important if you can see Jack; it’s important if Jack can see you. He can and what he sees is a good, honest, hard working man who would save anyone from harm whether he was a policeman or not. Jack can see that as much as you regret taking this shortcut home you’ll do what’s right to get my mum and me out of here.’
A tingling sensation rushed through Eric hearing those benevolent words of encouragement. However, he still had serious doubts as to how he was going to achieve this goal.
‘First things first, let’s get you something to eat and drink,’ Eric said to Tulisa. ‘No good anyone saving you if you’re gonna starve to death, is it?’
Tulisa smiled benignly.
Eric led Diana and Tulisa across the main road in the direction of the Texaco garage.
***
Eric raised his hand in a stop gesture. He raised the shotgun, resting the stock firmly against his shoulder and climbed the three stone steps. As quietly as he could, Eric eased the door open and scanned the interior. Earlier on he’d only barely escaped the clutches of a young woman called Sara Banks. But that was when she was human. The thing that very nearly grasped him was nothing more than a malevolent blood fiend.
Eric didn’t enter the store until his eyes adjusted to the dark. He had to focus and make sure that he didn’t let his trembling trigger finger lose control. He only had a limited supply of ammo and needed to conserve it.
For all he knew Sara had left the Texaco garage store and gone to the school or the church. Nevertheless, until he checked all niches and the storeroom behind the counter he couldn’t be certain. He edged his way towards the counter where he’d flung himself off in order to flee several hours ago. The door to the storeroom had cracked and splinters protruded threatening to stab anyone who got close enough.
He was on the verge of lifting the flap to get to the other side of the counter when a gnarled, emaciated hand shot up and reached for him.
Eric cried out and fell backwards colliding with a shelf of two litre bottles of Pepsi, Diet Coke and Schweppes lemonade. The bottles thudded dully to the linoleum and rolled away out of sight. Eric hauled himself back to his feet in time to meet the monstrosity he’d duelled with earlier.
Had it not been for the shotgun blocking the thing’s reach Sara Banks’ swipe at his unprotected face would have pierced the flesh and drawn blood. Instead Eric arched back like a skilful boxer and swung the shotgun like a cricket bat. The butt of the gun slammed into the side of Sara’s head, knocking her off balance. She crashed into the storeroom door. Hinges and timber creaked in protest. Then the door ripped itself from the hinges and disappeared out of Eric’s peripheral vision. The crash of wood and the bodyweight of the beast sounded like a gun blast.
A deep guttural groan and rage came from somewhere behind the counter. Eric stepped back blindingly and rolled his right leg off a fallen Pepsi bottle. He staggered into the aisle of bakery goods and biscuits. The barrel of the shotgun was facing upwards directly at his face. Eric ducked as the roar of the gun went off and blew
a hole into the ceiling.
The light fixture crashed on top of him and bits of plaster and wood cascaded in a white shower. Eric tried to sit up in the next moment. His attempt was futile. The top of his head weighed down on him. His vision was blurred. In front of him he could see three shotguns and three light fixtures and three everything else. He rolled over onto his stomach and watched crumbled pieces of ceiling sprinkle the floor.
Using the shotgun as a walking stick (keeping the barrel facing the ground), Eric got to a vertical base. He leaned against the shelf and ran the palm of his hand across the top of his head. He winced at the lump. Then he stumbled across the debris towards the frozen foods. He half fell, half sat on the cold floor and pressed a bag of frozen peas on the swelling. One more blow to the head and Eric knew he’d lose consciousness. After that there would be nothing else.
From around the corner he could hear the distinct snarling of the thing seeking him out. Eric didn’t have the energy right then to get to his feet and do battle. If he did he’d lose. He knew this just as he knew that he’d have a colourful contusion on the top of his head for the next few days (if he lived that long). However, he refused to sit here on the cold floor awaiting his pending death.
He ripped open the bag of peas and tossed handfuls into the nearest aisle. He lifted the shotgun onto his lap and pointed it in the direction of the aisle.
Scuffed footfalls drew closer until Eric could sense the presence if he were blind.
The creature emerged from around the corner and stood on the rock solid peas and momentarily slid forward before righting themselves. The thing that used to be Sara Banks turned to face the frozen goods section in slow motion. The bloodshot eyes widened as they registered the business end of the weapon pointing directly at it.
Eric pulled the trigger. He recoiled, thumping his head on the freezer and remembered nothing else.
***
The first thing Eric saw as consciousness flooded back into his brain was the beautiful faces of Diana and Tulisa. Diana’s voice seemed to be travelling through a vortex from another realm. He couldn’t hear anything save a low, softly toned noise that comforted him.
The second thing he saw was the dark red pool and the lifeless form that had once belonged to a young woman whose name was Sara Banks.
That’s one saved, at least.
Diana leant in closer and Eric felt her tender hands grasp his head and pull him up off the cold floor. She rested his head in her warm lap and pressed an icepack on the swelling. Tulisa smiled her beautiful, uplifting smile and stroked his brow.
In spite of being content to die right there and then Eric had never felt more alive.
***
Diana had ripped open a packet of tissues and dabbed the bleeding seeping out of Eric’s perforated ear. The roar of the gun blast and the recoil had damaged him. He was deaf in his left ear and his right shoulder throbbed. It took some effort to get him standing. Diana went to his right side and threw his leaden arm over her shoulder and half walked, half carried him out of the shop.
Tulisa followed grabbing a loaf of bread, butter and ham. The little girl put them in a basket and picked up one of the bottles of pop and dropped that into the basket too. The handle dug into her tender flesh leaving an imprint. She swayed to and fro, making slow progress to the entrance door and down the concrete steps.
When they entered the Meadow Fish Bar & Restaurant Tulisa dropped the basket. She panted and studied her taut hands. The basket had thudded into her knees. They felt numb. She dragged the basket over to far table where Diana and Eric had collapsed into the leatherette booth.
‘Good girl,’ Diana said, catching her breath.
‘Will he be all right?’
Diana nodded. ‘Just took a bad fall and hurt himself. He’ll be fine.’
‘Mum, what’s that notepad you keep carrying round with you?’
‘The town councillor’s diary of what happened here. He wrote about the events leading up to the here and now. How the residents became infected and were no longer themselves. I needed to read it to know what we were up against.’
‘You didn’t believe me when I told you. How come?’ Tulisa didn’t conceal the fact she was offended.
‘Oh, I did,’ Diana said. ‘It’s just you disappeared without trace and I started to panic. I told Eric about Jack; about how the “town belongs to the dead” comment. But we needed something more substantial than a boy ghost guiding you so you could help them, sweetheart.’
Tulisa didn’t speak for a few moments. She turned her head to her right and then faced Diana again. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But you believe me now though, don’t you?’
‘How could I not? Of course, I wish you were lying and none of this was true. What does Jack say?’
‘He say’s it’s understandable that you might’ve be dubious. He say’s we can only wait for Eric to recover for a short while then we’ll have to do something before it’s too late.’
Diana made some ham and butter sandwiches and poured glasses of Pepsi. She opened the notepad on the table and read Alan Willard’s intelligible handwriting.
It is December already. The temperature has plummeted. The frost outside on the rolling pastures gives the impression of fallen clouds. I go next door a lot to Bobbie and Abigail. We sit and talk with Greg and Mary Zane about how we are seeing less and less residents in the small town.
Dennis Wilson and Caroline Jacobs still keep the café open from nine till three on weekdays. Gary Williams, like a lot of townsfolk, has disappeared off the face of the earth. I spoke to him on the phone five days earlier and he told me he had the flu. He sounded bunged up. A lot of people I knew in Rhos Meadow were feeling under the weather. Evidently a virus was going around. But the deaths and bodies of supposedly dead residents getting up off mortuary slabs had started months ago. This couldn’t all be linked to the same virus surely. God help us if it was.
A few weeks ago (when it was still safe to travel to and fro Rhos Meadow without putting yourself in harms way and the town’s residents vehicles weren’t all damage), I did some research - or rather the surgeon who amputated the arm of the boy known only as Stephen had done the research - and came away from Singleton Hospital even more unnerved than I was when I went there.
Apparently the disease that had inflicted Stephen was strange and malignant which attacks the brain stem. He said there doesn’t seem to be any antidote to inoculate the malignant disease, either. Reactions and overall functioning slow, protracted and aimless when there are no humans to attack. Otherwise the infected boy reacted violently to the nurses and doctors, snarling and hissing, thrashing about maddeningly against the restraints. The boy’s parents were asked to placate their son. The surgeon thought the boy reacted violently to them because he was fearful of being operated on and delirious.
However, Stephen very nearly caught hold of his mother’s curly hair and yanked her within biting and scratching range. From MRI scans and other neurology tests indicated that Stephen had slid into some kind of psychotic dementia. The onyx hue of his eyes were induced by burst blood vessels and some sort of blood poisoning. A kind of intracellular breakdown. His once young, unblemished skin became mottled by blotches and ulcerated lesions. The slackening of facial muscles was another visible reaction. The damage to the brain appeared irrevocable. The disease had no antidote and relished the human organism until it became its own completely desecrating any last trace of human personality. The onyx eyes that looked more like black snooker balls gave a blank, soulless expression. No longer the window to the soul. The new organism reacts violently to humans, seeing us as some kind of threat, especially to the smell and sight of blood.
The surgeon assured me that a team of highly qualified scientists and doctors were studying the symptoms and that as soon as he heard anything he’d let me know. He looks at me with genuine sorr
ow. This frightens me to the core. I can feel myself shaking as I let the automatic sliding doors part allowing me to step outside into the fresh air.
My intuition tells me that in spite of the optimism in his voice, he believes something else entirely. He only told me that because what else could he say?
As soon as the Christmas and New Year holiday passes I’m going to put my house up for sale. Fuck it.
Rhos Meadow is the perfect picturesque farming town that I have lived nearly all my life. If I leave a big part of me will die. But if I don’t leave all of me will die.
I keep thinking back to what Greg and Bobbie told me about seeing Tony digging up a dead body in the meadow where the hydraulic fracturing drilling operation takes place. It seems we had problems way back then and ever since things have snowballed into an avalanche.
I keep seeing myself standing in St. Paul’s church with all my friends from Rhos Meadow and some distant relatives who live in different parts of the world listening to Reverend Rhodri Jenkins. His voice reaches me at the rear of the church but I can’t make out what he is saying. Then as the bearers lift the coffin and carry it down the aisle I see the brass plate on the gleaming wood shining under the overhead lights. I see the name that is all too familiar and I wake up screaming.
Man’s greatest fear is the unknown according to the writer H.P. Lovecraft. Well, I’m not afraid to admit that I fear death. But not as much as I used to. Now I fear becoming one of the infected more than anything else.
I haven’t got much else to write about. I’m not quite sure if we’re all sitting here in Bobbie and Abigail’s house waiting to be rescued or waiting to die.
Every time I step out of the house longer than it takes to cross the front lawn into my own home I get chased by one of my old friends and acquaintances. They seem to lumber around all day but as soon as they see me their senses are instantly acute. They snap into life - or reaction, I should say - and chase me into my house. My heart pounds so fast and hard, like a pneumatic fist, I truly believe that it will either explode or actually burst through my ribcage and set itself free. Or both.
