The BIG Horror Pack 2

by Iain Rob Wright

  Hopper whistled. “I’ll be glad to take a shower when all this is over. I can’t believe we actually made it out of this alive.”

  “Me either,” Lexi said. “It still all seems like a nightmare, you know?”

  “That’s because it was a nightmare.”

  Hopper handed over the controls to the Kestrel who remote controlled the Hermes into an airlock and fixed them in place. It took a little over five minutes for the entire procedure to complete.

  The radio hissed. “Stand by Master Hopper. A team will be with you shortly.”

  “Copy that.”

  Hopper eased up out of his seat and went over and helped Lexi out of hers. Together they made a sorry sight, holding one another up and wincing with the slightest movement. They made their way over to the airlock door and waited to be taken care of.

  A few minutes later, the airlock clunked and then began to open, rising slowly from the floor. The first thing they saw were the dark black boots of the welcome party. Then they saw the rifles pointing at them.

  Lexi was too confused to say anything, but she heard Hopper mutter to himself one word, “Shit!”

  The welcome team opened fire.

  Epilogue

  Squad leader Tanner was the one to put a bullet in the wheezing pilot, a burden he was willing to take for his men. It was a shame killing a man as decorated as Flight Master Hopper, and Commander Sharman’s daughter, no less, but Commander Johnson’s orders had been explicit. There were sensitive secrets inside the heads of the two cosmonauts aboard the Hermes and they needed eliminating for the sake of Allied Security. Tanner couldn’t imagine what, exactly, they had come across on the surface of the moon, but he knew better than to ask. There was always a bigger picture when it came to SABA’s motives and he only had to believe that the greater good was at stake. Just a pity that Facility 23 had needed to be destroyed. His kids loved Grand Galaxies.

  His corporal came up to report. “There’s nobody else on board, sir. The forensic team is arriving to investigate the mess beneath the airlock. The pilot requested quarantine protocols before he docked so Commander Johnson is concerned that a biological attack may have caused the communications blackout at Facility 23.”

  Tanner nodded. “Whatever it was, led to them wiping Grand Galaxies off the moon, so it wouldn’t surprise me if it was something biological. Make sure you and the other men take a chemical shower before leaving the docking bay.”

  “Copy that.” The corporal turned on his heel and scuttled away.

  Tanner remained alone inside the cabin of the Hermes, surveying the mess. The two cosmonauts now lay side by side on the passenger benches and would soon be taken away. Flight Master Hopper had a bullet hole right between his eyes where Tanner had finished him and he congratulated himself for such a good shot. With so many good men and women gone due to the disastrous mission to the moon, there would now be several positions opening up in the corps. Maybe he could apply for Lieutenant Sharman’s rank. Her daddy couldn’t do anyone any favours anymore.

  While he waited to hand over to the incoming forensics team, Tanner looked around for anything of interest – anything that might bring him even more favour with Commander Johnson. The best place to look was the cargo hold at the rear of the small craft. Anything pertaining to the mission would lie in there.

  He moved over to the lockers and turned the dial, unlocking the seal and loosening the lid. When he did so, there was a clunking sound that made him think something was inside. He pulled up the lid to take a look and something leapt out at him, clamping down on his arm.

  “What the fuck!”

  A dismembered torso dragged itself out of the cargo locker, tearing into Tanner’s wrist with its teeth. He managed to shake the man free and throw the torso to the floor where it immediately started grasping for his leg. He took a step back and pulled his sidearm from its holster. He fired off three rounds, two into the monster’s back and a final one in the top of its skull.

  The gruesome thing stopped moving and Tanner stepped away breathlessly. His arm was throbbing and bleeding where teeth had torn his flesh. It throbbed terribly. He wiped away the blood with his hand and rolled down his sleeve; didn’t want his men to know he had taken a wound.

  The forensic team entered, wearing their HAZMAT suits, but also carrying pistols. It was unusual for forensics to be armed.

  “Squad Leader Tanner, is the area secure?”

  Tanner looked down at the bleeding torso and almost said no, but he had a feeling that admitting so would be a mistake. “Everything is secure,” he said. Two dead and…and half a body in the cargo lockers.” He pointed to the torso.

  “Did you get any blood on you?”

  “What?”

  “Squad Leader Tanner, did you get any blood on you from either of the passengers or the dead man at your feet?”

  “Er, no, no. The passengers were shot from distance and I used my glove to pull this body out onto the floor.”

  “Make sure you burn your gloves, Squad Leader Tanner. Dismissed.”

  Tanner swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded. As he walked away, he decided it would be a bad idea to tell the ship’s doctors that he’d taken a bite on his arm. Maybe when he got back to Earth he would get it checked out, but no way was he telling anybody about it now. Something was going on that he didn’t want to know about. He quickly forgot about promotions and decided to keep his head down. He buttoned his cuff and decided to wear long sleeve shirts until he made it back to Earth. The bite mark continued to throb.

  BOOK 6 OF 7

  THE PEELING OMNIBUS

  THE PEELING: BOOK 1 (JEREMY’S CHOICE)

  The Never Stop News Studio was cramped with bodies. The typical skeleton crew of six or seven had swelled to at least four times that amount, people cramming together in front of the studio’s news desk while the two young anchors prepared to go live with the evening’s stories. The overcrowding had made Jeremy’s job very difficult.

  Jeremy was a security guard for Never Stop News, responsible for keeping out anyone not invited to be there. With the news studio and its roaming reporters providing content twenty-four hours a day live, there was always a risk that some anarchic member of the public, with a grudge and a message, would try to sneak in front of the cameras and interrupt the feed. With current events, and the public being so frightened, the risk of a security breach skyrocketed. People wanted answers, and when people wanted answers they came after the Government first and the media a close second. With so many people filling up the claustrophobic studio, it was impossible for Jeremy to keep his eyes on everybody.

  There was just one more hour to go before he would be relieved from his post by the night guard, Greg – just one more hour. He could not deny that he dreaded being there even another minute longer, though. Bad things were happening in the world, that had started almost a week ago, and the situation didn’t seem to be getting any better. Jeremy didn’t want to be there anymore. He didn’t want to hear another goddamn thing about The Peeling.

  The studio was silent and the lights went down as the countdown till live began. The network was currently running a pre-recorded football report on its dedicated satellite channel and on its website, but would turn back to its studio anchors in seven-seconds.

  Six seconds.

  Five.

  “Okay, guys,” one of the production assistants shouted over the crowd. “You’re live in three…two…”

  Sarah Lane, one of the anchors, cleared her throat and said, “Good evening, UK. Things are still pretty scary right now, but rest assured Tom and I will be bringing all of the latest news for the next four hours. Get yourself a nice hot cuppa and snuggle up on that sofa because Never Stop News will be looking after you tonight.”

  Jeremy still struggled to accept such a casual approach to the news. Sarah and Tom were only mid-twenties, and were dressed and spoke as such. Never Stop News’s entire premise was to provide the day’s events with a laid-back and youthful app
roach. Their slogan was: All the truth. None of the nonsense. Jeremy found it even more surprising that such an approach had been successful. Never Stop’s hip approach to the news had gained them a younger audience unattainable to the traditional networks. It had even started to eat into the more mature demographics as well. It seemed that people were tired of the byzantine stuffiness of days gone by and were happy getting the news from a bunch of plucky youngsters. As a consequence, the Never Stop News Corporation was one of the fastest growing media companies in the world. Jeremy imagined that the lovely Sarah Lane had at least a small part to play in that success. Her shapely legs and curved figure, always on display beneath the glass news desk, were a constant feature of trashy celeb magazines and trashy websites.

  The equally attractive and immaculately-groomed, Tom, took the lead from Sarah and got started with the programme. “We’ve been reporting all week the current crisis in the UK and – it now appears – many other parts of the world have also been affected. Reports suggest upwards of four-million people have been affected throughout the UK alone and over ten times that amount worldwide. The numbers have been rising, hour-by hour, and with no end in sight, there is great fear that the current number of casualties is just a small percentage of what will be the final number.”

  Sarah Lane took over again. “While both Private and Public sectors are working tirelessly to find both a cause and a solution, it is clear that the world is suffering under what can only be described as – a global pandemic. Commonly referred to as The Peeling, the unknown virus has spread throughout our nation and others with a virulence never before seen. Affecting young and old alike, there are no clear vectors for contraction. Government officials admit to knowing nothing about its origin and very little about its pathology. As previously stated, all members of the public are advised to remain inside their homes and avoid all contact with anyone besides their immediate family. The military are permitted to use force where necessary, to ensure the spread of infection is contained.”

  Jeremy swallowed back a mouthful of acidy saliva. His reflux was bad, but his pills were at home. It was unlike him to suffer heartburn in the day. If he’d a job someplace else, he’d be home right now like most other people, but news was an essential service. Jeremy’s job, in many ways, was a matter of national security – his job to make sure the anchors were safe to give their reports. Unfortunately for England Jeremy was just a middle-aged man with bad acid.

  At fifty-two, Jeremy’s limbs were stiffer than they used to be, and his arthritic bones ached more often than not. He was certainly willing to take a stand against anyone looking for trouble, but he couldn’t claim truthfully that he was the best man for the job. Most days he just hung around the corridors, half-asleep, until he returned home to his wife. That was why all of these people in the studio were such a thorn in his side – they forced him to concentrate and stay focused despite his weary mind’s desire to shut off. Most of the people didn’t even need to be there – they were just clerks and office assistants from other floors or departments – but no one wanted to leave while news was still coming in. Everyone wanted to know more about the disease. Their fear and panic was palpable and Jeremy could sense it hanging over the dimly-lit room like a soiled blanket.

  “As we have little fresh news to report from official sources,” Tom told the audience at home. “We will be turning the air over to you – the public. For the next two hours we want to hear from you, Great Britain. We want you to tell us what you’ve seen, and what are your thoughts about The Peeling? Do you have it? Does someone you love have it? Is there any advice you can give to help others out there? We want to hear from you now.”

  Jeremy didn’t know what they expected to get from the public that they didn’t know already. It was well-documented that The Peeling started with a tingling sensation in the hands and feet – sometimes the nose and ears – before moving on to a streaming cold and flu-like symptoms. After a day-or-so of runny nostrils and messy sneezing, the virus really started its magic. Jeremy shuddered thinking about what The Peeling did to the human body.

  “Okay, we have our first caller,” Sarah reported. “We have Keith on line-1. Hello, Keith.”

  “Hiya, Sarah. Hiya, Tom. I just want to say that you’ve been a constant comfort during these last few days. I don’t have any family, and not being able to leave the house has been really hard on me.”

  “It’s been hard on a lot of people,” Tom said. “But right now the only way to stay safe is to lock yourself away.”

  “Do you have The Peeling, Keith?” Sarah asked in her typical caring manner. Although, Jeremy noticed, that the young girl wasn’t as calm and collected as she usually was. She fidgeted a lot and her hair was out of place

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a muffled sound that could only have been sobbing. Eventually, Keith came back on. “Yes…I have it,” he whispered down the line. “I’ve had it three days…since Wednesday.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear that, Keith,” Tom said. “It’s truly terrible what this virus is doing to people. Absolutely horrifying.” The reporter took a deep breath and suddenly seemed very tired, as though he’d dropped a mask that had been hiding his true face all along. Jeremy sympathised from over by the studio’s door. Tom wasn’t much more than a lad, really, and he had suddenly found himself responsible for consoling an entire nation.

  Sarah sat forward on her chair and clasped her hands together on top of the desk. “Keith? If it’s not too hard for you, could you tell our viewers what it’s been like since you got ill? Could you tell us about your symptoms?”

  After another short pause, Keith replied that he would. “I got home from work at about six on the night – I’m a mig-welder. Anyway, Man U were playing Chelsea and I wanted to see them get their arses hammered, so I got some beers in and plonked myself down in front of the telly. I was happy, you know?”

  “We know,” Sarah confirmed understandingly.

  “Well, I’d been feeling a bit under the weather all day and my nose had been running like a tap, but I thought it was just a cold. I mean, no one really knew what was going on then – it was all just rumours.” He trailed off and begun to sob.

  “Just go on when you’re ready, Keith,” Sarah told the man. “We’re here for you.”

  “Right, sorry, anyway,” Keith gathered himself, “I was sat watching the game, but I couldn’t help but scratch at my feet the whole time. Was a bit like pins and needles, but no matter how much I itched or walked around the living room, it just wouldn’t go away. Thankfully it got a bit better after a couple beers and I managed to ignore it.”

  “What happened next?” asked Tom, filling a brief moment of dead air.

  “Then I fell asleep on the sofa. Do most evenings if I have a drink. I woke up later, in the middle of the night. I knew it was late because the shopping channel had come on, selling their usual junk. So I sit there for a few minutes, trying to wake up a bit so I can get myself up and go to bed, but soon as I lean forward, I feel this sharp stab of pain.”

  Jeremy rubbed at his eyes in the doorway. He’d heard enough reports to know what was coming next. He’d even seen what was coming next first hand.

  “I look down at my feet,” said Keith, fighting back sobs, “and I can hardly…I can hardly believe what I’m seeing.”

  “Tell us, Keith.”

  “My feet they were…oh God…they were like raw steak. They had no skin. I could see all the gristle and bone and blood. They looked like those anatomical dummy things they have in school, you know? Anyway, like a fool I grab down at them, like I needed to make sure my eyes weren’t still half-asleep and seeing nonsense. When I touched my feet it was agony. I almost passed out it was so bad. Worst pain I’d ever felt…but I would give anything to feel that way now – it was heaven compared to the pain I feel now. The skin from my ankles started peeling away the next morning, blistering up and peppering the floor like dandruff. Then it moved further up my l
egs. Then it….then it….” Keith finally allowed himself to sob openly down the line. “My dick is gone! It fell onto the carpet like a goddamn sausage.”

  The man began to wail inhumanely and the phone line went dead. Jeremy didn’t know if it was the caller or the studio that had cut the conversation short. Probably the studio. They had a duty not to cause the public any more distress then they were already in.

  Sarah smiled awkwardly into the main camera. “We seem to have lost Keith, there, but I’m sure we’re all united in our prayers that his condition gets better.”

  “Absolutely,” Tom added. “I think we should just move on and take the next call.”

  “That would be Angela Thomas on line-4.”

  “We’re all going to die. God is punishing us for letting the queers and the-”

  The line went dead. This time Jeremy was certain it had been the studio’s doing. There was nothing like a crisis to bring out the hate-filled vipers from their pits. Britain liked to act like all the whackos lived abroad in less civilised countries, but working in a news studio made it quite clear that there were as many nutjobs here as there were anywhere else.

  Jeremy checked his watch. There were only forty minutes till he could leave, but it seemed like an eternity. At home, his wife was sick – like so many other people – and it felt like a betrayal not to be with her now, looking after her. He’d betrayed her for most of their twenty-year marriage, with various other women and his hidden gambling habit, but failing her now was enough to make his guilt muscle finally take notice. He was a hypocrite, that much was true, but he knew there were times when a man needed to step up and be selfless for the woman he loved; this was one of those times. The entire nation lived in hope that The Peeling would soon be dominated by a cure – that man would triumph over nature once again as it had always done. But Jeremy knew better. He knew that the virus wasn’t just bird-flu on steroids. This was the end. Even if the virus was destroyed, the amount of death it had already caused would be monumental. Millions. The world would never be the same again. Perhaps that meant Jeremy would get the chance to be a decent man again, to be a good husband – even if it was only for the handful of days his wife had left. She could get better, but something in his gut told him not to hold onto that hope. He had to get home.