The BIG Horror Pack 2

by Iain Rob Wright

  That had been three days ago. Now, after another horrible night’s sleep on the cement floor of the East Stand kitchen, Brett had been placed in charge of the food reserves. Luckily, the stadium had several snack bars that all backed onto the same kitchen and staff areas. The supplies were allocated to provide for the twenty-thousand football fans that used to fill the stadium every weekend, which meant there was plenty of food for now, but a great part of it was perishable. What made Brett so mad was how people were tearing into chocolate bars and crisp packets like they were having a party. Something about being able to help themselves to bottles of pop and cans of cider made them feel unadulterated. It was the mob mentality of looting, and it seemed to make them happy, but what they didn’t seem to realise was that every mouthful of snack food they ate was a mouthful they wouldn’t have later when they really needed it. They were eating the non-perishable items first and that had to stop. It would have to be cold burgers all around for the next few days.

  “So what you up to today?” Emily asked him as if they were buddies.

  “I don’t know,” he answered testily. The girl irritated him. “Guess I’ll see if the Reverend needs anything done.”

  Emily giggled at him and bopped him on the arm. “Are you always so work work work? You should let others worry about things for a day. You and me are just teenagers. We should leave it to the adults.”

  “I’m twenty-two, Emily, and this isn’t a game. Things are bad. Those soldiers outside will shoot anyone who tries to leave, which eventually we will be forced to do. Half the country is dead or dying, and we might be infected with the thing that killed them. We’re fucked.”

  Emily winced at his language and adjusted her spectacles. Her freckled cheeks went a shade redder. “No need to speak to me like that. I’m just being friendly.” The girl walked away and, if Brett was honest, he didn’t care. Emily was a pest as far as he was concerned. She needed to get her head in the game. So did everybody else.

  Reverend Long would probably be at his usual place at the centre circle of the football pitch, so Brett headed there now. The football pitch was outside, with the stadium built around it on all sides, comprised of four stands. The snack bar and kitchen was in the East Stand, which also housed a bank of televisions that had kept everyone informed about the ongoing situation until the power had ceased that morning. Last anybody had heard was that the UK’s quarantine procedures had been increased indefinitely until a screening process was put into place.

  Brett took one of the several flights of cement steps leading up to the pitch and the stadium seating. The dull sunshine hit him as he rose to the outside. Birds chirped from the rafters as if all was right with the world. How wrong they were. In the centre of the pitch, Reverend Long conducted one of his regular sermons that were as much about organisation and survival as they were religion. People looked to the holy man as their leader by default, but Brett had his suspicions that the man was out of his depth. People were scared and Reverend Long was doing his best to comfort them, but he wasn’t trained to deal with a situation like this.

  “Ah, young Brett. How are things in the pantry?”

  Brett took the final few steps across the football pitch and placed himself in front of the Reverend so that their conversation was private from the other people gathered around. “We have plenty of food, Reverend, but most of it will go bad in only a few days. The freezer’s still pretty cold at the moment, but with the power off...”

  Reverend Long placed a hand on Brett’s shoulder and gave him a warm smile. “The lord will provide, young Brett. Do not fret.”

  Brett sighed. “So what’s next? Any news from outside?”

  “I spoke with Captain Lewis this morning. His men still won’t allow us to leave – in fact they wouldn’t even let me near the turnstiles. I had to shout out through the entrance like a hooligan.”

  “They can’t keep us in here forever. It’s not right.”

  “I agree. Fortunately, so does Captain Lewis. He has assured me that he is doing everything he can to move things along and get us out of here. We just need to be patient.”

  “Bullshit,” said someone from behind Brett. It was Ethan. Ethan was a pudgy businessman and local property developer. He was well known in the West Midlands and Brett hadn’t liked the man from the moment they’d met.

  “There’s little need for such language, Ethan,” said Reverend Long.

  “Like hell there isn’t. Do you honestly believe that professional thug and his band of mercenaries are ever going to let us out of here? They’ve got every exit covered. Our choices are to starve in here or face a bullet in the chest.”

  “Young Brett here has just assured me that we are perfectly okay, food-wise.”

  Brett frowned. That wasn’t strictly true.

  “For now,” said Ethan. “But we can’t live on dodgy hamburgers forever. We need to get out of here, back to our homes.”

  More like your cushy mansion, thought Brett, understanding why the man wanted out, but he couldn’t deny that the businessman’s concerns were on par with his own. It was almost as if Reverend Long had chosen to interpret the food report how he’d wanted.

  “What do you suggest, Ethan?” Brett asked. “If you have a solution, I’d love to hear it.”

  “We fight our way out. There could only be a dozen soldiers out there. There’re almost fifty of us.”

  Brett shook his head and laughed. “That’s ridiculous. They’ll rip us to shreds before we even make it ten feet. And it’s not just the army out there anyway; there’s a load of police as well.”

  “The police aren’t armed. It’s only the soldiers we need to worry about. We can take them, I’m telling you. I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  Reverend Long placed a hand between them and halted the conversation. “Please, Ethan. Violence will accomplish nothing. We are all men here, inside the stadium and out. We must not fight one another during these trying times.”

  “Oh, stick a sock in it, old man. Jesus isn’t going to save us. Everything is an utter mess and those men outside are only interested in their own wellbeing. We can all die for all they care. There’s been so much death recently that we’d be just another statistic. It’s them or us, Reverend. You can keep your useless God for yourself.”

  “Calm down,” said Brett. “If it’s them or us, then perhaps you should stop turning people against each other. I agree with the Reverend: the time for violence is a long way off yet.”

  “Perhaps, but believe me, before we know it, it will be the only option left.” With that Ethan walked away and reintegrated with the throng of people that covered the halfway point of the pitch.

  “Asshole!”

  “Forgive him, young Brett,” Reverend Long soothed. “Worry makes men mask their fear with anger.”

  Brett shrugged. “Maybe, but we don’t need people like him right now. Things are bad enough. We all need to stick together.”

  “You’re wise beyond your years, boy. Perhaps you could do me a favour?”

  “Of course. What’s up?”

  “Captain Lewis has made a request that we make a list of everybody here – names and addresses. He wishes to inform people’s families and also wants to know how many of us there are in here. I’m assuming it may well have to do with them getting us some supplies.”

  It’s also a great way to keep tabs on us, Brett mused.

  “Okay, Reverend,” he said. “I’ll go get started.”

  ***

  The attempt to take down people’s names and addresses was met with hostility. The men and women inside the stadium still did not really know one another and the thought of giving away their personal details to a stranger was something they were wary of, regardless of the fact that they no longer had homes, possessions, or bank accounts to even worry about. But with a little bit of perseverance, and a shedload of patience, Brett managed to overcome most people’s objections and get their details. His list was now over fifty names long. Th
ings had been going pretty smoothly – that was until it was Ethan’s turn.

  “Go screw yourself, kid.”

  Brett sighed and decided to hold out the pen and paper anyway. “Ethan, I’m done arguing with you today. Can you just help me out, please? I just need your address and surname.”

  Ethan shoved the paper back at him. “You know how I feel about those thugs outside. I’m not telling you a thing. You know who else used to take lists? Nazis.”

  A bout of concerned whispering broke out amongst the people gathered nearby. They were all huddled together, as if for protection.

  “This isn’t Hitler’s Germany, dude. This is England, so stop trying to scare everyone. They just want people’s names so that they know how much supplies we need.”

  “Then just give them a number. Tell them that there’s one-hundred men and woman here to be fed.”

  Brett frowned. “There’s not that many of us here.”

  Ethan looked at Brett as if he were a fool. “No shit, Sherlock. They don’t need to know that, though, do they? The more people they think are in here, the more food they will give us – and the less likely they are to attack us.”

  The man had a point, but there was a flaw in his thinking. “Well, wouldn’t it be better if we said there were less of us than there are. That way if they do launch an attack they’ll underestimate our strength.”

  Ethan’s face contorted for a split second, as if the notion of being second-guessed by a twenty-three year old was tantamount to blasphemy. Then the man cracked a smile and patted Brett on the back. “That’s good thinking, kid. You should be using that brain to have more ideas like that, instead of running around after that geriatric preacher. We need to get ourselves ready.”

  “You make it sound as if we’re going to war.”

  Ethan stared Brett in the eye. “It’s about time people realised that we are.”

  Brett sighed and walked away. There was no point trying to force Ethan and his group to give their details. In all honesty there was a chance that Ethan was right. Captain Lewis may have requested the list so that he could strategize an attack on the stadium.

  Other than firing off a couple of warning shots to those trying to leave, Lewis’s men had not tried to enter the stadium or hurt anyone inside, but they’d made it very clear that no one was to leave. There was no reason to doubt the captain and his men just yet, but Brett would have felt less apprehensive about the situation if he knew their endgame. How long were they planning to keep everyone rounded up inside the stadium? What would they do once people started running out of food? Were the Army still responsible for protecting people, or had it become a different entity entirely? Brett thought about the movies he’d seen about the Gestapo rounding up Jews and decided that perhaps the situation wasn’t entirely dissimilar from Nazi Germany.

  ***

  Brett headed over to the turnstiles in the East Stand. They only allowed people inside, not out. The large wooden hatch-door was used to let crowds out after a match, but it had been barricaded by the soldiers outside. The same had been done with all of the stadium’s exits, including the delivery bay off the kitchen. The only way to speak to Captain Lewis was to approach him at the turnstiles and talk across them.

  When Brett got there, he was met by the steely gaze of a squaddie. Brett didn’t know the man’s rank but his arm featured two chevrons, which was less than he’d seen on the uniforms of others, but one more than some.

  “Halt!”

  Seriously? Halt? Why not, “who goes there?”

  “I’d like to speak with Captain Lewis. I have the list he requested.”

  The soldier nodded but did not leave his post. Instead he stuck a dirty finger in his mouth and whistled before performing some bizarre hand gesture to someone unseen.

  After a few minutes, Captain Lewis arrived in front of the turnstiles. The officer was fully-kitted in olive-green combat uniform, including helmet. He was taller than his men and his bony face was covered by thick black stubble.

  “Where is Father Long?”

  “He’s busy,” Brett replied. “He asked me to gather this list for you.”

  “Excellent. Good work, chap. Hand it over.”

  Brett kept a hold of the handful of papers. “What do you want it for?”

  The captain glared at him for a moment, but then seemed to soften. “I need to know who we have in there. Their families will want to know. Now, do as you’re told, lad, and give me that list. There’s a good chap.”

  “What about supplies? Are you going to get us food? How about some blankets?”

  The captain shook his head. “I will make a request to my coordinator, but that’s not something I can promise.”

  “Then what fucking use are you to us?”

  “I beg your pardon, young man? I suggest you show a little more respect to my rank.”

  “I’m a civilian. Your rank doesn’t mean shit to me. In fact, I wipe my arse on it. If you’re not going to help us then we’re not going to help you.”

  “Go and get Father Long immediately.”

  Brett stood still.

  “Do you hear me?”

  “I told you,” said Brett. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  Lewis took several steps and closed the distance between them. “You’re playing a very dangerous game here, young man. In case you didn’t notice, the world is a scary place right now. It’s chaps like me that are the only thing protecting you.”

  “Then tell us what’s going on,” said Brett. “How long do you plan on keeping us here? People are getting anxious.”

  “Look,” Lewis said, sounding a little more open to reason as he realised that his bluster wasn’t working. “I will look into getting you some supplies, but you need to calm down and stay inside. Now, how many of you are there?”

  Brett thought about Ethan’s theory about being attacked and chose not to answer the question. “You get us some food and blankets, then we’ll talk.”

  Brett turned around and took the list of names with him. He didn’t know whether to fear Lewis or not, but right now it seemed like it would be best to keep his cards close to his chest. If the captain was just following orders then there would be no way to know what he was planning to do.

  As Brett re-entered the East Stand eating area he was met by a commotion. There were people gathered in a group outside one of the burger bars, while a middle-aged man tried to hold them back. The man’s name was Steve and Brett had not seen him so worked up before.

  “Steve, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

  “They’re trying to get my little girl.” He screamed at the crowd surrounding him. “You’re all a bunch of monsters.”

  “She has it,” said a brunette in her thirties. “She has The Peeling.”

  Brett looked at Steve and saw that the man was terrified and sweating. “Is it true? Is she sick?”

  Steve nodded. “But she’s not contagious. You heard what the news said when we still had the TVs. The infected are not contagious; it’s the carriers who pass it on.”

  “We don’t know shit,” someone shouted from the crowd. “We don’t know what causes it. We need to get the girl out of here before we all end up catching it.”

  Brett turned to the baying crowd and raised his hands to keep them back. “Steve is right. If his daughter is ill, then she’s no danger to us.” He turned back to Steve and tried his best to smile reassuringly. “Come on, take me to her and we’ll see what we can do for her.”

  “She’s hiding in the back. These animals scared her to death.”

  Brett followed Steve into the kitchen area of the burger bar, entering through a staff door. The area was cold, and getting colder since the electricity had gone off. It wouldn’t be long before the entire building became unbearably frigid as there was no way to close off the entrances to the pitch side and the cold air outside was free to whistle in through the corridors.

  At the back of the kitchen area, lying on an aluminium prep
aration table was Steve’s daughter. Brett could not remember the young girl’s name, but he’d noticed her a few times over the last few days. She was about eight-years old, thin and gangly like her father. She wore a pink t-shirt that left her bleeding right arm exposed. The flesh on her wrist was peeling away, hanging loose in a great wet flap. There was no doubt that she had The Peeling.

  “I noticed a rash on her yesterday afternoon,” said Steve. “I can’t believe how fast it spreads. Whatever this thing is, it’s pure evil.”

  Brett looked closer at the girl’s wound and noticed dozens of thin, red tendrils running beneath the surface of her skin. It was almost as if he could see the virus moving and spreading up her arm, rotting away more healthy cells with every second.

  “I don’t even think she has a week,” Steve sobbed. “My poor, sweet darling.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brett said. “I wish I could do something for her.”

  “There’s nothing you can do for her,” said Ethan, strutting into the room. Reverend Long was hurrying up behind him. “She’s already dead. We need to think about those who are not.”

  “Get out of here,” Steve pleaded. “Just leave us alone.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. We need to deal with this now.”

  “For God’s sake,” said Brett, then noticed the Reverend. “Sorry, Father.”

  “God forgives you.”

  “I’m not doing this to be horrible,” Ethan said. “I’m just being the pragmatist here because nobody else wants the job. Your daughter could end up killing us all, Steve. We need isolate her, or…”

  “If you’re about to suggest killing her then I would just shut your mouth,” said Steve. “No one is hurting my daughter.”

  “I was going to suggest having the soldiers outside remove her.”

  Steve shook his head and leant over his daughter, sobbing and snivelling. “I won’t let them have her. You’ve seen what they do to the infected. You all saw the piles of bodies and the executions in the streets.”