The BIG Horror Pack 2

by Iain Rob Wright

  “If he gets in here, we’re all dead,” said Ethan. “Do I have to remind you that they’re the reason no one has been able to leave here in a week? And how many innocent people have the army shot since things turned bad? It’s been a massacre, and now you want to let one of them in here?”

  “I think he’s different,” said Brett.

  “But you can’t be sure,” Ethan replied.

  “No, you’re right. I can’t.”

  Lieutenant Bristow let out an anguished sigh. “Please. I’m begging you.”

  Reverend Long marched over to the turnstiles but Ethan stood in the man’s way. “Leave him,” he said. “We don’t owe him anything.”

  “We owe him decency at the very least. I will not leave a man to suffer. The world may have changed, but I have not.”

  Ethan looked at Brett and raised his eyebrow. “You going to let him do this?”

  Brett wondered why the hell the decision lay with him. Somehow, in the last few days, the three of them must have formed some unspoken coalition. His vote was the tiebreaker. But what should he do?

  “Let him in.”

  Ethan backed off and let out an angered huff. “Fine. On your head be it. But make sure that we have his rifle.”

  Reverend Long grabbed the broom handle blocking the mechanism of the turnstile and Brett hurried up to grab a hold of the Lieutenant. Eventually they managed to drag the wounded soldier through the entrance and into the hallway inside. The wound in the Lieutenant’s shoulder left a slick red trail on the floor behind him. Brett made sure to grab the rifle off the floor. It was heavier than expected.

  “Right,” said Brett, pointing the weapon at the floor. “Getting him inside is one thing. Now what do we do to help him?”

  Lieutenant Bristow answered the question. He opened a small utility pouch on his belt and said, “I have bandages and disinfectant. I just need someone to dress my wound. I think the round went straight through. I should be okay.”

  Brett handed the rifle over to Ethan – immediately wondering if that was a good idea – and knelt down beside Bristow. He reached into the man’s utility pouch and found gauze, bandage, and a tiny bottle of Iodine. Reverend Long sat the soldier up while Brett removed his clothing. Beneath the olive green t-shirt was a tiny, circular hole that oozed blood. Brett doused the wound with the orange liquid from the Iodine bottle and clamped down a square of gauze before the blood had time to flood the area again. He held it there for a few seconds until the blood fused it in place. A couple of minutes later Brett had Bristow’s entire shoulder wrapped up in soft white bandage.

  “How’s that feel?”

  “Better already. I just need to rest.”

  “I’ll get the penthouse ready,” Ethan muttered.

  “Ethan,” Reverend Long scalded him. “Please…”

  “It’s okay,” said Bristow. “He’s right to be hostile. I’m grateful to you people for helping me, truly.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Brett. “You think you can stand?”

  Bristow nodded and Brett helped him to his feet. He seemed a little shaken but his body was stiff and powerful, trained for survival. Brett felt better having a grizzled soldier in their midst. He felt surer that his decision to let him through the turnstiles was the right one. That didn’t mean he was willing to let his men through just yet, though.

  “Ethan,” get the turnstiles secure. No one else is coming through until we know more about the situation.”

  Ethan didn’t argue, probably because it was an idea he could get behind. He jammed up the mechanism and then decided to stand watch beside the entrance. That probably wasn’t a bad idea either.

  “People are going to be nervous about you being here,” Brett told Bristow. “I think it would be best if we took you up into the stands for tonight.”

  “Okay,” said Bristow, starting to bear more of his own weight with every step. “Anywhere is fine.”

  Emily appeared in front of them then. Brett hadn’t notice her leave earlier but it appeared that she had something important to tell them. Before she had chance, though, people started shouting over at the East Stand.

  ***

  It turned out to be Stephen causing the panic. When Brett entered the food area of East Stand, he immediately saw the festering sore on the man’s face and the fear in his eyes. The Peeling had begun its work. Somehow he had caught it from his daughter.

  “Stephen, you’re sick.” It was stating the obvious, but Brett knew nothing else to say.

  “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice already weak and slurring from the infection. “You need to help my girl. She’s, she’s…God help me, there’s nothing left of her. Just...bones. Bones and blood.” Stephen threw up on the floor, the vomit steaming and thick with blood.

  “Get the fuck back,” shouted Ethan. “You need to get away from us.”

  Brett hated to be cruel, but he agreed. “Stephen, go back up into the stands. You’re dangerous.”

  Stephen stepped forward. “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “Your face…”

  Stephen stopped approaching and put a shaking hand to his cheek. When he pulled it back his fingers were clammy with sticky flesh. He looked at Brett with panic in his eyes. “Help me!” He rushed forward, arms out in desperation.

  Lieutenant Bristow pulled the trigger on a handgun he had pulled from nowhere. An explosion of sound was followed by a tiny dot of blood spreading wider on Stephen’s forehead. The man fell down dead.

  Ethan spun around and pointed the rifle at Bristow and begun shouting. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What needed to be done.”

  Brett shook his head and had a bad feeling. “You said you were done with this. You said you didn’t want to kill anybody else.”

  Bristow lowered his gun and gave them all a stern look. “He was already dead. I did him a favour.”

  Reverend Long said, “It is that attitude that has seen this country’s military turn into savages and bullies.”

  Bristow laughed. “You people really don’t get it, do you? The world has ended. Things aren’t just bad, they’re over and done with. Anyone lucky enough to still be alive should be doing everything they can to stay that way. Whatever it takes. Because if we fail it’s the end of the goddamn human race.”

  Ethan aimed the rifle at Bristow’s unflinching face. “We’ll decide what it takes. This is our home you just stepped into. You live by our rules.”

  Bristow slowly raised his gun again and this time aimed it at Ethan. “You point a rifle at someone, you need to be willing to pull the trigger, mate. You got the stones for it?”

  Ethan began to sweat, a bead appearing above his right eyebrow. He clutched the rifle tightly, but he seemed more concerned with the fact that a weapon was pointed at him.

  “There are no rules anymore,” said Bristow. “It’s all about whoever has the biggest bollocks.”

  “Well, right now, I do,” said Ethan. “I have the bigger gun.”

  Bristow smirked. “But it’s not loaded.”

  Ethan panicked and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened and he flinched as Bristow let off another round from his pistol.

  The bullet hit the wall just behind Ethan’s head. Then Bristow put the weapon away, shoving it into a holster near the small of his back. “Now, believe me when I say that if I had wanted to hit you, I would have. I’m not here to have war with any of you. I meant it when I said I was done with all the killing. I just want somewhere secure to ride this thing out.”

  Brett laughed. “So now you want inside the place you’ve been keeping us prisoner in. Nice.”

  “I already told you that Lewis was calling the shots. He’s dead now. Things are different.”

  “We’ll see,” said Brett. “Hand over your gun.”

  “No.”

  “Look, if you want us to trust you, you’re going to have to give us reason to. Hand over your weapon.”

  “I’ll take it,”
said Reverend Long. “I think it’s best if it’s in the hands on someone not willing to use it.”

  Bristow thought about it for a second, then let out a sigh. “Fine. Here, take it.”

  Reverend Long took the gun and placed it inside his vest pocket. “There, now let’s get Stephen somewhere before anyone else gets sick. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.”

  ***

  Everyone was understandably upset to learn that one of the soldiers was now inside the stadium. Brett had taken Bristow up into one of the executive boxes at the top of the stands and told him to stay there for the time being. The boxes had locks on them and Bristow secured himself inside as Brett left him.

  Now Brett was standing with Reverend Long and Ethan. The three of them addressed the rest about what had happened.

  Reverend Long was the first to speak. “It would seem that there has been a civil war, of sorts, between the soldiers and the police. Sides were taken and Captain Lewis is now dead.”

  There was a brief cheer amongst the group. Most had not met the captain, but they all knew it was him who had been keeping them trapped inside.”

  “We’re now all free to go,” said Ethan, “but it’s starting to look like that may not be a good idea.”

  “We can’t stay here forever,” said Brett, “but for now, we’re all safe and we at least have the option of leaving now. That changes things.”

  “Safe?” said one of the crowd. “How are we safe with that man in here with us? We can’t trust the military.”

  “Not to mention the fact that The Peeling is inside,” added another unseen person in the crowd. “Stephen and his daughter are dead.”

  “How did they even get it? No one else has it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Look,” said Brett. “I don’t think we understand things as well as we think we do. I know the news reports said that half of us are carriers, which means we won’t get the disease itself, but in all honesty who the hell knows the truth? It hit us all so quickly and so hard that I doubt the Government even had half a chance to try and figure it all out. At least for now, no one else seems to be sick, so we shouldn’t tempt fate by going outside or changing our behaviours.”

  “Or letting new people in,” said someone in the crowd. “Like a goddamn, bleeding soldier.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” said Ethan. “I think we should turf him out as soon as he’s had twenty-four hours rest.”

  The crowd murmured amongst themselves and seemed to agree.

  “No,” said Reverend Long. “We must remember the compassion we all once had, before fear perverted our good natures. Lieutenant Bristow handed over his weapons willingly and is a victim of all this, just like us. We should not turn away a stranger in need. In the times ahead of us, there may well be a time where we ourselves need to rely on the compassion of others. Let us not turn into animals. We are men and woman, and the direction of the future will be down to us.”

  “Very dramatic,” said Ethan. “Perhaps you’re right, though. Maybe we shouldn’t forget how things were before. Let’s vote. All in favour of ejecting our unwanted guest tomorrow morning raise your hands.”

  Over two thirds of the group raised their hands and Reverend Long let out a sigh.

  “Democracy. Can’t argue with the group,” said Ethan. “The will of the many supersedes the will of the few.”

  The Reverend shook his head and walked away. Brett thought about going after him, but decided not to. Brett couldn’t say anything that would change anything. If a majority of the group wanted Bristow gone, then who was he to argue? Maybe things would be different tomorrow. People would have had time to think.

  Brett just hoped Bristow didn’t put up a fight.

  ***

  Because nobody else was willing, Brett and Reverend Long took Stephen’s body upstairs to rest beside his daughter. The little girl’s body had been reduced to mush that hardly resembled human form. In a way, Stephen was lucky to have died before he suffered the same fate. The smell had been overpowering and Brett could still smell it on his clothing. Fortunately, when Emily approached him she didn’t seem to notice.

  The sun was beginning to go down and Brett had got into one of the stadium’s offices. He was looking out of the window across the carpark, and the devastation outside. Dozens of bodies littered the streets; witnesses to the fire-fight that had broken out between the police officers and soldiers. Bullet holes pockmarked the scattered vehicles and blood covered the pavement like spilt paint. There wasn’t a single person alive out there; so where were Lieutenant Bristow’s men?

  “You okay?” asked Emily, moving up beside him at the window. She shook her head when she saw what he did. “You know, it’s horrible but it doesn’t even bother me anymore, the bodies and stuff. It’s normal now. Does that make me bad?”

  Brett touched her on the back. “Course not. I think people just adjust to survive. We’re all doing it. I’ve changed too.”

  “Tell me about it. People really listen to you now.”

  Brett watched a stray dog appear from between two houses and begin sniffing around the debris of the street. He hoped the dog wasn’t far gone enough to start eating the bodies. “People don’t listen to me,” he said. “They listen to Ethan and the Reverend. I’m just the poor sod caught in the middle most the time.”

  “Well, doesn’t that make you the most powerful of all then? If they keep butting heads and making opposing suggestions, with you being the one deciding on the outcome, then technically you’re the one making all the decisions around here.”

  It was an interesting thought, and perhaps close to the truth, but it was an unwanted truth. “To be honest I’d rather not be making any decisions at all. I’m not cut out for responsibility.”

  “I disagree,” said Emily.

  “Really? Well, I can’t help feeling that I’m putting people in danger. It was my decision to bring Bristow inside, and he’s already killed one of us.”

  “Stephen was already doomed.”

  “Yeah, he was, but why was that? Because I let his daughter stay inside with us after she had The Peeling. Then Stephen caught it. Who knows if anyone else will get ill because of my decision?”

  Emily put an arm around him and he shuddered with discomfort. It had been so long since he’d had human contact that he was no longer used to it. Emily kept her arm around him regardless. “It’s not your fault. So many people have died already that trying to do something about it is almost pointless. We’re not in control of anything anymore.”

  Brett sighed and turned away from the window. Melancholy wasn’t in his nature and he was reluctant to allow himself to indulge the feeling now. The only furniture that hadn’t been taken from the office to build barricades was a couple of office chairs. Brett sat down on an executive, leather high-back and spun around on it, trying to replace his sadness with dizziness. Emily took a chair for herself and rolled it up opposite him.

  Brett looked up at Emily and asked her a question. “So come on, then, tell me. Why do you always seem to be there whenever I look up? Are you following me?”

  Emily blushed and seemed a little annoyed. “High opinion of yourself, much? I just like being around you because there’s not that many people to choose from anymore.”

  “Oh, cheers.”

  Emily cracked a smile. “Plus, there’re even less young people, and…you make me feel safe.”

  Brett raised an eyebrow. “Safe?”

  “Yeah. You don’t seem to let worry get to you like everyone else. You stay calm and do the right thing. You remind me of how things were before things went bad, calm and normal.”

  “So what were you like before all this? What did you do for fun?”

  “Not a lot,” Emily replied. “I was a big saddo, as you can probably tell by my bright ginger hair and spectacles.”

  “Maybe I thought that about you at first, but you seem pretty cool after getting to know you.”

  “Nope, I’ve always been
a hopeless case, I’m afraid. My parents sent me for piano lessons and choir when I was ten and my nerdom never looked back. I tried picking up guitar and listening to rock to try and be cooler but it never worked. People still crossed the street to avoid me. Truth be told I’m probably more popular since things went all loopy.”

  Brett laughed. “Maybe your problem is that you say things like ‘loopy’. This situation is a few levels above loopy. Let me hear what you really think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’re being polite and well-behaved, but the time for manners is over. Time to stop being a nerd. Tell me what you really think of the world we’re currently stuck in.”

  “Well…I, I think it’s messed up.”

  “Keep going.”

  “It’s…well, it’s fucked up is what it is.”

  “More.”

  “This situation is totally batshit-crazy, fruitloop-fucking-insane. It’s a barrel-full of shitballs.”

  Brett laughed so hard that his chest hurt and he started choking. When he regained his breath, he said, “Well, those are some ways to put it, I guess. I think I agree with you, though; this situation is certainly a barrel-full of shitballs.”

  Emily laughed too. “It’s fuck-fuck-fucked!”

  “There you go. Doesn’t it feel better to say what you really mean?”

  “Yeah, it does. Thanks for rescuing me from my none-swearing lifestyle. I feel much happier now.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Brett, trying to keep from another bout of laughter. “Now that you’ve reinvented yourself, what would you be doing right now if you could?”

  “I’d be back at home at my piano. I know it’s not cool, but I always preferred it over guitar. Doesn’t mean I can’t rock out, though. The last CD I brought was by a band called Fozzy. I think I would be listening to them right now. I miss music so bad, you know?”

  “Fozzy? Shit, I know them. They’re good. Well, I think the music may have stopped for now, so once things settle down it’s going to be up to us to bring rock back to the world.”

  “Deal,” said Emily, offering out her hand to shake. Once he shook it, she looked him in the eye and said, “You know what else I would do right now if I had the choice?”