The Last Plague

by Rich Hawkins

  Magnus handed Joel a small bottle of water.

  “What’s the time?” Joel downed half of the bottle in one go.

  “Nearly six,” said Ralph.

  “In the morning? I slept through the night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened? I remember being in the car leaving the village. And the soldiers…”

  Ralph and Magnus exchanged a glance.

  Ralph said, “The soldiers almost shot us. You passed out. They bundled us into the back of their truck. They brought us here. The paramedics checked you over; made sure you were okay and not infected. They said it was shock.”

  “I feel like shit,” Joel said. He wanted to throw up.

  “Join the club, mate. What a stag weekend this has turned out to be…”

  Magnus grunted.

  “It’s unbelievable,” said Joel. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Well, my friend,” said Ralph. “It certainly is happening.”

  “The paramedics thought I was infected? Infected with what?”

  “Fuck knows,” said Ralph. “One of them said something about a pandemic.”

  “An epidemic, not a pandemic,” said Magnus.

  “Same thing.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Ralph. “Considering what we saw in Wishford I’d say we’re in the deep shit.”

  “Where are we?” asked Joel.

  “A rescue centre,” said Magnus. “A primary school in Horsham.”

  “Are the people from Wishford here?”

  Again, Ralph and Magnus exchanged a brief look.

  “No, mate,” said Ralph. “They’re all gone. Or most of them, anyway. The people here are from other places. There are other rescue centres, apparently. We’re in one of them. The police and army have cleared and sealed off this neighbourhood.”

  “But from what I heard,” said Magnus, “Horsham’s been affected as well. This is a safe zone.”

  “It’s happened here as well?” said Joel.

  “There’re armed police outside,” said Ralph. “They’re guarding the gates. This is serious shit, mate.”

  “What do you mean, they’re from other places?”

  “This has hit the entire country. One of the coppers said it’s a national emergency.”

  “Have you managed to contact anyone from home?”

  “No” said Magnus. “Our phones still aren’t working. They reckon something atmospheric is affecting them. Debbie is going to kill me.”

  Joel took out his mobile and tried to call Anya, but the entire network was dead. Panic flooded his stomach. He wanted to go home, see Anya. Make sure she was safe.

  “So it could have happened back home?” Joel said. His face flushed with heat. He wanted to scratch his skin until he drew blood.

  Magnus shrugged. “We don’t know. The police told us to stay calm until they restore order.”

  Ralph was shaking his head.

  “In all honestly, I don’t think they know much either,” Magnus added.

  “We’re refugees,” said Magnus. “Everyone here is.”

  Jet aircraft screamed low overhead. Joel flinched.

  Ralph looked up at the ceiling. “Someone said this is an invasion.”

  “An invasion?” said Joel. “By who?”

  “By what,” Magnus said.

  “Is it terrorists?”

  “No one knows,” said Ralph. “But I doubt it.”

  “I have to get home to Anya.”

  “The police won’t let us leave,” said Magnus. “They said it’s too dangerous out there. The army is fighting in the streets. You heard the gunfire, didn’t you?”

  “We could take our chances,” said Ralph.

  “We’d die out there,” Magnus said.

  “What about Frank?” Joel asked. “Have you heard from him? He could be in here somewhere…”

  Magnus shook his head. “We haven’t seen him.”

  “We should never have left him,” said Joel. “We abandoned him.”

  “We didn’t abandon him,” said Ralph. “He left us.”

  “He might still be alive.” There was no conviction in Magnus’ voice.

  “He’s dead,” said Joel. “Frank’s dead. I can feel it.”

  Neither Ralph nor Magnus replied.

  “Have you seen them?” a woman asked, sitting across from them.

  They turned to her. She was stroking a small dog on her lap, some sort of terrier licking at her fingers with its small tongue. She looked to be in her fifties. Sharp, keen eyes that reminded Joel of one of his old schoolteachers. Greying hair down to her shoulders. A dark blanket around her body. She was shoeless.

  “Excuse me?” said Joel.

  “Have you seen them?”

  “Seen who?” said Magnus.

  “The monsters. Whatever they are.”

  “We’ve run into a few of them,” Ralph said.

  “You’re lucky to be alive then.”

  “We’ve had a few close calls.”

  “What happened to you?” Joel asked her.

  “Two days ago,” the woman said. “Sunday morning. I was shopping. People started to collapse and convulse. They changed right before my eyes. I had to hide in a clothes shop’s changing room just so I wouldn’t get torn to bits by my best friend. She went crazy, sprouted something like dark growths from her back and stomach. She tore out the throat of a teenage boy. Ate bits of him. She attacked other people. But there were more like her. Poor Francine. They became monsters.”

  “Fuck,” said Ralph. “That’s mental.”

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” said Joel. “How did you end up here?”

  She stroked the dog’s head with long-nailed fingers. “I managed to escape from the shop. People were dying. So much screaming. It’s all a bit foggy now. I got home and Alfie here was going crazy, barking and growling. He knew what was happening, the clever boy. I tried calling my son in London but he didn’t answer his phone. I called the police but the line was busy. Eventually I was picked up by a search and rescue patrol looking for survivors. I barely made it to the truck; there were monsters on my street…some were in the gardens. Me and Alfie were bundled into the lorry. They dropped us off here on Sunday night. We’ve been given food and water, and more people have arrived from the surrounding areas, brought here in buses and vans. People that have been evacuated.”

  “So this ‘event’ has happened all over the country,” said Magnus.

  “Yes, I think so. Before the power went out I saw on the BBC News the cities had been affected as well. It’s worse in the cities. We’re lucky, really, when you think about it.”

  “I’ve got a cousin in London,” Joel said. “He’s got a family.”

  “I think my son is dead,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “I hope he’s dead rather than one of those monsters. You should hope the same for your cousin and his family.”

  “Demons,” said Joel.

  “Do you have any idea what the creatures are?” said Magnus.

  “Depends what you believe,” she said. “I’ve heard many rumours in the past two days, some believable and others not so believable. I don’t think it really matters, in the end. I’m sorry – where are my manners? My name’s Susan Blake. You’ve already met little Alfie.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Susan,” said Joel. “I’m Joel, this is Magnus, and that’s Ralph.”

  “We’re all refugees now,” she said. “We’re never going home.”

  * * *

  Joel trudged to the toilets. The corridors were full of people leaning against the walls. There were plastic bags and belongings on the floor. He stepped carefully. Nobody spoke. Eyes flicked towards him but didn’t linger. Through a ground floor window he looked out at the rear of the school: a high wall surrounded the playground, which had become another gathering place for other refugees. Makeshift tents covered the playground. A child was crying out there.

  The toilets smell
ed of disinfectant and piss. Low urinals lined the wall. A row of sinks topped by bottles of semen-like liquid soap, a forgotten toothbrush and a damp roll of paper towels. Smudges of grime on the taps. Hand-dryers attached to the walls. A sign above the sinks reminded him to wash his hands after using the toilet.

  He stood there for a few seconds. He felt off-kilter, confused and scared. He entered an empty cubicle – the other three were occupied. The door didn’t lock properly. There was a turd amidst a soggy smattering of white paper in the toilet bowl. He screwed up his face, covered his mouth. There wasn’t much paper left in the dispenser. He tore away a few sheets and used it as a glove to touch the flush lever. The dirty water rose, crested by the turd, almost to the rim of the bowl. Joel backed away, grimacing.

  The water didn’t rise above the rim, and the tide receded. A cloud of sewer gas drifted to him. He coughed and waved one hand in front of his face.

  He raised the toilet seat, tossed the paper into the bowl.

  The man in the next cubicle was grunting; weird, ape-like sounds like he was taking a painful dump. Or something else. Joel tried to ignore him; he didn’t have the nerve to tell him to shut up.

  When he had finished pissing he grabbed another wad of paper and lowered the toilet lid, which he wiped clean. He discarded the paper and took out the small crucifix chain from his pocket. He sat down. The grunting sounds from the next cubicle stopped.

  There was marker pen graffiti on the cubicle walls. Drawings of male and female genitalia.

  One scribble read: This is the end, boys and girls.

  Another stated: All flesh can be used.

  He hated public toilets; the last time he’d used one, in Weymouth last year, there had been a phone number scribbled on a cubicle door, underlined with the offer of ‘manly sex’.

  Joel wrapped the chain around his hand so the crucifix was hanging over his knuckles. The chain was warm from resting against his thigh in his pocket. He closed his eyes. He held his hands together. Joel was embarrassed by his faith. He hid it from his friends and family. Only Anya knew. She was Catholic, although she had lapsed. He knew his mates wouldn’t mock him for his belief, but he was scared to tell them anyway, especially Ralph, who was a passionate atheist and hated organised religion.

  He prayed silently. He prayed that his God was listening.

  Because if God still cared, what was happening outside? Was it the work of the Devil? Did that mean the things that had attacked him and his friends were demons? Were they people possessed by demons?

  If they were possessed, could they be saved? And if they could be saved, was killing one actually murder?

  He opened his eyes. What if he had to kill one of the afflicted to protect himself or his mates? Could he do that? Why did this disaster have to happen when he was away from Anya? Was it just God’s sense of humour? His idea of a joke?

  Remember, your God let Frank’s daughter die. Emily. Always remember her name. God let the cancer eat her alive and destroy her body.

  Joel sighed. He hoped God would provide him with an answer.

  He stared at the door and waited for a sign.

  The walls began to vibrate. From above him came a quick throbbing that could be felt at ground level. Joel looked to the ceiling. He felt something above the building. Something in the sky moving over them. Something massive.

  A sign.

  He pocketed his crucifix and rushed back to the others. He didn’t wash his hands.

  The windows were rattling in their frames.

  Susan Blake’s dog barked skywards.

  Every person in the room looked towards the ceiling.

  Ralph got up. “I’m going to see what’s happening.”

  Joel and Magnus followed him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Early morning mist. Where the monsters were hiding.

  Frank held the girl’s hand as they walked the road. They left Wishford behind. Frank kept an eye on the hedgerows and skeletal trees flanking them. Distant booms echoed beyond the mist. Thunder in the darkening clouds. Frank looked up, didn’t like what he saw.

  Florence glanced over her shoulder. “Where are we going?”

  “Horsham.”

  “Are we going to walk all the way there?”

  “If we’re unlucky, yeah.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re walking if we can’t get a lift.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t mind walking.”

  “I do,” Frank said. “I’m old.”

  “You’re very old.”

  “Cheers.”

  They walked on.

  A Ford Escort was stopped on the road.

  No keys in the ignition.

  “You know how to hotwire it?” asked Frank.

  Florence shook her head.

  “Fair enough.”

  “What’s this?” Florence was rooting around the backseat.

  “What?”

  Florence handed him a man’s wallet. He opened it, checked the driver’s licence filed within.

  Joel’s wallet.

  “This belongs to a good friend of mine. He was here. Hopefully the other two were here as well.”

  A mournful wailing came out of the mist.

  Florence stared into the mist, her mouth moving silently.

  “Come on, let’s keep moving,” Frank said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Joel and Magnus emerged into the grey daylight. A few others followed them.

  The front of the school. A car park. There were armed police here. Submachine guns, Kevlar vests and holstered pistols. They were standing guard by the school gates, staring at the sky. A road ran adjacent to the school. A row of semi-detached houses along the street.

  Joel could see squad cars, a riot van, and an ambulance in the car park. There were civilians already outside. Everyone was staring at the sky.

  “Oh god,” someone said.

  Joel felt like his legs would collapse underneath him.

  A gigantic, dark shape lurked within the grey clouds. Bigger than a mountain, drifting in the sky directly overhead.

  The ground was vibrating. Joel felt his bones stiffen. The filling in one of his molars tingled. He swallowed, fought rising nausea in his stomach. He had the urge to run away and curl up into a ball until the presence passed over.

  More people emerged from the school. They moved slowly, cautiously.

  “It’s not a craft,” said Magnus. “It’s not a ship. It’s a living thing. A dark mass. A presence.”

  “It’s living?” Joel asked, and he was answered with a sky-cracking wail. He covered his ears, as did everyone else. The sound of its cry reverberated through his body. A deep, sombre blast of noise and the boom of air through lungs bigger than a house.

  They were all insects compared to that thing.

  He had thought it a sign from God.

  He was wrong. This wasn’t anything to do with God. And he was in awe of the presence above him. Where was it from? Was it one of many? Were humans all over the world staring up at such colossal impossibilities and asking the same questions?

  A profound terror bloomed inside him. The frayed edges of mind-snapping dread.

  “That’s what I saw on Saturday night,” said Magnus.

  Ralph and Joel looked at him.

  “Before you found me passed out on the grass, Ralph, I saw a presence in the sky…like that thing.”

  “Is it the same one?” said Joel.

  “I don’t know. Could be hundreds of them.”

  “Hundreds,” muttered Ralph. “Shit.”

  The presence in the clouds moved away silently towards the north, rising until it vanished higher into the sky.

  Joel put his hand in his pocket and touched the crucifix. But he wasn’t comforted. He had the horrid feeling that God wasn’t watching.

  “Nothing will ever be the same,” said Magnus. “The world is changing.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  There was a
house ahead, on the right side of the road. Florence saw it before Frank did; he had been glancing over his shoulder, worried they were being followed.

  “Do you think people are in the house?” asked Florence.

  “Maybe. They might be able to help us.”

  “There won’t be any monsters there?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll look after you.”

  “I hope they’ve got chocolate biscuits.”

  The house was set back twenty yards from the road. A gravel driveway without a car. Tyre tracks in the damp dirt between the stones. Maybe they had evacuated. Frank kept Florence behind him. Her little footsteps on the gravel and the quiet hush of her breath.

  The house was small. Red brick walls and a squat chimney. A front door framed by a wooden latticed archway.

  “Maybe there’re other boys and girls in there,” Florence said. “Boys smell.”

  Frank swallowed a grunted laugh. “Yeah, we certainly do.” He looked through the window into an empty kitchen. Florence watched him. He knocked on the front door.

  “I don’t think they’re home,” Florence said.

  Frank knocked again.

  “Maybe they’re asleep,” said Florence.