Year of the Zombie [Anthology]

by David Moody

  And repeat.

  And repeat.

  SIX

  Like many men, Gareth was not a fan of shops. If he was able to do the majority of shopping online he would. The one exception to this, he discovered during the first year of Ana’s life, was the 2am Tesco’s Club. When Ana came along, he and Jen were totally unprepared, but they found an ideal substitute for their lack of organisation: a 24 hour supermarket. Frequently finding themselves out of nappies, baby wipes or baby milk meant that Gareth found himself at the virtually abandoned giant super store, able to browse through the air conditioned shop in peace, away from the chaos of a household with a baby in it.

  And now, after a few years’ absence, Gareth was returning to the 2am Tesco’s Club, this time for Calpol, Liquid Ibuprofen, Diolyrite, air freshener, carpet cleaner, washing powder and caffeine pills. Muzak played gently over the deserted aisles as Gareth pushed his trolley. Gareth nodded at the other customers as they passed, guessing them either to be sleep-deprived new parents or truckers looking for legal ways to stay awake and alert.

  While in the washing powder aisle, trying to remember which detergent gave Jen a rash, his phone rang.

  It was Jen.

  ‘What have I forgotten to get?’ he answered.

  ‘She tried to attack me,’ Jen’s voice cried down the line. In the background, Gareth could hear screams and the sounds of furniture being overturned.

  ‘What?’ he managed.

  ‘Ana was sat in the kitchen with me, she wouldn’t sleep. I was preparing some food for tomorrow, I cut myself and the next thing I know she launched herself at me.’

  ‘Is she… Are you okay?’

  ‘Gareth, she tried to bite me. I had to make her stop.’

  Gareth looked around the supermarket aisle.

  ‘Gareth? Did you hear me? I hit her. She was so strong and I hit her. I punched her, Gareth, and I kicked her when she went down.’

  ‘Shit, Jen. You hit her?’

  ‘I couldn’t get her off—’

  ‘She’s only five, you’re a grown woman, you could—’

  ‘She was feral, it wasn’t—’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Just come home,’ Jen pleaded.

  ‘IS SHE OKAY?’

  ‘She’s got a bruise over her eye.’

  ‘Jen, the fucking Social will take her off us the moment they think we’re not coping.’

  ‘Just come home, Gareth. I had to shut her in her room, she’s destroying the place.’

  ‘I’m halfway through the shop-’

  ‘Come home.’

  Gareth abandoned his trolley and numbly walked out of the store under the gaze of the security men.

  In a daze, Gareth drove home, barely conscious of his journey.

  Screeching onto his driveway, he leapt out of the car, and into the house.

  As he passed through the front door, the smell hit him first. With Ana vomiting up any food or drink they tried to give her and suffering from incontinence since the attack, the whole house had taken on an oppressive odour.

  Jen rushed to the door as he entered. Pushing past her, he ran up the stairs, two steps at a time.

  ‘It’s okay, she’s calmed down,’ Jen shouted up the stairs, as Gareth pushed open the door.

  He found his daughter lying flat on the bed, covered in sweat, hair matted to her head, her chest rapidly moving with shallow breaths. Leaning forward, Gareth stroked her forehead, and although sweaty, it was cold to the touch.

  Kissing her, he crept out of her room, to find Jen on the landing.

  Despite brimming with anger at Jen’s actions, he held her to his chest and they both stood there, silently crying for what seemed like an age.

  They retreated to the kitchen. In lieu of a better idea, Gareth put the kettle on, while Jen collapsed into a chair. Automatically Gareth started preparing two mugs, as the water in the kettle bubbled and boiled loudly.

  But not loudly enough, Gareth could still hear his own thoughts.

  Finishing the tea, he sat down next to Jen, placing the unasked for mug in front of her. After several moments of heavy silence and false starts, he spoke.

  ‘So… you cut yourself. And after that she panicked?’

  ‘It wasn’t panic, she launched herself at me. Like Mum’s dog when you drop food on the floor.’

  ‘And you couldn’t stop her?’

  ‘I tried. I held her off but she kept on coming.’

  ‘So you hit her?’

  Jen couldn’t respond. Couldn’t look at Gareth.

  Gareth’s hands circled his mug, the heat from the tea inside scalding his palms as he gripped it increasingly tightly.

  ‘It wasn’t…’ Jen began, and then hesitated. ‘She didn’t… she wasn’t acting like Ana.’

  ‘You’re not acting like her mother.’

  ‘I was supposed to let her attack me?’

  ‘You don’t hit her!’ Gareth barked. ‘We don’t hit Ana.’

  ‘I’m sorry but there’s nothing in any of the parenting books I’ve read about what you’re supposed to do if your child tries to bite you!’

  Jen’s voice echoed around the kitchen, filling the following silence.

  ‘What wouldn’t you do for her?’ Gareth asked, focussing on his mug.

  ‘What?’ Jen asked, looking up.

  ‘For our daughter, what wouldn’t you do? Because I’m racking my brain and the list of things I wouldn’t do for Ana is really fucking short.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that, as a parent, aren’t we supposed to do anything for our kids?’

  ‘Gareth… I know you love our daughter. I love her at least as much as you do, but the lack of sleep is starting to show. The constant trips to the pharmacy, to the doctors, to consultants, to A&E. We’re run ragged. Neither of us are thinking straight.’

  Gareth continued to stare at his mug of tea on the kitchen table. His eye trailed over to the fridge.

  He gulped down the remnants of his tea.

  Slamming the mug on the table, he leapt up and swung open the door to the fridge. Peering inside, he moved around the blocks of cheese, half empty tins of beans and sad remnants of ready meals until he came to an unopened tray of pork chops.

  Grabbing the tray, he pushed past Jen and headed for his daughter’s room.

  Jen followed, as Gareth opened the door.

  Ana was still lying quietly in bed on top of the bedsheets. Gareth knelt beside her and cradled her head lifting it gently.

  ‘Gareth, don’t, she’ll be sick!’ Jen cried.

  Gareth, ignoring his wife, stabbed his thumb through the cellophane covering on the tray of pork chops. He tipped the tray allowing the pigs blood to run to the hole he’d made.

  Blood poured out, but Ana pulled her head away uninterested, drops of pig blood falling onto her pillowcase.

  Frustrated, Gareth dropped the tray to the floor and backed out of the bedroom. Jen rushed to her daughter’s side, kissing her face and stroking her hair.

  Gareth ran back down the stairs and into the kitchen. He swung open the door to the fridge, looking for something, anything that his daughter might eat. Abandoning the open fridge, he moved to the cupboards, pulling out tins and packets of dried foods, hoping to find inspiration. It had been difficult to get Ana to eat anything for the past few weeks, near impossible to get her to keep anything down.

  Shaking with rage and exhaustion he went to the sink, grabbing a dirty mug and lifting it to throw at the wall. He looked over to the bread knife left out on the counter, small spots of Jen’s blood still on the blade.

  An invitation among the crumbs.

  Lowering the mug to the counter, he seized the knife and scraped its serrated edge across his palm. He repeated the action, harder, tearing the first layers of skin apart.

  He watched as skin parted and beads of blood formed at the new opening in his hand. Making a fist, he held it over the mug and squeezed, allowing his blood to spla
tter into it messily. Bizarrely, he felt no pain.

  When the mug was a quarter filled with the dark red liquid, Gareth ran back up the stairs and into Ana’s bedroom.

  Barging past Jen, he brought the mug to Ana’s lips. Her nostrils flared slightly, eyelids flickered and lips parted.

  ‘What are you—?’ Jen managed to get out.

  Gareth hesitated for just a moment, before carefully tilting the mug towards his daughter’s mouth. The blood oozed slowly towards the brim before meeting Ana’s lips. There was brief resistance before Ana opened her mouth wider allowing the blood to pour into her eager mouth.

  SEVEN

  ‘So what now?’ Jen asked, while they two of them lay in bed.

  ‘Hmm?’ Gareth managed.

  ‘She tried to attack me. She tried to bite me. So now what? You go back to work and let her try bite me all day long?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘No. You want me to be honest. I haven’t got a fucking clue. I’m not a doctor, I’m not a psychologist. I. Do. Not. Know.’ Gareth looked up at the ceiling. ‘Listen to that, she’s calm now. She’s sleeping. And so, for however long that lasts, I’m going to enjoy it. I’m going to enjoy the peace. Because right now I don’t have any answers, Jen. All I know is that when she feeds, she’s satisfied. She’s content. She’s not that… thing. She’s Ana again. Even if it is only for a short while.’

  Jen waited. She watched Gareth carefully, knowing that he would need to calm down before she even attempted to talk to him.

  ‘Ana needs to eat. Eat real food. This… whatever this is, it’s a quick fix. It may be calming her but it can’t be healing her. She needs food and rest.’

  Gareth turned his head to Jen, he rolled his body over and put his arm around her.

  ‘You’re right, I… I panicked. I just wanted her to be better. I just don’t understand why all the medicine and the appointments aren’t working. I want things back the way they were. I just want Ana back. She hasn’t eaten, she hasn’t spoken in weeks.’ Tears filled his eyes. ‘I’m just scared that we’ll never get her back.’

  ‘I know. I’m scared too. I miss her, Gareth, I miss her little laugh and the stupid little things she found funny. But she will come back to us, we just have to carry on and be strong for her.’

  Two grown adults lay in bed, terrified at circumstances beyond their control, crying until sleep claimed them both.

  EIGHT

  Gareth stirred from his doze.

  He heard something, an unfamiliar sound. He turned to see Jen lying unconscious next to him in the bed.

  The sound repeated, a rapping against wood. His first thought was Ana, but this was too subtle a sound to be caused by the thing in Ana’s room.

  His brain made a connection. It was the door. Someone was knocking on his door.

  It was an alien sound, he and Jen had had very few visitors in recent weeks, managing to delay and dissuade various consultants from coming to see Ana. At best, they would have been unimpressed with Ana and her parent’s steady descent from wholesome nuclear family to the sad parasitic parody they had become.

  Carefully, he got up from the bed and moved to the bedroom window. He could see a car by his driveway. A private car, not a postman or policeman or some other public servant. But from this angle he couldn’t see who was at the door.

  Persistently they, whoever they were, knocked again. Gareth crept out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Through the frosted glass of the front door, he could make out it was a woman with blond hair and a familiar outline.

  The post flap on the door lifted, Gareth moved out of the line of sight.

  ‘Gareth?’ A voice called out. ‘Gareth, its Karen from HR. Gareth, we’re all concerned in work. I don’t know if you’ve been trying to contact us, but we’ve received no notes from yourself for weeks.’

  Gareth frowned. Weeks? He was sure it had only been a few days since he had last e-mailed work. But he realised he had no clue what day of the week it was, let alone what the date was.

  The voice waited, expecting a response.

  Gareth kept quiet.

  ‘Gareth, if you could get in touch as soon as possible, we’d greatly appreciate it,’ said Karen.

  The post flap closed. Karen straightened herself and adjusted her jacket. For a moment she just stood there, staring in Gareth’s general direction. It was impossible to know if she’d seen Gareth or not.

  Eventually, the post flap reopened and an envelope dropped through, falling onto the top of a pile of unopened, forgotten mail.

  Gareth watched her outline move away from the frosted glass of the front door. He heard a car engine start and the sound of tyres pulling off on gravel.

  He stared at the envelope.

  Inhaling and holding his breath, he bent down and picked it up.

  As he stood up, he found Jen standing behind him.

  ‘Who was it?’ she asked.

  ‘Work,’ Gareth stated, ripping open the envelope and quickly reading the letter inside three times. On the first two attempts, the words didn’t sink into his brain. On the third attempt, he had gotten the gist.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘They’ve invited me to a disciplinary interview.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Day after tomorrow.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, I’m not going,’ Gareth sighed.

  ‘You’ll lose your job.’

  ‘I’ll lose my daughter.’

  ‘Gareth, we—’

  ‘What good would it do? I’m surprised work have let it drag on this long. If they’re at the point of writing this letter, they’ve already checked with their solicitors that they can get rid of me. It’s already done. Me abandoning my family for a few hours in the middle of this crisis will make no difference. They’ve already made their decision. They were just doing me the courtesy of telling me to my face.’

  Gareth dropped the letter where he stood, giving it no more thought. He knew he couldn’t afford the distraction of work at the moment. He needed to focus all of his energy on his family first.

  NINE

  Gareth and Jen lay on the sofa with a blanket over them. Weeks of Ana being ill had turned to months. Consultants had given up trying to make appointments. The world outside had moved on, Gareth’s bank balance was dangerously overdrawn and the only visitors that came to their door were debt collectors.

  It was late at night, but neither had the energy to get off the sofa and up to bed. They just lay in the darkness, not bothering to put the lights on when the sun had set. They had watched television until the light from the screen hurt their eyes. Gareth and Jen found it strangely reassuring that the world at large was also experiencing its own trials and tribulations.

  A crashing noise from Ana’s room startled them from their lethargy.

  ‘She’s kicking off again,’ Jen croaked.

  ‘It’s your turn.’

  Jen slowly turned her head to look at Gareth.

  ‘I know. I know it’s my turn. But, Gareth, I don’t think I can do it again.’

  Gareth looked at his wife. She was right, she was drained, figuratively and literally. He rolled off the sofa and to his feet. He took a step, but then the dimensions around him wavered and his eyes unfocused. He slumped back down into his chair.

  ‘Gareth?’

  He put his hand up to Jen to reassure her.

  ‘I’m okay. Just need a moment. Stood up too fast.’

  He sat motionless, trying to catch his breath. Closing his eyes in concentration, Gareth searched his whole body for some glimmer of energy.

  More noises from above motivated him. Gripping the arm of the sofa, Gareth pushed himself to his feet. He took another step, holding out his arm to steady himself on the wall.

  ‘Gareth, we can’t go on like this...’

  ‘Jen...’ Gareth thought of the hundreds of reasons and excuses they’d used on each other over the past
few weeks. But they’d both heard it all before, so he simply stated. ‘Jen, it works.’

  Leaving his wife on the sofa, Gareth moved towards the kitchen, using furniture as makeshift crutches. Entering the kitchen, he flicked the kettle on before he eventually made it to the fridge. Out of breath, he summoned the energy to open the door to the fridge, its bright light making him squint.

  The contents of their fridge were fairly pathetic; jars and bottles of condiments and a solitary milk carton. Within the plastic carton was not the expected milk, but instead a pint of his wife’s blood.

  ‘Just like mother used to make…’ Gareth muttered grimly.

  He took the carton from the fridge, noting that it was the last one, and placed it in a small bowl. Gareth cleared a space on the festering kitchen work surface, amidst used needles and disposable lighters.

  The kettle clicked, its contents boiled. Gareth poured the boiling water into the bowl, and waited as it gently warmed his wife’s blood to above room temperature.

  It pained Gareth how cruelly similar this action was to one he carried out thousands of times when Ana was a baby being bottle fed.

  Gareth scratched at the scab on his right arm. He noticed an angry looking bruise had formed, matching the one on his left arm.

  ‘Time to move onto the legs, then,’ he muttered to himself.

  On his way back upstairs, Gareth stuck his head around the lounger door and found Jen dozing.

  ‘It’s the last one. Can you help drain me when I’m finished?’

  Jen didn’t reply. Gareth assumed, with envy, that she was asleep.

  ‘Gareth we can’t—’ she whispered, finally.

  ‘She needs blood or flesh or something. If it’s not us, then who?’

  Jen opened her lips but no reply came.

  TEN

  Gareth and Jen sat silently in the car as it glided through quiet town streets in the early morning. It was becoming obvious that the people who were out on the streets at 2am were not the kind of people you’d want in your car, let alone feed to your rabid five year old daughter.

  At one point, they had driven for so long, they found themselves in what passed for Cardiff’s red light district, street walkers approaching the family car, not batting an eyelid at the presence of Jen or even Ana in her child seat in the back.