Oedema: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel

by Stuart Keane

  Alex stared at the man, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

  Killswitch ran a thumb along his bottom lip. "Today bears witness to an overdue revolution. Both the end and the beginning of the world begun with the violent attacks this morning. Attacks that crippled the very foundation of this country, attacks that set us free, and finally relieved us of that one restrictive element, the one thing that enabled us to co-exist for so long, yet also burdened us from doing what we were born to do. Like I said, we're a predatorial race."

  Alex gulped, but couldn’t help his next question. "Attacks?"

  "You really don't know? You must've crawled out from under a rock or something…"

  Alex nodded, and thought back to the crumbling public house. The falling brick, the burning wood. He could still feel the dust in his hair, and considered the uncanny truth of the statement. "You … you could say that."

  "Don’t you see? This is our time, our chance to start over. No rules, no politics, no overpaid morons in tight suits telling us what us to do. We can take back what is rightfully ours. Humanity is finally free."

  Alex took one step forward. "Who attacked us?"

  Killswitch watched Alex, studied him, as if missing a hidden punchline. Did nothing for a full minute. He finally shook his head and chuckled. "You're kidding, right?"

  Alex shook his head.

  "You really don't know?"

  "A few hours ago, I … we … we were in a pub when a car bomb exploded outside. It destroyed the building, but we survived, were able to escape. We thought it was a one off, though. You're saying that multiple attacks have happened across the country today?"

  Killswitch nodded, a wicked grin stretching his propaganda-spewing mouth, exposing lavish gold teeth. "Yes. The people are finally having their say, but we all know actions speak louder than words. And explosions speak louder than letters or futile demonstrations."

  Alex opened his mouth, but found himself unable to compose a sentence as his darting eyes rolled in their sockets with confusion and growing panic. He gagged as an unsettling wave of nausea coiled into his empty stomach and made him queasy. He stumbled to his feet, which took three attempts.

  What about Nicky.

  Oh, dear God…

  "Were there any in Sussex?" Alex blurted.

  "Maybe. I haven't been keeping count."

  "Keeping count? How many were there?"

  "I don't know. Ten, twenty, a hundred? Maybe more. The news is rife with it, it's all the media can talk about right now, and people are finally taking action." The man held his arms out wide, and stared to the ceiling. "It's the way it should be. My people have predicted this for years. Like I said, it's an overdue revolution."

  "Spare me your bullshit rhetoric."

  Killswitch dropped his angelic pose, and stared at Alex. "A disbeliever, huh?"

  "So fucking sue me," Alex blurted. He wiped his grimy face with wandering hands, his attention clearly elsewhere. His palms slapped at his waist, in an attempt to wipe away the excess sweat. "Just because terrorists have attacked us, again, it doesn’t mean the world is ending. We stand tall in the face of terrorism, and fight back, stand united. It's how humanity truly works. We never give up, and never back down."

  "I don't know what planet you've been living on, bud, but that sure ain't what's happening around the country. I think the average Joe has finally settled for helping themselves to a free TV and matching Blu-ray player from their local electrical store, rather than suffer another attack that could end their existence. I can't really blame them."

  Alex began circling on the spot. "So, people are looting in the wake of violence? Big deal. That's happened before, it's not news."

  "No, but the complete destruction of authority is."

  "Huh?"

  "That rock must've been pretty huge, either that or you were dropped on your head."

  "Destruction of –"

  "Authority," the man said, cutting Alex off. "Have you not been listening to a thing I said? The police. They no longer exist. The attacks, they took out a majority of the force around the country. As of today, there is no law or rule – not here, anyway."

  Alex let that harrowing prospect sink in. He watched Killswitch with unblinking eyes; with the new information provided at his behest, his strange getup took on a whole new guise, and suddenly became intimidating, lived up to its purpose. The strange day finally made sense, all of it. The sudden attack. The looting, the unending silence, the absence of people. The empty streets, the abandoned shops. They were all relative, results of whatever invisible war was being waged on the country.

  There was no backup. No one was coming to help them.

  Fuck me…

  The man folded his arms again. "Not so mouthy now, are you?"

  Alex flicked a glance at the fallen frame of Stephen again, felt a tear form in the corner of his eye when he surveyed the startling pool of crimson, and realised just how much blood the man was losing. Stephen didn’t deserve this treatment, he didn’t deserve any of it. He was a good man, decent to the very bone, a man who treated his fellow human with nothing but the utmost respect, and working an honest living to provide himself a comfortable life. He pumped money into the economy, no questions asked, and no one even batted an eyelid. He had become a victim of his make-do existence – just like hundreds of thousands of other people in the United Kingdom.

  The little man without a voice, the average Joe – as the other man had correctly described them – who propped up the country with long hours and a determined, can-do attitude. No wonder they were looting, no wonder they had broken free of their debt-ridden shackles and were taking what they felt was theirs. They couldn’t rely on the people who were in position to protect them because those so-called protectors had fallen at the first hurdle, failed because shrinking budgets or general incompetence, both handed down by their inept, irresponsible superiors, prevented them from installing such basic protective measures, to ensure an attack of this magnitude didn’t happen.

  No, those people only had the bottom line in mind, not the safety of those in their employ, or those they swore to protect.

  Alex worked with people like it on a regular basis, saw it in everyday practice. The scourge of society, those controlled by greed and vindictive, self-sustenance. They had failed this country to the highest order, and in doing so they had failed the people who invested in them.

  People like Stephen.

  People like himself.

  People like Killswitch … probably…

  And people like his beloved wife, Nicky.

  Alex held up a hand as a truce, pointed to his fallen friend, and addressed Killswitch, his priorities suddenly very clear. "My friend. He needs a hospital. He suffered a head wound –"

  "You bet he did. Look at all that blood! That bottle cracked him good and proper."

  Alex tried again. "He suffered a head wound in the explosion, before you hit him with a bottle. He's dying. He won't survive the head trauma unless we can get him to a hospital."

  "That's not my problem," the man uttered.

  "You hit him, I'd say you were responsible."

  "In the eyes of what law enforcement? Besides, you're in my shop. I was protecting my interests."

  It's not your shop. Argh!

  Alex took a breath, composed himself.

  Calm, Stephen is relying on you.

  And so is Nicky.

  Breathe…

  He bit his lip and gathered his thoughts. "Okay, okay. What if … what if I pay you."

  Killswitch's eyes lit up. "Okay, now I'm interested."

  Alex nodded once. Progress!

  He continued, "We're not here for your shop. We never were. We only came in here to buy a phone. It is a phone shop, after all."

  "You don't have a mobile phone?"

  "No."

  "Who doesn’t have a phone in this day and age?"

  Alex gazed at Stephen, and suddenly wished his friend could answer that question, wished
he could hear his voice one more time. He changed tact slightly, wanting to avoid any sarcasm or unwanted conversation, and to take advantage of the unexpected negotiations. "Mine … ours were destroyed, in the explosion. I just need a phone, to make a few calls. That's all."

  "Okay." Killswitch circled the desk and looked at the boxes on the side. Lifted them up and shook them next to his head, one by one, filling the air with a tinny rattle. "Two phones?"

  "I only need the one," Alex insisted, and held up one finger, sensing a small victory. "If they’re that valuable to you. My friend here … well, I doubt he'll be using one in the near future."

  Killswitch considered the offer while glancing between the two phones. He watched Alex, delaying his response. Finally, "Okay, you have a deal."

  "Great," Alex sighed, a surge of relief washing over him.

  "It'll cost you a grand," Killswitch added. "One thousand pounds. For one phone."

  Alex felt his heart plummet into his boots. "What?"

  "Times are a channnnnnging, my friend. Supply and demand has to be taken into account. I have plenty of people who will pay my prices just for the chance to talk and tweet to their loved ones one last time, what with landlines becoming a victim of the attacks. I suspect that includes you, you ain't hiding a thing … so desperate to get a mobile phone. Society really has a lot to answer for."

  "Those phones are worth a hundred at most."

  "Correction. They were worth a hundred at most. You don’t like my business acumen, you're welcome to find another phone shop, but let me give you a hint … I picked this one for a damn good reason. Good luck getting through the protective shutters on any other shop within a two mile radius."

  Alex bowed his head, his heart pounding with a mixture of relief and yearning necessity. He had no choice; time was not on their side. He sighed, "Fine, but I want to make sure it works, complete with a credited sim card and charger. That's what I was doing when you interrupted us with the worst bar room brawling this side of Roadhouse."

  Killswitch performed a jig on the spot, clearly excited by the transaction. "Roadhouse? What a damn movie. And I'm a businessman, not a con-artist. I ain't here to rip anyone off. People talk about that shit, you know? Consider it done."

  As he said that, the other two men emerged from the back room, their arms full of phone boxes. They each made a small pile on the desk, and scanned the names on their respective barcodes. They moved them into a new pile when done, noting the items in their possession.

  Killswitch smiled. "How's the stock check going?"

  Slipknot, a tall pale man with a bald head and a surgical mask over his mouth, continued to check the items. Without averting his eyes, he responded, "We're good. Just missing two phones."

  Killswitch patted him on the back. "They're over here. We're selling one to this very gentleman."

  Hatebreed turned and stared at his colleague. "Him? The guy who tried robbing us."

  Killswitch nodded. "A simple misunderstanding. These guys never intended to rob us. In fact, … Slipknot, make yourself useful. I'm sure Hatebreed can count some damn boxes all on his lonesome."

  Slipknot blinked, scooted around the counter, looked at Stephen, and knelt down beside him. Alex stepped forward, concerned. "Hey. What's he doing?"

  Killswitch pulled Alex away, gently this time. "Consider it a gift, a way to apologise for misjudging you. Slipknot here is a pretty decent doctor when he sets his sights to it. He can have a look at your friend, here, patch him up."

  "Isn't that unsanitary?" Alex uttered.

  "Take it or leave it, mate," Slipknot responded. "I don't see many other options at your immediate disposal."

  Alex narrowed his eyes, and nodded. He laughed as the words escaped his lips. "Do it. Just do it. Thank … you. Thank you."

  "For what?"

  Alex smiled. "For this … for helping."

  Killswitch chuckled. "No thank you necessary, we did this to him. It's fair that we fix it. I'm a businessman, and my customers come first."

  "You know, there might be hope for humanity after all," Alex managed, only half-serious.

  "Now, that's what I call reaching," Killswitch replied.

  "Erm … Switch?" Slipknot queried.

  "What?"

  Slipknot stood up, his hands covered in blood. He addressed both men, a sincere look in his eyes. "This doesn’t look so good."

  SEVENTEEN

  "Well, that was easier than it looked."

  Luke offered a sincere smile to his sister and slipped the Glock into his waistband. The wind's deft caress cooled his slick skin, rippled up the interior of his soggy t-shirt, and offered him brief respite from the stifling humidity. It was total bliss. Luke closed his eyes for a second, lost in the moment, and relished the crispness of the outdoor air.

  Nicky reached up and fiddled with her mop of hair, strapping the unruly curls into a high ponytail with a faded yellow hair band that permanently resided on her wrist. She brushed the strands out of her face, blowing them upwards with a quick gust from her bottom lip. Ponytail complete, she lowered her hands, content, the mess of hair now tight behind her head.

  Luke turned to his sister, who was now watching him with a sly smile of her own, and responded to her comment, "Easier, yes, but you didn't actually fire the gun. If you did that, we'd have people coming to the house within minutes, not to mention it's actually illegal to discharge such a weapon in public here. It's best not attract attention to ourselves. As long as you point and aim like I taught you, with a firm grip to supress any recoil, you're pretty much there."

  Nicky saluted him. "Aye, aye, soldier."

  Luke sighed. "Don't get cocky. A gun isn't a toy."

  "Unless it's on the Nintendo…"

  "Nicky!"

  "Okay, okay."

  "Guns are not something to be laughed at."

  Nicky stopped smiling. "I got it, I got it. Sorry."

  "Good. Now, remind me of your key rule. You're not likely to fire the gun, not when I'm around to protect you, but if you have to?"

  "Aim centre mass, for the body, the biggest target."

  Luke nodded. "Yes, keep it basic. No fancy head shots or anything of the like. A shot to the chest, or any part of the body, can stop anyone in their tracks. You don't need to kill anyone when simply maiming them will send the message. I don't want you killing any of your neighbours, threatened or not."

  Nicky hobbled forward. "Surely a chest shot would kill someone, right?"

  Luke stopped and stared at his sister, and retraced his small speech in his head. His eyes fell to the ground, a vacant veneer of uncertainty washing over them. Luke shuddered, and turned away. He gazed into the distance, over the garden fence, and watched the towering plumes of black smoke that dotted the horizon. He flicked his gaze from one to the next, and closed his eyes, blocking out the beautiful purple dusk that provided the backdrop to the chaos, a bright wash of vibrant colour that was slowly claiming the darkness of the world.

  "Luke?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You're lying."

  "A chest shot is fine, like any other body shot, it's more likely to wound then kill. The chance of you hitting a vital organ is slim anyway, you'd probably miss on the first few shots."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don't think that's right. All the vital organs are in the torso – the lungs, the heart, the stomach."

  "Oh, c'mon, Nicky. You've never fired a gun, and are never likely to. Just aim centre mass. If anyone comes into your house, it's their fault for breaking the fucking law. They should reap the consequences for their actions."

  "We'd be breaking the law by discharging a weapon."

  "Yes, but at least you'd still be alive."

  Nicky snorted. "That's if there is any law." She flicked a look towards the smoke, the unseen destruction beneath. "After today, who knows what's left out there."

  Luke stared at his sister, his face contorting in gradual anger. He slipped the Glock from his waistband, lo
aded the chamber, and fired the gun into the air. The gunshot was deafening; the sound thundered and ricocheted off the silent air, disappearing into the darkening sky along with the bullet.

  Nicky slapped her hands to the side of her head and stumbled backwards, fighting the violent ringing in her ears. She opened her mouth, and groaned as she tried to restore her shattered equilibrium. She noticed the ejected shell casing at her feet, the 9mm parabellum cylinder rolling on the cracked concrete patio.

  Luke checked the weapon and slipped the gun back into his waistband. "If there's no law, then we have nothing to worry about. No one will report that gunshot, and no police will arrive. Fifty-fifty chance, huh?"

  "What … ow … ow! What is wrong … wrong with you?"

  "I'm fine, Nicky. Now, can we get back inside. We need to get ready for a long night."

  Nicky poked a finger into her ear and twiddled the tip. Her hearing slowly returned from beyond the unending ringing cacophony. After a few minutes, the whistle of the gentle wind and a single tweeting bird confirmed that her ears were returning to normal.

  What is wrong with him?

  He's never been like this…

  Luke was staring into the distance once more, leaning against the flaking fence, once again studying the plumes of smoke. Nicky waited, hobbled to his side, and changed the subject. She motioned to the black spirals on the horizon, and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. "What are they? What did they target?"

  "I don't know. Shopping centres, police stations, warehouses. Anything that could bring down the country. Oedema was inserted into the water system; they succeeded in that difficult task, which was no mean feat, so who knows what else they had access to."