After the Fall (Book 2): The Demon Writers

by Cross, Stephen

  “It’s ok, it’s only me.” Angie eased over and sat next to him. “I’m sorry I woke you. These silly crutches…” She was getting angry with her disability more often these days. If she had been mobile, they could run.

  “Oh, it’s alright love. This tea for me? Lovely.” He took a deep sigh. “Where’s Ellie?”

  “Still sleeping. I just looked in on them, Eddy is fast asleep too, in his little cot. He’s just the cutest thing.”

  “What time is it?” said Mac.

  “Just past eight.”

  “Blimey,” Mac sat up straight. “I need to get a move on.”

  “I think you should rest. Ellie told me what happened last night… You need to rest.”

  Mac shook his head. “I need to get things sorted. I need to fix outside. They nearly got in the door last night.”

  “Do you think they will come back?”

  Mac shrugged. “Who knows… I don’t know what I saw last night, Angie, almost didn’t seem human. Got me pretty scared, I won’t lie to you.”

  Angie put her arm around Mac and cuddled up to him. Her man. She’d always felt safe with him. But what now? What if he couldn’t protect her, the old cripple that she was?

  “Is this what the world is going to be like from now?” said Angie.

  Mac sighed. “Maybe for a while. I think we have been lucky so far. Don’t worry though, I’m going to sort it out.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Well, first, I’m going to lock this place down. Then maybe set up a few surprises for these Demon Writers.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call them that. Makes them sound supernatural, or something.”

  “Ok, louts then. I’m not going to hide away like a bloody scared little rabbit. You know me Angie. We put our heart and soul into this place, and I ain’t giving it up. Not yet.”

  “What if more come back, after this lot? More people, and stronger. How long can it go on Mac, what about Eddy?”

  “Aye. I’ve been thinking about that too.”

  The silence in the room that Angie usually found peaceful, was today oppressive. As if it was waiting to be broken by a hideous paranormal scream.

  “What are you going to do?” said Angie.

  “I’m going to start looking for other people.”

  “Is that wise, after what’s happened?”

  “Well, it looks like people are going to find us, no matter what, so it’s best maybe if we can be the ones that do the looking. Instead of just sitting here like turnips.”

  It would be nice to be around others. Safer too, and better for Eddy. “How will we find people?”

  “I’m going to start by getting a radio. Tune in and scan around. If there are any groups of survivors, I imagine they would have got a radio on the go - maybe there’s some tech guy that has got them transmitting. So we can start listening out.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  Mac shifted in his seat. “Also, I might have to start going a bit further afield.”

  “What do you mean?” said Angie. Her heart started thumping. She was angry at how feeble she felt. “For how long?”

  “Oh don’t worry love, not overnight or anything.” he shot her a wide smile. “I wouldn’t leave my favourite girl on her own. No, I was thinking I’d head into Frome, get a motorbike. Start fanning out around here, see if I can find anyone. We can’t stay here, not in the long run. It don’t seem safe anymore.”

  What Mac said made sense. It had always been the original plan, as far was she remembered. Stay in the pub until things calmed down, then think about something more permanent. Maybe they had missed the correct time to leave - the calming down stage had passed, and the crazies had been able to group. Had they entered the next stage, one where it was the crazies, not the zombies, that were the ultimate danger?

  Mac had always said that would be the case.

  “Ok love,” said Mac standing up. “I’d best get started on sorting this place out. Don’t want that door hanging open.”

  “I’ll get you some breakfast.”

  “Great stuff, thanks love.”

  Mac would never get used to dried crackers and tomatoes for breakfast, or for any meal for that matter. But it was food, and it was good. He needed to get hold of a few more rabbits. Some wood pigeon too. It wasn’t the first time he wished he had gone on a proper search for guns. There must be one or two in the farmhouses nearby.

  “Ok, I’m going to close this door behind me. You keep a listen, and make sure you’re ready to get into the cellar if anything goes wrong.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” said Ellie. Her and Eddy had got up shortly after Mac had finished breakfast.

  “No, you might need to help Angie down them cellar stairs if things go crazy.”

  “Be careful,” said Angie.

  “I always am,” he smiled at them both and walked out of the pub. The door thumped shut behind him. He heard the beam being noisily slipped into place.

  Even though Angie and Ellie where just a few feet behind him, he felt alone. Vulnerable. He shot glances around the nearby trees, the car park, through the gap in the large hedge that led to the main road. Behind every movement he imagined a terrible red face, wide staring eyes.

  “Pull yourself together,” he said under his breath. “Let’s get this done.”

  There were two types of predators now, the zombies, and the Demon Writers. He preferred the zombies; he knew how to handle them. He had killed plenty in the past few months; he knew how they worked, how they behaved. He could handle anything up to 5 at once and any more, time to run. But the Demon Writers - he had no idea how to handle them.

  Before he got to work, something attracted his eye. Something that shouldn’t be there, an anomaly in his internal map of the outside of the pub.

  Ten feet away, in the grass at the corner of the car park was a metal pole, driven into the ground, and stuck on top was the head of a zombie. Its eyes stared at Mac.

  He jumped and held his axe up; automatic, muscle memory.

  Twenty feet to the left was another head on a stick.

  Two more by the entrance to the pub.

  The heads all moved, letting out low moans. Various tendons, veins and segments of spine hung from the heads.

  Whoever put them there, must have done so carefully; both to not get bitten, and to not pierce the zombie’s brains. It must have taken real dedication.

  The moans got louder at the excitement at seeing a living being. The jaws started to click together in that crazy broken wind-up toy way they did.

  “I’m not having this,” said Mac. He walked to the first pole, and brought his axe down on the head. The skull crushed and split under his axe, the rotten and small brain spilling out, hanging on by the remains of spine.

  The moaning stopped and the eyes took on a distant empty glaze.

  Mac walked to the other three in turn and dispatched of them in a similar fashion.

  But the moaning continued.

  He turned towards the pub. Other posts were staked around the building, each about twenty feet apart, probably right round the back.

  But he stopped, another bite of fear threading his nervous system.

  Red writing daubed the white walls of the pub. Capital letters, tall, stark and dripping. He knew it was only paint, but he couldn’t help thinking,blood blood blood.

  DEMONS HERE.

  Four or five times, repeated wherever there was space. The same dripping, large red letters, scarring the white walls of his pub, his home.

  As well as the writing, all the windows were shattered. Splashes of glass covered the ground where the Demon Writers had conducted their attack last night.

  Mac made himself move. The still moaning heads would attract more zombies.

  He quickly circled the full perimeter of the the pub, splitting the skulls of the heads on the sticks. Young, old, various stages of decomposition. He had stopped noticing or guessing the
people the zombies used to be. It didn’t matter anymore.

  The scrawled graffiti repeated right around the pub.

  Finally, all the zombies dead, Mac returned to the front of the building.

  “Bastards,” he said under his breath. He was angry. That was useful. How dare they do this to his pub, to his and Angie’s pub, their home. Their castle.

  “Mac, you ok?” came a muffled shout from behind the door.

  “I’m good,” he said. “Open the door, I’m coming back in.”

  Ellie opened the door and closed it behind Mac. He carried a heavy frown.

  “What’s happened?” said Angie, looking at him with concern.

  “I’ve had enough, that’s what’s happened,” said Mac.

  “What do you mean?” said Angie slowly.

  “Out there,” he pointed through the door, his arm held steadfast and strong, “Heads on sticks. Zombie heads. Graffiti about bloody Demons all over the walls, all overour walls. I’ve had enough. How many of them are there? Two? Following us, scaring us. Well that’s it. I’m not having it anymore.”

  “Mac,” said Angie, “maybe you should sit down and-”

  “I’ve had enough sitting down! I’m going to sort this out.”

  “What do you mean?” said Ellie.

  “I’m going to find the bastards.”

  “And then what?” said Angie, her hand raised to her chest.

  “Like I said, sort them out.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Mac” said Ellie. “We don’t know anything about them.”

  “And we’re not going to find anything out about them stuck in here, frightened every night. Who know’s what’s going to happen later? The door is shot, I don’t have time to fix it.”

  “I don’t want you to go anywhere, Mac,” said Ellie. “We can’t have anything happen to you, we need each other.”

  Eddy started to cry, the raised voices waking him up.

  “I think you should go,” said Angie.

  Mac and Ellie both stared at Angie.

  “Really?” said Mac.

  “Really?” said Ellie.

  Angie nodded her head. “Mac’s right. I’m sick of hiding. I’m tired of being scared. We have to look after Eddy, and unless we can learn to fight for ourselves, we won’t be able to. Not anymore, not in this world.”

  “Angie,” said Ellie, “there could be a lot of them, and whoever they are, they’re crazy.”

  “All the more reason to take care of it before things get worse,” said Angie. “Whoever they are, they have picked us to terrify, do you think they are going to go away? I don’t think they will, and I’m sure you don’t either. If there are lots of them, then I assume you’ll be sensible and come back, won’t you Mac?”

  Mac nodded.

  Ellie hugged Eddy close to her. She shook her head. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

  “I’ll be careful,” said Mac.

  “You’d better,” said Ellie.

  Chapter 7

  Mac was grateful for the low afternoon light. Heavy grey clouds sat in the sky and a damp dullness soaked the fields surrounding Green’s farm.

  Mac wasn’t built for stealth, so he made his approach slowly, keeping tight to the hedgerows, tying to keep out of line of sight of the farm buildings. He stopped regularly to furtively survey the area, scan for any movement. He had been lucky so far, last thing he needed was a full on zombie skirmish.

  After half an hour of crawling through ditches and fields, he reached the boundaries of the farmhouse - a journey that normally took him five minutes. His jeans were soaked through and his face and hands were wet and covered in mud. He wiped them on his wax jacket to get a better grip on his axe.

  He was making an approach from behind the farmhouse. That way he would come in across the edge of the meadow, and find himself near the side door. If he was careful, he would only be exposed to one window.

  Two rabbits were twenty feet or so ahead of him. Eating grass. No cares. They didn’t know about the snares that they could fall fowl to. They understood birds and dogs, but not the snares. Like humans, who didn’t understand the virus that came for them.

  The rabbits scurried as Mac sneaked along the side of the hedge, keeping his head below the thick green branches.

  He peered around the side of the hedge. A clear run across a muddy cobbled courtyard led to the side door. A window sat above the door. From previous visits, Mac knew the window was on the stairs. If he could cover the ten feet or so to the door, no one would see him as long as they weren’t using the stairs.

  If they were even there.

  It was a chance, but he had to start his search somewhere, and the feeling of being watched when last here was still strong in his mind.

  “Come on, let’s fucking do it,” said Mac through gritted teeth.

  He bounded from his hiding place and sprinted as fast as he could across the distance to the back door. He kept his eye up at the window above, which stayed dark and clear.

  He reached the door.

  He took out a can of WD-40 from his backpack and sprayed the hinges of the door. A good dousing. He waited a minute for the liquid to do its job, then slowly pushed it open. It wasn’t locked. It swung open smoothly and silently, the WD-40 having done its job.

  The side door led into a dark small hallway. The stairs where to his right, and in front, staggered slightly to the left, was the kitchen. A door beside the stairway led to the lounge.

  Mac stood still, taking a moment to calm himself. He spied into the kitchen. The same mess as a few days ago. He stepped across the hallway slowly, carefully, each foot fall testing for creaking boards.

  It was hard to tell if anything had changed in the kitchen - it looked like an unordered antiques sale. The worktops where scattered with old pots, glasses, dirty stained cups and cutlery covered in old food remnants, like barnacles.

  On top of the table, amongst the rusting farm tools and pieces of random rood and kitchenalia, sat a closed tub of red paint.

  Mac backed out of the kitchen and made his way to the lounge, his axe raised, ready to swing.

  The curtains where half drawn and it took a few moments for Mac’s eyesight to adjust.

  A threadbare dark blue couch, its foam guts spilling out of missing patches of upholstery; an old TV in the corner, the screen covered in dust; dark damp stains across the white wallpaper; a long coffee table sat in front of the couch; empty crisp packets and two empty tins of tuna sat on the table; sweet wrappers.

  Mac investigated the tuna tins. The fish was still damp. It smelt fresh.

  He took a few deep breaths then sneaked to the bottom of the stairs.

  A square of light beamed in half way up, framing floating dust particles.

  Mac made his way slowly up the stairs. New territory. He had never been upstairs in Green’s farmhouse before.

  The stairs ended in a long hallway, with several doors off to each side, all closed.

  He sneaked to the first door and took out his WD-40 again. He sprayed it onto the hinges, wincing at the sound of the spray, which in the silence sounded like a firehose.

  Mac took a deep breath and held his axe up with his right hand. With his left he delicately turned the handle. Silently.

  He pushed the door open and as the gap increased, the sound of snoring reached him.

  Gentle light snoring, almost just heavy breathing.

  He pushed the door open fully.

  Closed curtains; two single beds. People on each bed.

  Teenagers.

  A pair of young lads. Couldn’t have been older then fifteen or sixteen. Three months ago these would have been coming into his pub, trying to blag a pint or a packet of cigarettes. Probably hanging around the park in Frome with a bottle of cider, getting pissed and causing trouble.

  Mac’s anger stalled. What did he think he was going to do when the found them anyway? He had expected, hoped for a pair of roughens. He could give them a good beating with a clear co
nscience and hope that was the end of it. He would have to change his plans slightly.

  He took a few deep breaths and stepped into the room. He walked in between the beds and raised his axe. With one swift movement, he smashed it through the window and let out a yell, the loudest he could muster.

  The boy on his right was the first to rouse, he jumped up and back against the bed, his eyes wide open in fear. Mac swung his axe and purposely missed, hitting the wall beside the lad’s head. The boy let out a terrified yell and jumped of the bed, falling over his feet as he scrambled out of the bedroom.

  Mac yelled again and turned to face the other boy, but he was already off his bed, frantically scurrying away.

  Their footsteps thumped loudly in the old house as they tumbled down the stairs.

  Mac set off after them, shouting and smashing his axe against the wall.

  “I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you, I’m gonna tear your heads off!”

  He charged down the stairs after the pair.

  They were fast, and they were gone.

  Mac burst out of the farmhouse door to see them running across the meadow, disappearing into the neighbouring woods.

  “I’ll kill you!” he yelled as loudly as he could, as the two boys vanished into the trees.

  Mac stared at the dark wood, breathing heavily, his lungs heaving, a smile on his lips.

  Chapter 8

  “Well?” said Ellie, her face full of expectation and worry. She closed the pub door as Mac walked in.

  Angie got up from her seat and looked Mac up and down. “No blood, you look ok… What happened, did you find them?”

  Mac stood triumphantly. “No problem, ladies, it’s all sorted.”

  Ellie and Angie glanced at each other. “What do you mean? So you found them?” said Ellie.

  “Aye, and gave them a right scare. They were at Green’s farm. I knew that someone was watching me the other day when I was there getting rabbits. Upstairs, asleep they were. Two lads, must have been only fifteen if a day.”

  “Boys?” said Angie.

  “Just boys. The sort that we would have been running off on a summer’s day, trying to get cider and cigarettes in. They had their pot of red paint and everything. Just messing with us the little buggers. Don’t worry though, they won’t be coming back here anymore. Not after today.”