Chapter Thirteen
They got into the basement and Gordon bolted the door; he headed for the bottom of the steps with the shotgun in his hand, and the loose shells in his right pocket rattled as he made his steps. He stood the gun up against the wall, and took a sit down next to a clearly-embarrassed Stripy John who had returned from the bathroom. Joan was a few yards away and comforted a distraught Sue.
Gordon Burns lowered his head, now exhausted as the adrenaline waned, and never uttered a word to the panic-stricken Stripy John who was sitting silently next to him. Gordon listened as Joan did her best to comfort Sue, and heard the two women conversing with one another.
Her name was Sue Hart. Her deceased son, Tyler, was only seven years old, and she was a divorced lady, thirty-three years old. She told Joan that she was from a place called Stafford, and that she was on her way back to her hometown after a weekend break in Glasgow. She needed to get back because Tyler had school the next day and had no idea what was happening. Her radio was never on, and she had to witness for herself that people were turning on one another, but she had no idea why.
Joan's comforting arm never left Sue's shoulder and told her a little about herself. Joan informed Sue that she was a year older than her, from Crewe, and worked in a shop, and like every other guest, she stayed at the guesthouse to get a break from normal life. Then the conversation bizarrely went onto chocolate, which perplexed Gordon. Sue had just lost her son, and the world—or at least the UK—was going to shit, and the two women were talking about chocolate. Joan told her how she was addicted to Cadbury's chocolate and would do anything for a Cadbury's Twirl.
Gordon looked at Stripy John; he was physically shaking but Gordon had no intention of going down the 'Joan route' and remained tight-lipped. Stripy John was beginning to look agitated in the face as the girls continued to chatter. He lifted his head up and blew out his cheeks and glared at Gordon and shook his head.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Gordon.
"Seriously?" John asked.
"Yeah. What is it?" Gordon raised his eyebrows and looked around the basement. "Apart from the obvious situation that we're in."
At this point the girls had ceased talking, and could sense the tension coming from the forty-six-year-old man known as Stripy John.
John stood to his feet and began his rant, "What's wrong with you lot? Aren't any of you scared?"
Joan intervened, "Of course we are—"
"This is it!" snapped John. "We're all fucked!
"Shut your lips," said Gordon.
John added, "We're never gonna get out of this alive." He then turned to an unflustered-looking Gordon. "I'm grateful that you sorted out that mess in the living room."
"Joan helped as well," Gordon corrected him.
John added, "I'm not going to lie to you; I'm the biggest coward on the planet. I suppose you already know that by now." He lowered his head, shamefully.
"Look, John." Gordon slowly stood to his feet. "We're all scared, just as much as you. That incident in the living room...well, we didn't have a choice in the matter. It was spontaneous. If we didn't react, we'd be like those things now."
"And coming straight for me," cried John. "Me, who was hiding in the bathroom like a scared little child. That's why I owe you, the both of you. And I want to apologise for my behaviour."
"Don't be silly, John." Joan added. "What do you think survivors are doing right now? Do you think they're out there, armed to the teeth, massacring these things? Or, hiding in their barricaded homes, their attics, their basements like...a scared little child?"
John's tears fell and Gordon looked over to Joan. She nodded over to Gordon to comfort the man, but Gordon's body language suggested that that was never going to happen.
Joan sighed at Gordon, "You fucking men. You're about as much use as a tub of lube in a nun's handbag." She stood up and gave John a hug.
He cried onto her shoulder and sniffled, "I just want to know if my daughters are okay."
"I'm sure they're fine."
"You don't know that!" He angrily pulled himself away from Joan, and at first Gordon thought he was going to hit her.
Gordon stood still as John continued with his frightened rant. "This is the end. I'm not a religious person, but this has been predicted for centuries."
"What are you going on about?" Sue had at last spoken, wiping tears from her eyes.
John added, "This is...this...is the apo...apoc..."
"The apocalypse?" Joan helped him out.
John tearfully nodded.
Joan added, "But any fool can predict the end of the world. Asteroids, nuclear weapons, scientists fucking with Mother Nature—it's always been possible."
Stripy John sighed impatiently. "I'm talking about biblical predictions, before we had nukes, before we had scientists, and before any of us knew what an asteroid was."
Added Gordon, "We don't know whether this is just a UK problem. Don't forget that we're an island. This thing can be contained."
"And what if you're wrong?"
Gordon opened his mouth to give an immediate answer, but no words fell out. He tried again and said truthfully, "I don't even want to think about that."
Chapter Fourteen
For the last ten minutes Gordon was talking about staying in the basement for the long-term, but in order to do that they needed to stock up on food and water. The sanitation was also a problem, but not an absolute necessity. Stripy John thought that Gordon's idea wouldn't work, but Joan was coming round to the idea. Sue was in too much shock to string a sentence together.
"It's okay," Gordon told the group, getting ready to acquire the supplies from the establishment. "I'll go on my own."
"I'll go with you," said Joan. "The more people go, the more we can bring back to the basement."
"Thanks, Joan, but I'm better off alone." He tried to explain, "It's been quiet up there, but if one of those things does turn up out of nowhere and bites me, I could turn and then they'd be two of us attacking you."
John said, "And probably trying to get in here."
Gordon added, "I'll only be a few minutes at the most. I think it's safer this way, unless someone desperately needs the toilet."
All three shook their heads.
Gordon added, "I'll try and bring toilet roll and buckets down as well."
"Fuck that," Joan scoffed. "If there's a perfect working toilet, I'm still using it."
"What about the dangers?" asked John.
"I'll take the risk."
Gordon disagreed with Joan, but could see by her face she was adamant and he didn't want to cause an argument. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, he thought.
Gordon approached the basement's steps. He turned to Joan, "Make sure you bolt this door once I leave."
Asked Joan, "Not taking the shotgun?"
He shook his head, then tapped his pocket, suggesting he had his knife.
Gordon slowly opened the door and peered out the small opening. It was clear, and he could feel a draught stroking his countenance, obviously from the wind coming from the smashed window in the living room.
Although certain that the establishment was barren of Runners, Gordon wasn't entirely sure, and this made his frame shake with consternation. He stepped out of the basement, into the kitchen, and closed the door. As he heard Joan bolting it behind him, he decided to take small steps around the place. He left the kitchen to go down the hall. He peered into the living room and could see the carnage he was partly responsible for.
Once he checked the downstairs, he was going to go upstairs to get toilet roll, but he lost his nerve and went straight back into the kitchen. He knocked on the basement door and whispered through the door, "The ground floor's clear. Open up."
Joan opened up, and ignoring John's protest, Gordon told Joan to keep the door open whilst he passed food to her. He had found a cupboard under the sink and took out some carrier bags.
Gordon began filling the bags with tins, drink
s, stuff from the fridge, and utensils, and passed them to Joan. Joan had organised a 'human train' and once Gordon passed a bag to Joan who was on the top of the basement's steps, she would pass an item down to Sue who was halfway up, and Sue would pass the bag to John who was on the floor.
Stripy John was as nervous as hell having the door open, but thought that if he didn't pull his weight and give them a hand, it was going to take them longer to achieve this, meaning that the door would be open for longer. He only helped out of fright, and his cowardice was understandable, but he was beginning to piss Joan off.
Once they were done, Gordon found some buckets under the sink, three in all, and passed them to Joan. She looked at him with a blank expression. "I told you, I'm not shitting in no bucket."
"We can use them for anything. Pissing, vomiting, you name it."
"Sounds wonderful," she derided. Joan reluctantly took the buckets off of him and snapped, "We can't stay in this basement forever."
"So what do you suggest?"
"We need to get the house boarded up. Then we can stay in the house as normal. We may as well use the amenities while the electricity is still working. We can get someone to keep a lookout for any dangers, and if there is one, we can all bolt back to the basement."
"It's too dangerous." Gordon shook his head in disagreement.
"I'm not staying down here if it's quiet in the house. We're in the Pennines, in the middle of nowhere. We're probably in one of the less populated areas in England."
"Quiet? We got attacked by some of those things."
"And now they're dead. What're the chances of there being more of them?"
"Every chance," Gordon said with a negative tone in his voice.
"At least let's discuss it with the others."
"Fine; but I know what Stripy John's going to say."
Chapter Fifteen
Gordon had decided to block off the exposed living room window and had found a tool box that had belonged to Christopher; he had dismantled cupboards and drawers, and used the wood to board up the window. He hated hammering the wood, because he felt so exposed making that kind of noise.
Once he was finished, he took a step backward and looked at the shoddy workmanship and sighed, "It won't stop them from coming in, but at least it gets rid of the draught."
Gordon picked up the gun that was leaning against the wall, then decided to go back to the basement where the rest of the group were. When he arrived he could see Stripy John trying to tune into radio stations with a portable radio that had been taken from the kitchen.
"Probably the batteries," Joan said to John, as she could see he was struggling.
"Wait," he said. "I've got something."
The radio station was only on for a matter of seconds, but it was clear to all four individuals that the matter being discussed was the fall of the UK due to this aggressive virus sweeping the nation.
They all sat in silence and Sue continued to sob, as Joan comforted her.
Eventually, Sue Hart got to her feet and brushed herself down. She looked at the group one-by-one and sighed with disappointment. Baffled by her behaviour, Gordon asked her what was wrong, but she ignored him and headed for the basement's steps. As soon as she reached the first one, Gordon could see the panic on Stripy John's face.
"Where're you going, Sue?" asked Gordon. He got to his feet slowly, picked up the gun, and wandered over to her.
Her tears were falling and she stammered, "My-my son is still out there, lying dead in my car. I need to bury him. I can't leave my baby boy out there, not on his own."
Joan and Gordon looked at one another, and Joan decided to speak up. "It's too dangerous at the moment, Sue. With the fog, we can't really see if it's clear. We spent long enough out there as it was when..." Joan allowed her sentence to hang.
"When what?" Sue sniped.
No one answered her.
She continued with her venomous words. "When you killed him? When you shot him like an animal?" She flashed a devilish look Gordon's way, convinced that he had been the shooter.
"It was me that shot him," confessed Joan. "Gordon couldn't do it."
"You knew he had to go." This time Gordon decided to take a turn, giving Joan the feeling that she had some backing. "There was nothing else we could have done for him."
"I know that, I'm sorry." Sue snapped, tears ran down her cheeks, and the fury in her face was for all to see. "Doesn't make it any fucking easier though, does it?"
A silence fell amongst the group and Joan and Gordon dropped their heads, whilst Stripy John cried—this time not for himself, but for his daughters.
Gordon exhaled noisily and gave Sue an apologetic look. "We can't go out there. If one of us is attacked, we could all get infected."
Sue huffed and shook her head in disgust at the three of them. "Fine, I'll bury him myself."
"No you won't." Gordon pointed the gun in Sue's direction.
Joan placed the palms of her hands on her head in surprise and shock. "Gordon? What the fuck?"
Sue gave him a smile and said, "Shoot me, if you have to. Now Tyler's dead, I don't have much to live for."
Sue slowly walked up the basement's steps, almost as if she was purposely giving Gordon the opportunity to shoot her, if that was what he wanted. She then slid the bolt open and left the basement.
"Fuck!" Gordon cussed, and ran after her. Joan followed suit, leaving Stripy John in the basement, cowering in the corner.
Once Gordon caught up with Sue, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her gently back. "Look," he warned. "If you want to bury your son, fine, I can understand that, but let us get him wrapped up."
Joan came from behind and added, "I'll get some sheets from upstairs."
"I need to see him!" Sue spat.
Sue barged past Gordon, forcing Gordon to grab her again, but this time he was a lot firmer. "Your son was shot in the face, Sue." Gordon said bluntly; he felt it was the only way to get the woman to listen. "He was shot from only a few yards away. There ain't much left off him from the neck up. Do you really want to see that? Is that the image you want imprinted on your brain? If you go out there now, the last image of your son will be him almost headless with most of his brains splattered over the interior of your jeep—"
"Gordon! That's enough!" Joan bellowed, forcing Gordon to remain silent, and Sue to admit defeat.
"Go back in the basement," Joan calmly said to Sue. "Me and Gordon will wrap him up, take him out of the car, and we'll bury him together. Yeah?"
It seemed to take an age to do it, but Sue nodded the once, and did what she was told. She went back to the basement whilst Joan ran upstairs to get sheets. Gordon was just about to tell Joan to hold off until he checked the upstairs, but Joan was already at the top off the stairs and they had never heard anything to suggest that more of these things had entered the establishment.
For a brief moment Gordon stood on his own, holding the shotgun with his right hand. What the fuck is going on? How on earth did it come to this?
As soon as Joan returned with sheets under her arm, they both silently walked to the front door and hesitantly stepped out into the spine-chilling, yet beautiful, Pennines.
The dense fog had lifted a little, but their overall vision of the area was still impaired. Looking around, showered in nervousness, Joan said, "As soon as you see so much of a silhouette of anything, shoot it."
Gordon never responded, and was the first to walk over to the vehicle. He opened the door and covered half of his face with his black T-shirt. He looked away as soon as Joan stepped inside and began wrapping the young boy up. Seeing her struggling to get him out, Gordon went to help her as she put him over her shoulder.
"You just concentrate on what's around us," she reprimanded.
Gordon accepted his scolding, and walked behind Joan as she struggled to get the boy inside.
"Straight through the back," said Gordon. "Through the kitchen door. I'll check the shed for a shovel."
Gordon
ran towards the shed and was livid. This is madness. He could understand that Sue had only just lost her boy, but doing all of this was just putting the group in unnecessary jeopardy. It was an insane situation.
What worried Gordon was that if Sue was attacked and infected, would her infected brain remember that there were humans to attack in the basement? Would she remember, or would the rage, or whatever the hell it was, blind her from any of these thoughts and she was only programmed to attack other humans?
He had no fucking idea!
Chapter Sixteen
The forty-eight-year-old opened his eyes and began yawning. He winced when his head turned to the side and saw a woman lying naked on top of his bed.
It was all coming back to him now.
He placed his hands on his head as some of the events from the night before began to enter his mind.
The forty-eight-year-old man was called Marvin. He was a thin man, jobless, and lived in a flat and on benefits, handed out by the state. He lived in a six apartment block and the woman lying next to him, Agnes McCormack, lived in the flat across the hall, ground floor. Originally, he was from Lancaster, but was now living in Darlington. His life was just one big joke.
He took another gape at the naked Agnes. She wasn't good-looking at all, had rather large teeth, and was about forty pounds over her BMI. What was he thinking? Or...what was he drinking?
He remembered drinking his fourth can of Stella when he heard the arguing coming from the other flat. Agnes had left the door and stood out in the hallway, crying. Marvin invited her in and they sat and chatted for a while whilst two bottles of wine was consumed.
Agnes was a mess.
She was in her late thirties, stunk of cigarette smoke and booze, and wore clothes that looked like she had had on for days. But it didn't stop Marvin from wanting her, and the inevitable happened. On the couch they began to kiss and started ripping each others' clothes off. They both stood up and went into Marvin's messy bedroom. He threw her on the bed and took off her stained jeans. She took off her T-shirt and pulled down her stained underwear whilst Marvin was stripping to his bare arse.
Monsterland (An Apocalyptic Horror) Page 6
