The Story Collection: Volume Two

by Matt Shaw

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The rest of last night went without much incident. I threw Nellie’s body out of the window, can’t be sure she won’t come back to life again, and did my best to put it from my mind - along with the unwelcome thoughts of Jenny and what I’d do if she came back in the same state as the cat. It was one thing chopping Nellie’s head off but - could I really do that to the love of my life as well? I know it wouldn’t really be her.... just her shell but, even so, it looks like her and that’s enough to put me off from wanting to cross that bridge. I hope, if she is one of them, she’s long gone. Save me from having to do anything about her.

  I’ll fill today like I’ve filled the other days, since the outbreak. I’ll fire up the laptop - battery allowing - and continue to watch the films, from my collection, that deal with this subject. It’s safe to watch the laptop during daylight hours - the illumination of the screen is practically impossible to see from outside, not with the sun shining so brightly. I wouldn’t risk watching it at night. Not sure who or what the brightness would attract. The films are good. Each of them useful in their own ways with suggestions, and ideas, on how to survive. With the exception of ‘Shaun of the Dead’ - I just put that one on for a laugh, a break from the cold, harshness of this reality. Last night, though, has put fresh doubt in my head. How accurate are these films? After all, I’ve yet to see one showing a cat that’s been infected. If it weren’t for the fact I saw it for my own eyes, I would never have believed it possible. What else have the films missed out? The cat isn’t the first time the films have been wrong either.

  The majority of the movies fail to really explain how the outbreaks start - instead choosing to give a half-arsed plot thread suggesting Hell is full and so the dead will walk the Earth. But that can’t be true as I don’t believe in Heaven and I don’t believe in Hell. Just a lame excuse for Hollywood to cut out a large chunk of story-telling so they can concentrate on gore instead. Entertaining yes but, given the circumstances of today, not very useful.

  The other films, a smaller percentage, suggest the possibilities of an outbreak, from a research lab, where the military have lost control over a new gas they’ve experimenting with. I can believe that more than the idea of Hell being closed for business. Man invented AIDS. It’s more than possible man created this mess too. Why we, as a species, can’t just leave things alone is beyond me. Whatever happened out there... it’ll be no surprise that it was us who caused it.

  As for the films covered by neither of the other groups - they tend to skip explaining the outbreak at all. Again, they’re fun enough to watch but certainly not very helpful.

  The laptop fired up. There’s hardly any point in watching any of the films I have, in my collection, anyway. The battery is less than twenty percent full. I doubt very much it’ll play through the first five minutes of the film. Even if it does get further in, it certainly won’t get me to any points of the film which may be useful to me. I turned the machine off again. Save what little power there is - I may need it later.

  I laid back on the bed and opened one of the last packets of crisps that I had. Down to the Cheese and Onion flavour now. I hate Cheese and Onion - always felt it was a con they were even in the multipacks. Put there to make the numbers up, make us think we’re getting a good deal. Six packets for only a pound? That has to be good, right? Wrong. Six packets ends up being four packets that you eat and two that you leave in the cupboards until they’re out of date and you have to throw them in the bin. Used to annoy the hell out of Jenny. She’d always ask me why I didn’t just choose another multipack of crisps - one where I’d like all the flavours but, it’s not that simple - no matter what the multipack is... there’s always a couple of bags you don’t like.

  I can’t be fussy anymore. Can’t afford to be. Need to eat what I have in the house, for fear of starvation. Sure, I’m a long way off starving to death now but... what about in the future. Imagine if, in the world, there was only the cheese and onion flavour crisps left. I need to condition myself now. Prepare myself to be able to eat any old shit in order to survive. I’ve said before I’ll do whatever it takes to live. If that means eating cheese and onion.... so be it.

  I rustled the bag and reminded myself, unintentionally, of the arguments Jenny and I would have whenever she ate crisps near me. I have to say, to this day, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so noisy when it comes to eating crisps. I often sat there, for as long as I could until I snapped anyway, wondering how she wasn’t breaking her teeth with the way she crunched down on them. Even when she finished eating from the packet - the noise wasn’t finished there. No. She had this little routine where she’d fold the packet over several times, length ways, before tying it into a bow. I never did understand that. All women do it, though, whereas men... we just throw the packet on the side or put it in the bin. I’d do anything to be able to see her tie another crisp packet into a pretty little bow again.

  Fucking memories.

  People say you should cherish your memories but I don’t want to. I wish I could forget them. Wipe the slate clean and forge new ones in the shitty world I’m living in now. Fuck them all. Sure, I’d like to keep hold of them, if everything would return to what it was before but.... seeing as that’s not going to happen, any time soon, I’d sooner they just vanished.

  It’s times like these I wish I kept alcohol in the house. I’d flush the memories from my system with the sickly taste of whisky. No such luck. I haven’t kept alcohol in the house since quitting, from drinking, a couple of years ago when I went through a bad patch. Back then, I’d open a bottle before I’d even say hello to Jenny. She never used to say anything, to start with, she just used to sit back and wait for the alcohol to wash away the day’s stresses before she dared to say a word. She knew there was little point in saying anything before it had the chance to do that. I’d always be snappy and argumentative. I’d always be a dick.

  It’s because of Jenny there’s no alcohol in the house anymore. When things got really bad and I was drunk more than I was sober.... she took the opportunity, during one of the sober times, to tell me it was her or the booze - that, if I didn’t quit the drink, she’d quit me. We had a long chat and I agreed to get help - eventually kicking the demon drink once and for all. I’ve wanted drinks since, and before the world changed, but I was always scared to touch it again – what if I couldn’t stop myself and I ended up pushing her away for good? I was lucky she gave me another chance. I didn’t deserve it with some of the things I drunkenly said to her. No way did I deserve it. Had the shoe been on the other foot, I’m not even sure I would have had the strength to stand by her side as she cleaned her act up.

  The shoe wasn’t on the other foot, though, and never had been. It was me who was the dick. It was me who needed to clean my act up and, thankfully, with her support that’s exactly what I did.... which makes me regret failing her now even more. She saved me and yet I couldn’t save her.

  For fuck’s sake, why am I doing this to myself again? How can I go to contemplating watching horror films, for hints on how to survive this shit-storm, to thinking about how I failed her again. She always manages it - always manages to sneak into my mind.

  It’s the boredom. The general tediousness of the days - which are starting to blend into each other with how little I’m sleeping - getting to me. There’s nothing to do to stop my mind from thinking about the past. This house was always small but - recently - it seems to have gotten a Hell of a lot smaller.

  I threw the packet of crisps across the room - why am I even eating this shit? I’m not even hungry. Wasteful. Again. I need to stop this. I need to become more resourceful and less wasteful. Shouldn’t have opened the crisps until I was starving. I only opened them because I fancied munching on something.

  Stupid.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I woke with a start, slumped on the bed where I must have dozed off. Weird, I don’t even remember feeling sleepy yet - here I am. Still daylight outside. Other t
han that, I have no idea what the time is. It only dawned on me, after the power went out a few days ago, I don’t actually have any battery operated clocks in the house and my watch broke weeks ago. Part of me wishes I hadn’t been lazy, at the time, and had gone to the shops to get the battery changed but another part of me thinks.... time is irrelevant now. Now it’s all about surviving for as long as you can. A loud bang from behind the wall. Was that what originally disturbed me from my unexpected nap? I sat up and stared at the wall - perhaps wishing I had some form of x-ray vision to see what was happening beyond - another loud bang - not that I really needed it. I knew what it was.

  It was them.

  My neighbours, on the other side of my house. The prick one side, them the other and me stuck in the middle. Even knowing their present state - I still think I’d rather pop around their house for a cup of tea and a catch up as opposed to spending any time with the prick. Scary to think that, given their condition, they’d still moan and groan less than him.

  In truth, I nearly forgot about them. They haven’t banged around for a few days now. I presumed they’d finally figured out how to get out of the house and wandered off in the search for the food their ill brains crave. My mistake. I wonder what they’ve been doing in there since I last heard them.... actually, I don’t want to think about it. Haven’t heard their dog for a while.

  Poor Fido.

  The way they’re banging around, in there, gets me wishing the walls were thicker. I don’t mind hearing them - although it is slightly unnerving if I’m going to be honest - but I worry the walls will crumble and they’d stumble in here.

  I’m not sure how strong these things are.

  A few more minutes of banging around before I heard something slam. God only knows what that was. At a guess, I’d say one of them managed to slam a door shut. At least that means they’re contained within another room. One more door for them to figure out before they get to the streets and spread their illness. Can’t be a bad thing.

  My room was plunged back into silence with the exception of a deep rumbling. Not a monster. Just my stomach. Haven’t eaten anything properly for a couple of days now - just the odd snack here and there; packet of crisps, chocolate biscuit, some Jaffa Cakes... the orange jelly in the centre of the Jaffa Cake - I wonder whether that counts as one of my five a day?

  I reached over to a carrier bag which sat by the bedroom door - various tins of food I had grabbed from downstairs when I first realised the world had gone to shit. My kitchen looks out onto the street so I got provisions from there as a priority. Safer that way. No need to go back in there. Less chance of being spotted, through the window, from looters - or worse. Less reason for them to come in - helped by the fact that, if they looked through the windows, they’d see the cupboards were open and emptied of any foods.

  A quick fumble around in the bag and I pulled out a tin of spaghetti and sausages. Heinz. No other make comes close to the taste. As I emptied the numerous tins into the bags, I remember feeling a little embarrassed by how many tins of spaghetti and sausages I had. Guess, every time I did the shopping, I grabbed more of them without really thinking.

  I blame my Aunt Carolyn, years ago. She once made me babysit for my cousins, Luke and Richard. She put their dinner in the microwave and asked me to sort if for them when it finished getting nuked - spaghetti and sausages. At the time I remember thinking how disgusting they looked - your average processed food - but I had to taste them, before serving up, to ensure they were cooked properly. Took a bite of a sausage - preferring that to a taste of spaghetti. Turns out, they’re really nice. Who would have thought it. Been hooked ever since - a statement backed up by the number of cans I had in the kitchen.

  Even so, I wish I mixed the diet up a little. Be nice to have something different from time to time - even if it’s spaghetti and meatballs instead of sausages. Any little change is better than no change. It won’t be long before I get bored with eating these... especially like this.... I pulled the top of the can open using the provided ring-pull and tucked into the can’s contents - cold. I wish I dared use the microwave but, like I said, I don’t go in the kitchen anymore. Had the power been on, I might have thought to take the microwave upstairs too. Doesn’t matter, power’s still down. Was one hell of a storm, the other night, and no one around to fix the damage caused.

  When I leave the house - get in the woods - I might make a camp-fire on some nights. Probably won’t have much of a choice if I want to survive. It’s Summer now but that just means Winter’s coming. The nights will be long and cold. I’ll definitely have to light a fire at some point - even given the risks involved. On those nights, at least I’ll enjoy a warm meal.

  Part of me looks forward to it.

  Part of me dreads still being alive in the Winter.

  “Urgh!” the words slipped out of my mouth as I spooned down the first mouthful of cold spaghetti, along with a small piece of sausage. Tastes nice when it’s hot. Tastes shit when it’s cold. Don’t think about it. Life’s little luxuries, like warm food, are a thing of the past now.

  I closed my eyes as I continued to chew the stodgy gunk - as though having shut eyes would help blank out the disgusting taste. Even if it did mask the taste... it’s so slimy, running down my throat, I’d still know it was crap. Stop thinking about it - you can’t afford to be fussy anymore.

  Jenny always used to moan at my eating habits. She used to say my diet was poor. Warned me, often, that it would be the death of me one day. Funny, I’d sooner go out with a massive heart attack compared to the way she went out - through the front door and into the jaws of death. At least a massive heart attack.... at least it would, more or less, be a case of ‘lights out’. Has to be better than turning into one of them.

  The films showed me how it happens. The infection gets into the blood and floods your system, killing your blood cells... you get a fever. Hot. Cold. The sweats. Shakes. Vomiting. Eventually, after suffering the feeling of your organs shutting down, one by one... you slip into a coma before death takes a hold of you a few hours later. Not that the Reaper has a grip of you for very long. Times vary before you wake up again. Fuck that. I definitely choose the heart attack.

  “Why don’t you get yourself a sandwich if you’re hungry?” she’d always ask after I’d gone and opened another chocolate bar or packet of crisps. It used to drive me mad. I got the chocolate bar, or crisps, because that’s what I fancied at the time.

  It wasn’t just that she’d moan at me for, either. It used to frustrate her that I’d open a packet of biscuits and, on the rare occasions there were any left the following day, drop them in the bin because they were no longer fresh. That rule didn’t just apply to biscuits. It’d apply to anything which involved it starting life sealed in a wrapper. Once the wrapper was broken - whatever was inside.... had to be consumed within hours. Then, of course, she’d always laugh at me for cutting the edges off the meat products I ate because I perceive the edges to be dirty - the unclean bits. Well, excuse me if I don’t want to get food poisoning. I was difficult with sandwiches too - if I didn’t see them freshly being made in front of me, no matter what the rewards, I couldn’t bring myself to put them in my mouth - let alone chew them up before swallowing. Everything needs to be fresh. At least, everything needed to be fresh. I shoveled another mouthful of spaghetti into my mouth. The days of fussy eating are gone, unfortunately.

  I miss them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The day was consumed by darkness as another storm rolled in. The sun was going down already before the pitch black clouds took over the once-blue skies. Not leaving the house, it doesn’t matter to me that night-time comes a few hours earlier - especially when the heavens opened and the heavy rain fell to the broken Earth. Ever since things changed, and the heavy rains came, I pray to God they’ll wash the streets clean - wash away the infected and any trace of the damned infection once and for all. Leave fresh pavements and clean air behind for the survivors to enjoy - give us time
to rebuild what we’d once lost. Get back on our feet again.

  Wishful thinking. It’s just a storm. It’s not sent by God to clean up our mistakes. Nothing will change. If anything the storms have a danger of making things worse. They can force the looters to seek shelter. They can force a run-in.

  I walked through to the spare-room, at the front of the house, and cautiously peered out of the window onto the streets beyond. It looks relatively quiet out there. If anything, it looks as though nothing has changed in the world. Just a typical stormy Summer’s night. Even the neighbours’ cars are parked in the driveway. Never noticed that before. Poor bastards. I guess hardly any of them made it out before the infection got here.

  Don’t think like that.

  Don’t be a pessimist.

  There’s no reason they didn’t get out. They might have left their cars here. Could have heard the main roads are impassable. I expect traffic jams stretch for mile after mile as people headed for the hills - all it would take is a handful of those drivers to lose their patience before abandoning their cars. A few abandoned cars - it wouldn’t take much to block the roads. Inconsiderate fucks. But then, maybe they didn’t have a choice as to whether they stayed with their cars or not. Not if the horde was descending upon them. It’s not as though they could just lock the doors and wait for them to pass on by. Once the horde would have spotted them, hiding in their cars, they wouldn’t have moved on. They would have done whatever their limited brains told them to do in order to get the people out of the car. Maybe that’s what happened. They didn’t abandon their cars.... they were pulled from them.... kicking and screaming.... screaming louder as each bite penetrated their skin. Poor bastards.