Scorched Flesh

by Ian Woodhead

  “Good day to you, boys,” announced a voice behind the counter.

  I jumped, and blinked several times, staring at the middle-aged man staring back at me over his magazine. Okay, so this is one thing that I wasn’t expecting. Mr Tileman wore his usual tattered green knitted jumper. Through the large hole, I saw that today he wore a Star Trek t-shirt. I could clearly see Captain Kirk kissing a green-skinned woman. The man carefully placed his magazine on the scratched glass counter and smiled at me.

  “I guess that you’re here for your father’s model? You can tell him from me that I had to pull in a few favours to get this for him.” He reached down and placed a small cardboard box on the counter next to his magazine. “I would advise him not to build it up just yet. Can you do that for me, Travis?”

  I nodded, dumbly, still trying to wrap my head around this unreal situation.

  “The company went into liquidation a couple of weeks ago. I think that’s why these models are getting harder than hen’s teeth to find.”

  “Don’t you know what the hell is going on, you stupid man?” yelled Mark.

  Mr Tileman winked at me then slowly, then looked past Mark until his eyes settled on the side window. I followed his gaze. My mouth dried up when I saw the slight red tinge. I hadn’t noticed it until now, thanks to the overhead strip lighting. I followed Mark over to the window. Even in the short space of time, I noticed that it had grown higher. There was another addition as well. Bright blue teardrop shaped pods now hung from the thousands of branches.

  “For want of a better word, I have called them Blood trees,” said the man, “basically because of what they fed upon.”

  I stumbled back until my back crashed into a row of shelves, full of model aircraft kits. “Are you insane? How can you stand there and utter that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world? Those poor bastards died down there!”

  Mr Tileman laughed. “So what? People die in pointless ways every day. At least they died so this magnificent creature could live!” The man then glared at Mark. “As for you, young man. I thought I told you not to come in here again. You‘re supposed to be banned.”

  I ran my tongue over my dry lips. I wanted to grab this silly little man by the jumper and shake the common sense back into him. “Mr Tileman. We need to get out of here. That thing is going to kill us.”

  The man broke out in giggles. “Oh my, you poor little boy. You really have no idea what’s happening do you.”

  “Fuck this,” snarled Mark. He charged at the man.

  Tileman deftly stepped to the side, his hand reached out, and I saw his fingers close around a scalpel blade. “Mark!” I shouted, “Stop this!”

  The man held the blade out in front of him. “Yes, Mark. Stop this.” Tileman looked at me, and waved the scalpel to one side. “Come on, away from the window please. You should be thankful that I’m not going to charge you for crushing those boxes behind you.”

  This day was going from worse to disastrous. “Look, I know you have your very sharp knife and everything, and I know I should really keep my gob shut, but come on. Can’t you see what is happening here? Seriously, have you forgotten to take your sanity pills today?”

  Mr Tileman grinned at Mark. “I guessed that the colour of my blood trees would be a subtle mix of Fire engine red, with a dash of Sunburst orange.” He reached behind him and picked up two small paint tins. “Travis, I respect you because your father has been a friend and a good customer for many years. So you can leave my shop, if you wish.”

  For one moment, I really did think he was reaching for a jar of pills. I watched him swing that blade from side to side. My dad has one just like it, and I knew how sharp those buggers were. This guy had shown his true colours; he was as mad as a box of frogs, and I wasn’t in any mood to let this tool open me up like a gutted fish.”

  The light outside had darkened a bit more. How long would it be before those red vines found their way into this shop? “Mr Tileman, I know this must seem a bit weird. Believe me, buddy, I’m close to losing it as well, but don’t you think we should be working together to try to find a way out of here.”

  “Come on,” said Mark, taking one more step back. “Listen to him.

  “I imagine you would have gone for Orc red, even though it’s almost three shades lighter. You see, that’s the problem I have with you lot, there’s no real sense of reality with the fantasy genre; it’s all made up. Okay, so science fiction is all made up as well, but at least most of the genre doesn’t have a foothold in the here and now.”

  This babbling idiot was making my head hurt. The man’s glazed over eyes hadn’t moved from Mark for over a minute now. I slowly moved my arm back until my fingers brushed against something solid. I think it was an aerosol can. Not that it mattered, it would suffice. The object left my hand, and slammed into the man’s nose. He cried out and staggered back.

  I lashed out with my left leg, my foot cracking against Mr Tileman’s knife hand. “Fuck you,” I snarled. Mark grabbed my sleeve and pulled me towards the counter.

  “This way,” he shouted. Mark groaned. “Oh no, look at the floor!”

  I heard the rip before I saw the red vines pushing up through the weave. “Come on, Mr Tileman, get away from them!”

  Mark jerked me behind the counter. “Leave the freak to die, it’s better than he deserves anyway.”

  The man showed no fear at the sight of the dozen thin vines sliding over the carpet. He dropped his only weapon, and fell to his knees before falling forward into the mass of the twisting and writhing tendrils. He made no sound as the vile things slid under his clothing. Some had already entered his mouth, nose, and ears while others found other means to get inside the man’s body. I turned away, sickened, and followed my friend down the stairs into the ground floor shop where he kept his magazines for sale.

  “There’s our way out,” whispered Mark, pointing to a fire door. “It leads into the street, so we should be okay.”

  I nodded, and followed him across the floor, trying to block out the images of that man just surrendering himself to that creature. No matter how I looked at it, I could not work out why he’d want to kill himself in that method.

  The bright sunlight pouring through the open door was the best sight that I’d seen all day. I ran out onto the pavement and raced across the empty road; the quicker I was away from that hellish place, the better.

  “What the hell do we do now, Travis?”

  I watched the street, looking for anyone else. We were still alone. My first instinct was to run down the middle of the street in search for anybody, and drag them back here. Mark began to shake. I turned around, watching those red branches creep over the edge of the building.

  “I didn’t think we were going to make it out of there,” he said. “I thought that daft old bastard was going to kill the pair of us.”

  “No, he only wanted you to die, Mark,” I whispered. “If we ever get out of this alive, you and me are going to sit down, hopefully with pints, and you’re going to tell me all about your secret life. Right now though, I think we had better alert the authorities, if they don’t already know, that is.”

  Mark slowly nodded before he slammed both hands down on my shoulders. “Okay, but there’s something I need to tell you first,” he said, his voice cracking. “I think your dad’s going to be really pissed off with you, buddy. You’ve forgotten your dad’s plastic spaceship.”

  ***

  The future is built upon an endless stack of choices. These forks in the road can be the harbingers of doom, or can lead to our salvation. Of course, you already know that, we all do. In our struggle to free our people from the clutches of these vile bastards, the spectre of death is always hugging our shadow, just waiting for that one fork in the road to present itself.

  Back then, I thought my future didn’t hinge on an endless stack of choices. Well, maybe I did, but just didn’t care. After all, how could my decision to have a cup of coffee instead of tea possibly make any dif
ference to my future?

  I remember my dad banging on about something called causality, about how the smallest of decisions could potentially alter your life further along the path. I think I zoned out totally when he started going on about butterflies.

  With him being the ultimate scifi geek, he was big on all of this rubbish, which made me wonder why I took the decision that I did.

  We reached the car in record time, believing that the blood trees or one of those blanket people were going to grab us at any moment. I should have demanded that he take me home. Picking up my dad would have been the most obvious of choices. Hell, if there was ever a situation built for dad’s expert knowledge, this had to be it.

  I didn’t though. I wanted my mum. Mark was happy to drive me anywhere, as long as it was away from the three mills. It’s not as if he had any family to find. As far as he was concerned, they had to be safe.

  On this occasion, the fork in the road was literal. Mark turned the car left towards the centre of town. He even indicated.

  ***

  The familiar yet strange surroundings sped past us as Mark propelled his car through Lorchester as we moved closer to the new shopping mall. Evidence of Mark’s invasion idea was everywhere. Albeit, the differences weren’t as obvious as to what we escaped from, but they were there.

  I saw bloodtrees growing in the midst of a bank of bushes by the side of the road. If I hadn’t already seen them in action, I don’t think I would have given them a second glance. Collapsed in the archway of a Methodist church were the remains of a pile of blanket people. Again, to the passing eye, they looked about as inconspicuous as a load of rotting clothes.

  We did finally start to see other people though. Oh God! Words can’t even come close to how I felt when I first spotted an actual living, breathing person. Mark wasn’t too impressed with my behaviour when I started to scream and shout in excitement, he thought I was having an attack. The poor bastard almost crashed the car. The old woman pulling her tartan wheeled trolley wasn’t too impressed either.

  As more people appeared, my traumatic experience at the mills started to feel more and more surreal. I even began to wonder if it had really happened, and my feelings became more and more confused when even the signs of this invasion completely dried up.

  By the time Mark pulled in to the town’s main high street, there was nothing to distinguish this Saturday from any other. As we passed the two coffee shops, I saw them both packed out. The amusement arcade on the corner of Tassle Street had the regular crowd of misfits leaning against the fruit machines, and as per usual, the town’s pubs were doing a roaring trade. Normality pushed away the nightmares, consigning them to a dark box at the back of my mind. I leaned back against the car’s headrest and closed my eyes, feeling myself drift away. I heard my mum’s silly laugh as she poked fun at some rubbish my dad was watching on the box. My mum took my hand, then moved me past my dad’s head, and pushed me closer to the TV.

  “Travis, just how ridiculous does this look. I ask you, how can anybody take this seriously?”

  “This came out in the 70’s, my dear,” replied my dad. “The BBC didn’t have that much money to spend on special effects.”

  “You’re not wrong there. There’s nothing special at all about those effects. Travis, Come on, what do you think.”

  I stared at the picture, watching myself and Mark running along the mill’s balcony. Our pursuers were gaining on us. Our screams were real enough, unlike our pursuers. No amount of imagination could disguise the fact that those actors were covered in grey bed sheets tied at the waist with cord.

  “WAKE UP!”

  I snapped open my eyes just as Mark manoeuvred his car between two delivery vans.

  “After everything we’ve been through, you suddenly decide that it’s time for a nap? You’re unbelievable.”

  I shook my head to clear away the mental fog, trying to remember exactly what had been going through my mind in my dozing state. After a few moments of failure, I gave it up as a bad job. I doubted it was all that important anyway.

  “There’s nothing wrong with catching up with a bit of much needed sleep, my friend.” I turned to face him, expecting him to reply with one of his usual put downs.

  Mark was facing forward, his gaze fixed upon the dashboard. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands, then slammed his head down.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  He headbutted the wheel again. The force of the impact shook the car from side to side. I fumbled with the seatbelt, leaned over, and pushed him back into the seat.

  “Get a grip on yourself, for crying out loud. Come on, Mark, snap out of it.”

  “I can’t remember anything, Travis,” he whispered. Fat tears rolled down both his cheeks. “What’s wrong with me? I know that I almost died, that something tried to eat us. The harder I try to think back, the fuzzier everything gets.” Mark wiped his forehead. He looked surprised to see a thin smear of blood covering the tips of his fingers. “I don’t even know why I’m here.” He blinked, then wiped away the tears. “It’s okay, you can let me go. I’ll be good, I promise.”

  All the tension left Mark’s body. I took that as a sign that he was telling the truth; reluctantly released him, then sat back in my seat. “We’ve come to find my mum.”

  “Why?”

  That single word stopped me in my tracks. I had no idea why I got Mark to drive me halfway across Lorchester. After not bothering to crawl out of bed when she shouted for me this morning, I don’t think she’d be all that happy to see me. I frowned. Tradition dictated that mum and I usually didn’t exchange sober words until Sunday afternoon.

  I looked down at the state of my clothes, and frowned again. What the bloody hell had I done to get into this mess? Mum would definitely throw a major wobbler if she saw me looking like this. Hell, I looked worse than Mark. I then glanced at him again, this time registering his state. I didn’t look as bad as him, but it was a close run thing.

  Unlike Mark, it didn’t disturb me that I couldn’t remember. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been in this fugue-like state since last night. Hell, even last night is pretty much a blur. In fact, the last thing I can recall with perfect clarity is giving Basil one of my sausages this morning.

  “Dude, whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll come back to us.” I attempted to give him a smile. “Seriously, it’s probably just the beer or something.” I wound down the side window to allow the fresh air to circulate. “As for nearly dying, somehow I doubt that really happened.” I pushed open the door, and got out of the car. To be honest, I didn’t want to wander around the centre of town looking like this, but I saw no other way around it. Mark needed company, he needed to be around other people, and I didn’t want to be alone with him, not right now. His behaviour was scaring me to death.

  “There’s a second-hand shop over the road, Mark. There’s bound to be something in there that’ll fit us.” I pulled the fabric away from my skin, holding my breath as the foul odour of whatever was on me reached my nostrils.

  I balanced on the kerb while I patiently waited for Mark to leave the confines of his car. The feeling of losing my stability grew until it consumed my every thought. There wasn’t a few inches from the kerb to the road, not any more. That distance now felt like light-years. I was standing on the edge of an abyss, and no matter what I did, there would be nobody to stop me from plummeting off the edge.

  “What did you wind the window down for, you daft clown?” muttered Mark, pushing me back. He opened my door, wound the window back up, and shut and locked the door. “Come on then, we’d better find something a little more respectable to wear if we’re going to meet up with your mum.” He winked at me. “You know, I still have problems trying to wrap my head how such a hot dish could spit out such an ugly fucker like you. Jeez, no wonder they stopped at you, Travis.”

  “I guess you’re feeling better?”

  Mark frowned. “Better than what? God, you don’t half come out with some
weird shit. Come on, let’s get this over with. You still owe me a few pints.” He stopped dead. “Wait, why don’t we take your mum to the Black Swan? It’ll be a right laugh to get her a bit tipsy.”

  ***

  It is so difficult to look back at those last few threads of harmless bloke banter without bursting into tears. Deep inside the pair of us, our souls knew that everything had changed. The information for our eyes, ears, and nose would have confirmed it, if only we had been able to listen.

  We walked through the crowds in a dreamstate, commenting on anything and everything that the standard teen, from those times, talks about when they’re out with their mates. Thing is, we weren’t the only ones in this dreamstate. We passed over half a dozen other people who were in a similar messed up appearance, and like us, they were acting like normal as well.

  As we entered the new shopping mall, dressing in our new to us clothing, there was one individual that almost unravelled everything. Two security guards brushed past the pair of us, and rushed into an electronics store. A few seconds later they emerged, each one holding the arm of Traveller Stu. The town’s resident homeless guy looked like he was in the midst of having a seizure. Traveller Stu stopped his struggles when he saw me. Our eyes met, and as the burly men dragged him towards the exit, he smiled at me.

  “Travis, they’ve messed it up. We still have a chance to beat them! Find me after the event, Travis!”

  The guards stood by the door and didn’t move until he showed no sign of returning. By the time they moved away from the door, Traveller Stu was already gone.

  Even now, I wonder how that homeless guy was able to fight through that curtain of delusions imposed on anyone who’d touched those mushroom things. He had been touched, that much was obvious. Traveller Stu had never been a cleanest of individuals. The odour of stale sweat followed him like a cloud. As those guards had manhandled the guy out of the mall, Traveller Stu’s unique smell was absent. He smelled like we did, like a cross between rotting vegetables and antifreeze.