‘Who is this?’ Georgia demanded. ‘Are you the guy with the guns? ...Presley?’
‘Yes, this is Elvis,’ he chuckled. ‘Can I take a message?’
‘What have you done with Beth, you creepy-?’
‘Preston,’ groaned Beth, tugging meekly on the back of his shirt, ‘give it here.’
‘She just called me the C word,’ said Preston in mock outrage. ‘Do I strike you as a creep, Bethany?’
‘Ha, ha,’ she murmured, reaching for the phone. As soon as she heard her friend’s voice tears pooled in her eyes, and Preston took this as a sign that he should change and leave the room. ‘George? Yeah, I’m okay... I-I mean...’ She held the phone away from her and stifled a sob. ‘D-Desmond still hasn’t c-called,’ she continued, ‘and I think... I-I think I’m about to... To do something I can’t come back from...’
Muffled shrieking could be heard from the phone as Preston shrugged off yesterday’s t shirt and riffled through his bag for a fresh one. There was only one in there, and Preston glanced mournfully at the small pile of laundry in the corner. He took a clean pair of pants and socks from his rucksack and stuffed them in his pockets, and then scooped up the dirty clothes, creeping from the room just as Beth’s friend made sounds that indicated she was crying too. Women, he thought disbelievingly.
Making his way downstairs, Preston was greeted by the smell of toast and the tone-deaf sound of Joanne humming. She stood at her desk, flicking through the log book, and glanced up as Preston approached. She shot him a warm smile that he half-returned.
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly. ‘Can I help you with anything?’
‘Where’s Angela?’ he grunted, gesturing at his armful of washing.
‘You’re in luck,’ she replied, ‘Andrea’s in the laundry room, to your right.’
There was only one door to his right, so he passed through it and shut it behind him. It permitted him into a long, narrow room, which opened slightly at the end to allow room for three washing machines and a dryer.
Andrea knelt before one washing machine, loading bedding into it. Today she wore her hair in a French braid, which swung over one shoulder and brushed against her chest. She wore her usual jeans and plain t shirt, half-concealed behind a white pinafore. She glanced up at Preston and narrowed her eyes, appearing somewhat suspicious. He grinned and held up his laundry.
‘Got room for our stuff?’ he asked. ‘I’m on my last, well, everything.’
Nodding, Andrea slammed shut her washing machine and opened another, holding out her arms for his laundry. As he passed it to her and she turned to load the machine, he noticed the smooth white skin of her lower back, where her t shirt and jeans parted ways. Still looking cautious, she glanced at his lower region. Mixed signals much, he mused.
‘I can chuck your jeans in,’ she offered, ‘if you want. The wash takes fifteen minutes.’
Casting a fleeting look back at the closed door, Preston shrugged and kicked off his jeans, taking the opportunity to change his underwear as he did so, unembarrassed under Andrea’s stony gaze. He tossed the rest of his laundry at her, and she deposited it into the machine. In only a t shirt, pants, and socks, Preston sank down the wall and sat on the cold tiled floor. The washing machine whirled in front of him. His gaze fixed on a pink sock of Kerry’s spinning around and around.
He knew Andrea was waiting for him to ask her why she was acting so frosty towards him, but he didn’t care. The way he saw it, bringing the others’ washing downstairs had filled his kindness quota for the day. Beth had another thing coming if she thought he was going to nurse her hangover. He was going to point and laugh whenever she displayed signs of pain.
Sighing, Andrea moved a washing basket from the floor to the top of the dryer so she could sit opposite him. He continued to watch the little pink sock spin and contemplated lighting a cigarette before remembering he’d left them in the bedroom.
‘So,’ said Andrea coolly, ‘how’s your girlfriend?’
Preston raised an eyebrow, confused, but he decided to play along, ‘Which one?’
‘Blue-Dreads,’ she elaborated.
Preston laughed, and she narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t really have much of a type, but “princess” isn’t it. Bethany isn’t my girlfriend.’
‘Oh,’ she said, her voice softening. ‘So... You don’t have a girlfriend?’
‘Women can’t handle me long-term,’ he grunted.
‘Sounds like a challenge to me,’ she murmured, her eyes travelling along his legs. ‘I just thought, you know, that you didn’t come and see me because Bethany is your girlfriend.’
He said nothing. He had plenty of responses he could’ve used, but he didn’t like to explain himself. Wordlessly he watched her get up and cross the room. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as she locked the door and sank into his lap. Tufts of hair fell from her braid and framed her handsome face.
Looking into her symmetrical brown eyes, the fact that no part of her bore resemblance to David made Preston think of David, and he cursed himself for it. How long ago had he decided that he was going to join David in death? And why, instead, was he sitting on the floor of a laundry room with a relatively good-looking girl whose hands snaked up his t shirt? Anger at himself flared up inside him as he leaned in and connected their lips.
Washing machines shuddered and thumped as Andrea whipped off his t shirt and explored the map of scars and muscles on his torso, kissing him all the while. She yelped as his teeth dug into her lip. He peeked at her, watching her brows knit together and her head move in sync with his, her eyes still closed.
He won’t know, he told himself as he untied her apron, he can’t see you.
He deserves this, he told himself as her nails dug into his flesh, for leaving you.
With partially damp jeans on and an armful of clean clothes, Preston thumped upstairs and let himself back into the room. Beth was gone, but Kerry sat on her bed with the brat, reading it a book about a baby monkey. His cigarettes and lighter waited for him on the nightstand, where Beth’s phone also lay. He picked up the phone and clicked the middle button. She had four missed calls and a text from Georgia. He scanned the text.
I don’t think you know what you’re doing, B, it read. If you don’t come back they’ll treat you like a criminal.
Another text came through as he finished reading the former:
What about Gabriel?
Returning the phone to its place on the table, Preston looked at the baby. His thumb was jammed in his gummy mouth and his thick black hair stuck up in tufts, some poking Kerry in the face. He wore a red baby grow. What about Gabriel?
He’d never considered looking after a kid before. Yet here he was with three, all of them relying on him. Ironically, the baby seemed to rely on him the least, even annoy him the least. He supposed, given time, it could grow to annoy the hell out of him.
Searching the pile of newly washed clothes, Preston discovered a tiny jumper and a pair of grey trackies. Having just finished the monkey book, Kerry and Gabriel watched him curiously. After finding a pair of little green socks, Preston held his arms tentatively out for the baby. Something mistrusting flickered across Kerry’s features, but she didn’t object when Preston lifted the infant carefully out of her lap.
Two and a half hours later, Gabriel sat in Preston’s lap on the window seat, dressed and listening to the deep sound of Preston’s voice as he read Return of the King aloud. Kerry, who had also dressed in newly washed clothes, sat on her bed and scribbled in her sketchbook with the cat snuggled up against her. Untouched, Preston’s cigarettes still waited for him on the nightstand. Beth returned from a morning’s work with a blotchy face, and upon seeing Preston entertaining her child her face crumpled once more.
Disgusted, Preston glared up at her as fat tears leapt from her eyes and dripped down her front. Kerry leapt from her bed, startling the cat, and threw her arms around the older girl, stroking her hair like David used to do for her. Gabriel looked q
uestioningly up at him, as if to say, why have you stopped reading to me?
‘How is it that you’re way more chilled than those two?’ Preston muttered.
‘Mum, mum, mum,’ agreed Gabriel. Beth and Kerry froze.
‘Did he just...?’ Kerry whispered.
‘I can’t believe...’ squeaked Beth, new tears leaking from her clearly defective eyes.
‘Mum, mum,’ said Gabriel proudly.
Squealing, Beth plucked the baby from Preston’s lap and hugged him tightly, with Kerry jumping up and down excitedly beside her. Free, Preston earmarked his page and lunged towards his cigarettes, already feeling a bad mood coming on, a natural reaction to the girls’ excitement.
They followed him down to their usual table in the beer garden, despite the cloudy weather, enthusing shrilly about Gabriel’s First Word. To make matters worse, Andrea joined them shortly after and pinched one of Preston’s cigarettes. He swiped irritably at her snatching hands, but she got away unscathed, grinning wickedly at him.
‘Cow,’ he growled.
‘It can be your way of thanking me,’ she said sweetly, ‘for feeding your cat. I bet you’d forgotten, the poor thing wolfs down the food I give him.’
‘No,’ he lied, ‘he’s just greedy.’
After the excitement finally died down, Preston sent Andrea away with their lunch orders, hoping she wouldn’t come back with her own. Beth had ordered vegetables for Gabriel, eager to get him started on solid foods now he was so clever.
‘So it’s official,’ she announced as Hayley came out with a tray of drinks for them. ‘I told my friend that I’m not going back. We’re going to stay with you two, presuming Desmond is gone forever. And, well, if you’ll have us...’
Preston said nothing. He sucked on his cigarette and accepted a cold pint from the tray, nodding his begrudging thanks to Hayley. Kerry, however, beamed and reached for Beth’s hand. Hayley discreetly served the other drinks and retreated with the empty tray.
‘I mean,’ Beth continued shyly, ‘Gabriel likes both of you. Kerry, you’re so kind and helpful, and Preston... Well, you’ve done nothing less than keep us alive. If it weren’t for you, I...’
‘Shut up,’ grunted Preston, sipping his sweating pint.
‘You don’t have to say anything, Pres, but I do want to thank you.’
‘What made you think you’re allowed to call me that?’
‘We’re friends,’ she said, tilting her head, ‘aren’t we?’
‘Where’s our food?’ he growled.
‘MUM,’ shrieked Gabriel.
‘MUM,’ Preston agreed.
They ate lunch slowly, savouring the warm weather and hoping rain wouldn’t spoil it. Preston attempted to teach Gabriel swear words as Beth glowered at him and tried to cover the baby’s ears. Kerry and Preston flicked peas at other diners with their forks, howling with laughter when one lodged itself in a woman’s curls, unknown to her. They were almost like a family, Preston thought uncomfortably.
The thought turned him sour, and he put down his fork and knocked back the dregs of his drink, and then got up to leave. He did laps around the car park, breaking it up with a series of push-ups and sit-ups. When his jeans rubbed too hard against his legs, he retired upstairs for a nap.
Too soon he stirred, awoken by the screaming floating up from downstairs. Ratbag peered sleepily up at him, unfazed. Preston pushed down the anger that boiled inside him at being woken up, slipped into his trainers and stuck his head out the door.
Screams, smashes and thuds sounded from downstairs, presumably the bar. Preston checked his watch. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. Were people getting in drunken fights already? Where were Beth and the others? Sleepily shutting the door behind him, Preston stomped moodily down the stairs, but something at the bottom stopped him in his tracks.
At the foot of the stairs, her eyes round with horror, Joanne lay with angled limbs and a large chunk missing from her throat. A halo of blood encircled her head and her mouth was open in a silent scream. Tilting his head, Preston stared at her for a moment, counting the other missing chunks of her body. The corpse beside her, whose head had rolled several feet away, was most likely the culprit. Moving slowly down the rest of the steps in a sort of daze, Preston listened to the symphony of screams escaping the pub to his right. He toed Joanne’s prone body with his trainer.
The baby’s wails were like a slap in the face. Startled into action, Preston leapt over the bodies and hurled himself through the arch leading into the pub. It was a massacre. It was like London all over again: zombies clawed and ground their chipped teeth, desperately attempting to eat anyone within reach; bodies were strewn over tables and slumped against walls; Steve swung wildly with a large kitchen knife and Andrea sat behind the bar, attempting to staunch the blood on her wounded ankle. In the corner, Beth broke a chair over a zombie’s head, and Kerry cowered behind her, clutching Gabriel tightly.
Through the open door Preston glimpsed a crashed bus with its driver slumped over the steering wheel, before a zombie threw itself at him, growling and snapping. They went down, landing hard on the stone floor, and Preston saw stars as his head bounced off the ground. Swearing loudly, he fought to keep the monster’s snapping jaws away, narrowly avoiding a string of dribble on the face, which instead landed on the ground beside his ear. With great effort he rolled, forcing it off him, and brought his fist down on its face.
A couple of guests fled, tearing out the back door and vaulting the hedges that fenced in the garden, chased by a handful of spitting zombies. Others lay bleeding, begging for help or screaming as hungry mouths descended upon them.
Preston got to his feet, kicking away his attacker’s grabbing hands, calmly picked up a fallen bar stool and brought it down, hard, on the thing’s scabbed, balding head. He closed his mouth just before blood spattered his face. He whirled, bringing the stool with him, and mutilated another one, unwittingly allowing for the escape of another of the inn’s guests.
Three more stood between him and the others, and luckily for him they were looking at Beth, with their backs to him. He dispatched them with relative ease, and hurried over to her and the others. Behind him, Steve’s knife clattered to the floor and he knelt to inspect his niece’s wound. Hayley was nowhere to be seen.
‘What happened?’ Preston asked, scanning his peers for injury.
‘I don’t know,’ cried Beth, tears once again streaking her cheeks. ‘That bus just hurtled out of nowhere, hit a lamp post, and all those... They all came running out of it...’
Also crying quietly, Kerry bounced the baby gently in her lap, soothing him. No one seemed to be hurt, and surprisingly, Beth had managed to hold her own. Helping himself, Preston poured Beth a double whisky and handed it to her, pushing down on her shoulder to make her sit, and then approached Steve and Andrea.
They crouched behind the bar, sweating and, in Andrea’s case, bleeding. Preston knelt to examine her, unfeeling as he beheld the obvious bite mark on her ankle. She shrieked as he twisted her foot for a better look, and her eyes brimmed with tears. Steve looked between them, his face white as a sheet, fear emanating from every pore. Preston met his gaze.
‘This has to go,’ he announced, gesturing to her foot.
‘E-excuse me...?’ Andrea stammered.
‘Amputation seems to stop the infection from spreading,’ he elaborated.
‘I-I... You can’t...’
As he collected Steve’s knife and prepared to wash it, Hayley stumbled through the door from the reception area, her hair matted and her clothes stained red. She staggered and fell, and Beth hurried over to her from their table. Preston followed, still holding the bloody knife, and knelt with them.
It was not a pretty sight. Bite marks littered her body and chunks of her flesh were absent. She bled from a wide, deep wound in her lower arm, a missing chunk in her shoulder, and a head wound, which she’d seemed to have acquired by hitting it somewhere. Her entire body shook violently. At the sight
of her, Beth covered her mouth with her hands, stifling a gasp. Preston sighed and thrust the knife at Beth, scooped the grimy girl into his arms and carried her to a booth, laying her across the table.
He didn’t need to give voice to the fact that there was no hope for her. He plucked the knife from Beth’s grasp and returned to Steve and Andrea. Silent tears had begun to trickle down Steve’s face.
‘This is going to hurt,’ Preston warned as he passed them behind the bar and helped himself to the kitchen sink.
‘Is there really no other way?’ asked Steve, his voice surprisingly steady.
‘Not that I know of,’ Preston replied, now sterilising the blade over the hob.
‘D-don’t let him...’ begged Andrea, ‘please...’
Suddenly Kerry was there, holding the baby, having silently moved from her seat in the corner to come and join them. Hiccupping and trying not to cry, Kerry passed Gabriel to Steve, who furrowed his brow.
‘I think your daughter needs you,’ she told him quietly, pointing to where Beth and Hayley were. ‘And I think I can help out here.’
‘But...’ said Steve helplessly.
Upon returning Preston gave Steve an encouraging shove and Steve stumbled over to the others, carrying a very confused Gabriel. Preston handed Kerry a large glass and a bottle of vodka, and they knelt silently over their patient, who was whimpering like a stray dog.
‘Please,’ Andrea whispered, holding a protective hand over her ankle, ‘don’t.’
After pouring a generous amount of vodka into the glass, Kerry placed both the glass and bottle gently on the floor. She set about untying the bandages on her hand, bandages that she still changed twice a day and, Preston suspected, wore to hide the hideous absence of her little finger. Under the bandages her hand was an angry pink, but it was sealed and healing nicely. It looked long and skinny with only three fingers and a thumb. Andrea gazed at it with her mouth open.
‘Does it hurt?’ Andrea whispered.
‘Not anymore,’ Kerry replied with a small smile. ‘Sometimes it feels like my finger is itchy, I go to scratch it and then it isn’t there. It’s very strange.’
After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four Page 20
