Blight: A Human Zoo Novel (The Human Zoo Book 3)

by Kolin Wood

  The Human Zoo 3 – Blight

  Kolin Wood

  Copyright 2018 Kolin Wood

  The Human Zoo books are a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, situations, and all dialogue are entirely a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not in any way representative of real people, places, or things.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permissions of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

  WARNING: This book contains scenes of strong horror and violence.

  Cover art by Kristyn at Drop Dead Designs

  Edited by Terri King at Terri King Editing Service

  “We are only chance visitants to this jungle of blind mutations. The natural world existed when we did not, and it will continue to exist long after we are gone.”

  —Thomas Ligotti

  Prologue

  I see the desk over the other side of the room and I run over to it as fast as I can. Behind me there’s screaming as the man in the corridor continues to writhe around on the floor. I don’t know what is wrong with him but there was lots of blood, a bit like there was with Dad. He ran towards me but luckily he tripped and fell over and I got away. I think he might be one of the bad men that Mummy had always told me about.

  The chair is still pushed in and I leave it there, deciding to climb in beside it. Better that way. Makes it look like there’s nobody under here. The chair is on wheels and the bottom of it has these metal legs which look like spider’s legs. Means that there is no room so I will have to push it out after all, just a bit, just enough so I can squeeze in behind it.

  It is so dark under here. So dark and cold. All I can smell is smoke. Smoke everywhere. Inside of the buildings and out.

  I have never run so far, not even on sports day. My chest has begun to hurt when I breathe. I wish more than anything that I could just go home but I can’t remember the way back, not anymore. All the streets look the same now. Most of them are on fire. I was stupid to leave. Stupid to leave my things.

  There are not many people around, but I’ve seen a few. I can’t believe some of them are sleeping on the floor outside. It is so cold out there, especially at night. I was looking for a policeman like they told me at school, but there’s no cars about; no flashing lights either. A few of the people I’ve seen tried to talk to me, but I ran off instead. Some of them looked angry with me. Mummy always told me not to talk to strangers. She said strangers could be bad men.

  The man has stopped screaming now and I’m glad. It was a horrible sound. Like the foxes sometimes make at night time. Hopefully he has gone away so that he won’t see me on the way out. But I won’t leave just yet, not just yet; it’s still night time outside, and at least it feels safe under here.

  My jumper is not as warm as I thought it was. I should have brought my school jacket, the one with the furry hood. That one is mega warm. It is so cold in here. Maybe if I curl up on the floor I can get warm. Curl up on the carpet. Yes, that’s a little bit better. Least I brought Matty with me. Matty the Catty is my friend. In fact, he’s family… the only family I have left.

  I’m so, so tired.

  “Kid.”

  I open my eyes and it is bright. It takes a minute to realise that there is a man looking down at me. He is dirty and has short brown hair which is spiky at the top like my friend, George.’ He is not smiling. Maybe he is a bad man.

  “Where are your parents?”

  I look down and see a huge, scary knife in his hand. He is a bad man! I shake my head, too scared to move.

  “Where are your mum and dad, kid?”

  The man pulls the chair out completely so that there is now nothing between me and his big knife. I pull Matty in close and look up at him, hoping that he is not going to take me away.

  “D… dead,” I say. I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to make him angry.

  The man looks away like he is thinking about something.

  I do not dare to speak, but I pull my knees up to my chest. Maybe he will just let me go.

  After a while he looks back at me again, but this time he does not look so scary. He’s not scary in his eyes anymore.

  “The city is no place for a young boy. I think you should come with me.”

  He puts out his hand for me to take and I just look at it. There is dirt and red on it.

  I don’t know his name and so he is still a stranger.

  “Where are you going to?” I ask him, hoping that maybe he can drop me back home on the way. Or help me to find a policeman.

  “North,” he says.

  North? I have heard of the place but I don’t know where it is.

  Just then, somebody starts shouting in the street outside and the man turns to look out of the window. He stays there watching for a while until the shouting gets quieter and then it stops. He turns around but stays standing by the window this time. He does not come back over to the desk.

  “Last chance, kid.”

  I am cold and hungry and I don’t think that the man is a bad man. He is too nice. Besides he is not as old as my dad.

  I get up and slowly crawl out from under the desk.

  The man looks at me.

  “That all you got?”

  I look down at Matty. He is dirty. I nod.

  I’m shivering now and my fingers and toes hurt.

  “We’ll need to get you some proper clothes,” he said. “And some food. You hungry?”

  I nod enthusiastically. I am so hungry. It feels like my tummy has been rumbling for days and days.

  “Right then. You stick close by me and you do exactly what I say, okay, kid?”

  I nod again.

  “It’s dangerous out there and we need to put some distance between us and the gangs.”

  I frown. I don’t know what gangs are.

  The man walks to the door. I like his boots.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, as he turns back to look at me again.

  “Johnny,” I tell him.

  “Right, John, I’m Ryan. Let’s move.”

  I guess we aren’t strangers anymore.

  The motorbike is really fast. It looks like one of my toys but it is green and has shiny wheels. Ryan took it from a big house on a street with lots of trees. I thought you only found trees in parks or in the woods in the countryside but this street has so many. They even have them in the gardens here too. And they have gardens at the front of their houses, which is a bit weird.

  He told me to wait while he went inside the house. He said it was okay because the door was already open and he knew the person that used to live there. There was nobody home anyway, he said. Inside the house it looked really messy and dark, and I was happy to wait outside in the sunshine. When Ryan came out again, he was smiling. It was the first time that I had seen him smile and I liked it. In his hand, he had some keys which he used to open up a small shed down the side of the house. Inside the shed was the bike, which pulled out on these really cool sliding tracks.

  When he started it up, the noise was so much that I was scared to go near it. Black smoke puffed out in clouds from the back as Ryan sat on it and twisted the handle. It roared really loudly.

  Right now I am sat on the back and we are going really fast along a road heading into the countryside. We only ever went into the countryside for holiday before. There are not many cars ab
out but I saw lots of crashes. I have to hold on really tight which makes my arms hurt. The helmet that we found in the shop is too big, but I need it in case I fall off, Ryan says. He also got me a new jacket which is black and has lots of zips and a tiger on the back. I like Ryan. He is really nice to me. He gave me some food and even found me a chocolate bar. He has told me that I can stay with him, but he doesn’t know where he is going yet; only to North, he said.

  I don’t know how long it is going to take to get there, but Ryan said North is a long, long way away.

  Nine years later…

  1

  Hot blood and bile spilled out, landing in a dense splatter at his feet. John worked quickly and methodically, thrusting his arms deep into the cavity of the animal, releasing a cloud of steam that rose up into the early morning sky. He knew that if the task was not completed in time, the drop in pressure would result in the blood congealing in the veins; something that Ryan had told him they needed to avoid at all costs. Killing the deer was strictly rationed in order to allow sufficient breeding and it was imperative that the task be carried out with maximum return.

  He easily located the colon and ran his hand up towards the anus, pinching and squeezing all the waste back down towards the stomach as he had been taught. Then, using both hands, he tied a piece of string around the pinched off tube and cut it just above where he had made the knot. Slippery innards spilled forwards, bringing with them a smell that was ripe and meaty, made more oppressive given the tight confines of the small, ramshackle shed.

  Once the innards had been cleared, John carried the waste bucket into the corner and fitted the tight plastic lid to ensure that the contents could not be poached. Murphy, the bearded collie, sat patiently to one side, his ears up and his head cocked at the sight and smell of the blood and meat. A thick shaggy mane of hair hung over his eyes. Every so often his mouth would drop open and his huge pink tongue would come lolling out.

  With his arms covered in blood up to the elbows, John looked over at Murphy and laughed.

  “You know what’s comin’, dont’cha, boy? Don’t worry, we’ll all be eating well soon enough.”

  Soon, three buckets sat on the floor at his feet—one containing the blood; another, the edible innards; and the last one, the waste items. Satisfied, John stepped away, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his upper arm and leaving his face streaky with crimson. He had helped with the dispatch and preparation of the larger animals before, but this was the first time that he had been charged with carrying the task out entirely on his own. From what he could tell, however, the job had been a success. Ryan would be happy. Tonight’s full moon marked the end of the harvest and, as they did every year, they were celebrating with a large kill.

  “C’mon, boy,” John called out to the dog who was busy sniffing the covered top of the waste bucket. “Let’s get this blood back to the house before it sets.”

  It was a short walk up through the valley to the farm house. The end of the summer brought with it the vivid colours of autumn. Brittle leaves crunched under John’s feet as he marched briskly, swinging two of the buckets in momentum with his long strides. The sun had risen significantly in the clear, blue sky, and the unblocked rays encouraged more sweat from his already sodden back. Ahead of him, the land flattened out into a plateau, nestled neatly into the side of the hill. A small, hand-built stone wall ran a garden around the property, the inside of which, John and Ryan took it in turns to keep as clear from the ever-creeping foliage of the valley as they could. Thick gorse had sprung up and now encroached upon the space on all sides, bringing a natural defence but at the cost of a lack of sunlight. As a result, the house always felt cold and dark.

  As John approached, the sweet smell of frying onions filtered down the over-grown path, filling the air and making his stomach growl. He had certainly worked up a healthy appetite.

  Seeing John enter, Ryan, who had been chopping vegetables on the countertop, set down his knife and walked quickly over to him.

  “How did it go?” he asked, “Any problems?”

  John shook his head, offering up the two buckets for inspection. One contained the offal and the other the blood.

  Ryan smiled. “There you go!” he said, with a rough pat to John’s back. “Good lad! I told you that you could do it on your own.”

  John’s chest swelled with pride and he smiled but remained silent.

  Ryan reached down and took the handle of the bucket containing the blood. He lifted it up and gave it a wobble.

  “We have to move fast,” he said. “It’s starting to thicken. Come.”

  In the corner of the room, a heavy, iron skillet had been placed on a blackened grate over the fire. The pair of them walked over to the hearth and Ryan stoked the fire with a twisted and buckled poker, bringing flames which caused the brown onions to sizzle. Then he carefully emptied some of the blood from the bucket into the skillet. There was a sizzle and immediately the smell changed from sweet to savoury.

  “We’ll save some to make pudding. Go get the plates, John,” he said, reaching for a blackened towel hanging from a hook nearby.

  John obliged, and soon the two of them were chowing down hungrily on the scrambled blood and onion omelette. In a world where most flavour was now derived from natural ingredients, the taste of the blood was so powerful and salty that it made John feel nauseous, yet it did little to hinder the fervour of his appetite. A few minutes later and both plates lay empty on the floor at their feet. The food sat heavy in his gut and John leaned back, swallowing repeatedly.

  A hook on the roof of the small hearth held a thick, black chain, on the end of which hung a heavy, cast-iron bowl. Steam rose up from the broth and Ryan scooped two metal mugs, handing him one before leaning back with a groan into the cushions of the worn armchair. The rosehip tea was welcome and hot, if not bitter on account of the lack of sweetener, but it helped to cleanse John’s mouth and throat, which had become sticky with a coating of blood. When he looked over, Ryan was staring at him above the rim of his own steaming cup.

  “What?” John said, awkwardly.

  Ryan half-smiled.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “You just impressed me today; that’s all.”

  Inwardly, John felt his chest swell with pride again and, although he attempted to hide it, a small smile curled the corners of his mouth. For a few moments, the two of them sat there in silence, enjoying the break and listening to the crack of the fire.

  “Is the pit dug?”

  John nodded.

  “Firewood collected?”

  John nodded again.

  “I’ll come down with you, after this,” Ryan said, lifting his teacup. “Carcass that big will take all day. Tonight is the full moon, the harvest moon.”

  As John sat and watched Ryan now, he noticed that he would not bring himself to allow any eye contact. His manner was fidgety, on edge. John knew full well that tonight was the harvest moon; it was not like they would simply up and butcher a deer on any normal occasion.

  “You have grown strong, John; a real asset to both the farm and me. I’m really proud of the young man that you’ve become.”

  A twinge fluttered deep in John’s stomach; the praise was nice but something did not feel right.

  “You… okay, Ry?” he asked.

  When Ryan looked up again, his face was serious.

  “After tonight, there will be enough food to keep you going for months. From the trades we made with the village in the spring, you have honey and cider. You can butcher up the deer, use the bones and marrow to make stock for soup. It’ll stretch if you are clever. Enough to see you well into the winter. And for the first few months at least, the fish traps should continue to offer up something.”

  Even though John was listening, he could not make sense of what it was that he was being told. He frowned and shook his head.

  “Why are you telling me this, Ry?”

  Ryan set down his mug. He leaned in closer until their faces were only a
few feet apart, and John could smell the lilt of onions on his breath.

  “Listen, John, it’s not enough for the two of us to be living out here alone like this, not in the long term. It’s not healthy.”

  Still the words did not make any sense. They were scrambled like the blood pudding and lacked meaning.

  “But we aren’t alone, Ry, the village…” John began.

  “The village will not be there forever, John,” Ryan interrupted. His voice was insistent. “Of those that remain, only a few of them are still contributing to the trade pot. Mr. and Mrs. McCawley are in their late seventies, as are the Dorman’s, and nobody new has arrived for years now. Old Harrison—the crazy old bastard in the dock house—he lives alone now that his wife his gone. We cannot possibly hope to multiply…” He stopped and took a deep breath.

  “What are you saying, Ry?”

  Ryan looked away again. The soft down of his beard flickered auburn in the light of the slowly dying fire. “I’ve decided that tomorrow, I am going to take a journey. I’m going to follow the old train tracks south into the city. I want you to stay here and watch the farm while I’m gone.”

  The words struck John with the same shock and ferocity as a bolt of lightning. They were straight and to the point, not offering any room for negotiation. He began to tremble, feelings long forgotten suddenly returning. It was as though the fear that he had felt all of those years ago had simply been hiding on his back, waiting for the right moment to raise its ugly head.

  “But… Ry…”

  “I’m sorry, John, there’s no buts,” he said firmly. “My mind is made up.”

  Ryan stood and began to pace the room, looking at the floor, avoiding any eye contact.

  “I can’t just sit here and wait to die!” This time the words were hard, far harder than any used in regular conversation between the pair.