The Shuffling Dead Box-Set
Author: Ian Woodhead
Date: 2012-03-10 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies
Description: Enclosed within this box set are three of my zombie stories. The first two stories, The Unwashed Dead and Walking with Zombies are from my Zombie Armageddon series. The last story, ZombieDead is a stand-alone tale. The Unwashed Dead ------------------------- Breakspear Gardens was the roughest housing estate in the north of England. Smackheads, car thieves, burglars, violent ex-offenders, the estate had them all. The residents thought they had seen every type of subversive human behaviour, but even they weren’t prepared when the dead began to walk. In the midst of this sudden explosion of zomb

The Shuffling Dead: Three Novels

The Unwashed Dead

Walking with Zombies

ZombieDead

By Ian Woodhead

Copyright 2012 Ian Woodhead

Published by Flayed Bodies Press

The Unwashed Dead

By Ian Woodhead

Chapter One

Both heels of Ashton Naylor’s size ten boots crashed into the cupboard doors. He sighed loudly when he leaned forward and saw that he hadn’t even scratched the surfaces.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Not a bastard mark.”

Now if he’d put on his steelers, those fuckers would have gone straight through. He sat back on the kitchen surface and started to build his joint.

The kitchen was the quietest room in the house. The noise from the living room still leaked in, aggravating his annoying headache, but at least it was tolerable. Why the fuck did Darren always have to play this shit? Trance music annoyed the fuck out of Ashton yet it was obvious that he was the only one, judging by the amount of people packed in to the house, jumping up and down and screaming like a huge bunch of fucking retards.

Jesus fuck, this headache was bad, and he contemplated grinding up a few painkillers and sprinkling them into the joint as well.

The door abruptly burst open; he jumped and dropped his papers and tobacco onto the tiles. Ashton watched the papers drift down and land in a pool of spilled lager. He lifted his head, feeling the rage build up. His gazed settled on some scruffy tart holding the door handle and smiling at him, like he was a fluffy bunny in a pet shop window.

Ashton didn’t have a clue who she was, not that it should have surprised him; it wasn’t his fucking party was it? The house belonged to his mate, Darren Belmont, and he knew nearly every fucker on the estate.

“Shut that bastard door!” he screamed. “And make sure that you’re on the other side you dumb bitch.”

The girl yelped and ran back into the room. He closed his eyes and slowly counted to five; maybe that had been a little harsh. From what he saw, the lass had quite a decent body on her and if she was swanning about at one of Darren’s do’s then she was bound to be a bit loose. Not quite wizard’s sleeve, she only looked about fourteen, but still, he was sure the girl would have been a good lay. He dug into his pocket for his packet of Rizlas, if he thought that a shag would get rid of this fucking headache, he’d be after her like a shot.

The door began to open again, and he felt his rage boiling over, Ashton didn’t care who it would be, that cunt was going to get knocked out. His anger cooled ever so slightly when he saw Darren standing there, looking a little bemused

“Have you been upsetting my guests again Ashton?”

Darren strolled over and snatched the Rizlas out of his trembling fingers. “What the fuck is up with you today, guy? You’ve been acting like a puff with a sore arse all bastard day.”

“My head’s fucking banging that’s what,” he snapped. “I should have stayed home and gone to bed or something.”

Darren gave him the papers back all gummed and ready. “You too, eh? There must be something going round,”

Ashton muttered thanks and fished out his battered baccy tin from his jacket pocket.

“My mum said she had a headache too.” Darren replied.

“Where is she now?”

He shrugged. “Search me, Mum fucked off to the shops with Dad a bit back for some more tablets, they’re probably in the pub by now getting pissed. Good riddance too. I can do without those two old bastards coming back here; they’d have a right fit if they saw the state of the place.”

After the third attempt, Ashton managed to prise the lid off his tin.

“Is it your old man? Is he still giving you a hard time?

He slowly shook his head; apart from this pain, he wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, his dad hadn’t bugged him for weeks, he hadn’t even seen the cunt for three days now, he reckoned that his dad was seeing that old trout with the big tits who worked in the Horse and Jockey again. He’d probably been staying at her gaff.

“Dunno Daz, its lots of little things this time.”

Darren took out two Bensons and offered Ashton one; he declined and started to sprinkle tobacco along the paper groove.

“It ain’t my dad this time, Darren; he’s been cool with me so far this week.”

“Yeah well, if he does get fresh; just say the word and I’ll deck him for you.”

That meant a lot to Ashton, he would too. Daz was a good mate.

“Do you know Kevin Riley?”

Darren shook his head then grinned; “Oh yeah, that’s Adrian’s little brother, a spindly little bastard with a big nose.”

Ashton nodded. “The indignant little fuck looked at me funny this morning.”

Darren burst out laughing. He felt the rage returning. Mate or no mate, nobody laughed at Ashton.

Darren placed both hands on Ashton’s arms, “Calm down guy, I ain’t laughing at you, just the situation. I know what it’s like; all the little things build up and make you explode like a big fucking volcano.”

“Erupt.”

“What?”

“It’s erupt, that’s what volcanoes do.”

“Whatever, I know what I mean. Look pass me that spliff will you, you’re making a right fucking mess of it.”

Ashton gratefully handed over his gear and gripped his black denim jeans so Darren wouldn’t see just how badly his hands were shaking, he watched with astonishment as his mate built up the joint like a seasoned pro. Darren made it look so easy.

He handed Ashton the now completed spliff. “Somehow, my old man found out that it was me who did those two houses on Beacon Park.”

“Who grassed?”

Darren shrugged, “Doesn’t really matter now, it’s not like anyone will own up. I’m more bothered about what the old bastard will do now.”

Darren’s dad used to be a legend a few years back. Breakspear Rise, the posh estate next to theirs, was his favourite haunt. No house was safe from him. Ashton heard that he’d once escaped the clutches of two coppers by squeezing out of a heating vent. It appeared that his son had inherited his skill for breaking and entering; much to his dad’s horror.

Ashton shook his head, “I don’t think you should beat yourself up about it mate. He’ll not do bugger all, he didn’t last time did he.?”

His dad had personally threatened to shop his own son to the police if he ever found that Darren had chosen to follow the same career path as his old man.

Ashton used both hands to place the spliff between his lips and allowed Darren to light the end.

“Two’s?”

Ashton nodded.

“Don’t you worry about me;” said Darren, “let’s get you sorted. Now why didn’t you accept my little present?”

Ashton shook his head; this grinding headache was affecting his concentration, had he just missed a conversation? He took a deep toke of the joint and relaxed slightly as the dope took the edge off the pain.

“Claire was well upset with you screaming at her like that.”

He finally worked out what Darren was talking about. “So what?” he replied “She’s like twelve or something.”

“Claire’s sixteen, dude and believe me when I say that she’s very up for it and she fancies the hell out of you.”

Ashton took in another lungful of smoke before passing it over. Maybe Darren was right. A comfortable bed and some nubile young nymphet kissing and caressing his naked body could be just what the doctor ordered.

“She’ll sort you out lad; I promise you that young Claire will fuck the stress out of you.”

Darren fumbled around in his back pocket, then handed him a small key. “You wanna hear something really funny? Claire is Kevin’s older sister. Go on, get yourself sorted and I’ll send her up.”

Ashton jumped off the kitchen top and stumbled over to the hallway door. “I won’t forget this one, Daz. You’re a good mate you are.”

Darren nodded while taking in the last dregs of the joint. “You owe me one.”

He opened the door and threaded his way through the kids in the hallway, now that the drug was working its way through his body, the annoying plebs surrounding him and that fucking awful music wasn’t bothering him as much. Even the headache had begun to diminish. He lifted a can of Special Brew out of some cunt’s outstretched hand as he staggered up the stairs; he turned his head and just dared the greasy blonde fucker to take offence. The coward just blanked him, bent down and picked up another can from the small collection by his feet.

Ashton grinned and took a deep swig. He reached the top of the stairs, finished off the lager and threw it over his shoulder then gazed out of the window. The party had now spilled out into the garden, he wondered if anyone had called the police yet.

In the distance, he saw a cavalcade of blue flashing lights; it looked as though the filth was otherwise engaged tonight.

“I’d better go piss.” he muttered.

Predictably, the bathroom door was locked; Ashton put his ear to the door and listened. The sound of panting and groaning reached his ear, he looked at the key in his palm and grinned, it looked like someone didn’t have the same perks as Ashton. He banged his fists on the door and giggled at the sound of something hitting the floor, He was willing to bet a fiver that some cunt in there had just fallen over.

“Fuck off!” came the muffled reply.

Ashton recognised that voice; it belonged to Bill Curry, one of Ashton’s dealers.

“Open up you dirty fucker, I wanna go piss.”

“I told you, I’m busy.”

He brayed on the door one more time before padding over to Darren’s bedroom, Ashton unlocked the door, looked in and grinned at the massive bed, he couldn’t wait to get busy on there. He shut the door then made his way towards the stairs. He decided to fertilize the many weeds that infested Darren’s back garden, besides he needed a bit of fresh air, perhaps it would help to clear his thick head.

The girl who caught both barrels of his temper was trying to push her way through the thronged drunken idiots at the foot of the steps. Ashton had forgotten her name already. Not that it mattered, it wasn’t not like he intended to use it.

“Let her through.” he snarled.

Like Moses parting that sea in Greece or whatever, everyone moved to the sides of the stairs. Now that she had regained her composure, Ashton found that she really was quite fuckable and it pleased him to think that in a few minutes, he’d be deep inside the little bitch.

When she drew level to him, Ashton stroked her thick, blonde hair then dragged his fingers down the front of her body; she gave out a theatrical moan as he squeezed her left tit.

“It’s that door there, I won’t be long.” he said.

The girl smiled, “Oh, don’t you worry, and I know where Darren’s bedroom is.” She winked and brushed past him. “I’ll make sure that the bed is nice and warm for when you get back.”

The cool night air felt like he’d just had his lungs de-iced when he stepped out into the rubbish strewn garden. He pushed past a couple of young girls, both wearing next to fuck all and grabbed the catch on the side gate.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said when he saw the huge padlock. “Where the hell did that come from?”

He found it a little ironic that Darren’s dad had started to lock up the gate, like there was anything in the garden worth nicking.

Now that he was away from the music he could hear the sirens. Ashton wondered what was happening, he guessed that a bunch of kids must have set fire to an old mill or something. Ashton then realised that he didn’t really give a shit and if he didn’t hurry up and have a piss, he’d end up soaking his trousers. He climbed over the gate, squeezed past the disassembled remains of a couple of motorbikes and hurried through the side yard and jumped onto a half completed patio that Darren’s dad had started building a few years ago, he saw a nice patch of greenery and ran over to it.

Ashton unzipped his fly and watered a patch of nettles, sighing in contentment. He closed his eyes and smiled at the thought of that young tart upstairs patiently waiting for him, what the fuck was her name? His eyes shot open at the sound of two large explosions detonating further up the estate.

“Jesus! It’s a bit fucking lively round here tonight. Where the fuck do you get fireworks in July?”

He jerked his head down to the ground when he felt a sharp stinging sensation at the end of his penis. His first thought of him straying too close to those nettles evaporated when he saw an old woman had crawled out of those weeds; she had gripped the tip of his penis in her outstretched hand. It was Darren’s mother.

“What the fuck?”

He screeched as the woman squeezed his shaft tight and pulled him closer to her open mouth. In panic, he swung back his leg and kicked the woman full force in her side, it had no effect, it was like booting a rolled up carpet.

“Get off me you bitch!” he sobbed.

Oh God! The pain was unbearable but it was nothing compared to the excruciating agony that crashed through his body as she clamped her teeth around his penis then snapped her teeth together, slicing it in two. Ashton collapsed, gasping, he was close to passing out. She crawled over his prone body, he tried to push her off, but the blood loss had made him as weak as a baby.

He looked towards the gate in the hope that someone had heard his screams; instead he saw another crawling figure heading towards him. It was the last thing he ever saw before the woman fastened her jaws around his neck.

Chapter Two

That blackened window was taunting him; he counted to three then looked through the eye piece one more time just to make sure. The light still hadn’t come on. Where the bloody hell was the woman? Mrs. Bradley had never missed a session in all the three weeks he’d been watching the window. No matter how hard Kevin Riley willed it, that comforting, warm, peach glow did not illuminate the room. The curtains weren’t thrown back and Andrea Whitley’s mum was not going to get undressed in front of that window.

“I take it that the woman still hasn’t shown up yet, Kev. Does that mean you ain’t gonna get your nightly perv?”

Kevin put his binoculars down on the window sill and turned to glare at Thom Crowley. His glare increased in intensity when he saw him reaching up to touch his First World War bayonet that was fastened to the wall.

“It won’t come off you know. My dad’s like welded it on.”

He really wanted to tell Thom to stop fucking about with his stuff but that wasn’t going to happen, the lad was twice his size and like a million times harder.

Kevin now realised that he’d made a major mistake inviting this meathead into his house. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time to ask him to come over. He’d never told anyone about what Andrea’s mum had been getting up to these past few nights before but what was the point of having a little secret if you couldn’t share it? Especially if it helped out Kevin’s dire situation. Of all the idiots in school, Thom was the only one who treated him with a smidgen of decency. By that he meant that the lad didn’t nick his money or kick the crap out of him every other day like all the other meatheads in school did. He was also a tough little bastard, nobody messed with Thom Crowley, even the older youths. It made sense, at least to him that if he could hook up with Thom then perhaps the others would leave him alone.

Kevin watched the boy slide one of his plastic soldiers along the edge of the bayonet and came to the conclusion that bringing him here was probably the worst idea he’d ever had. Thom was just like the others, a total dickhead.

The boy had already broken an aerial off one of his Space Marines and was now busy cutting a German paratrooper in two.

“I don’t think that your girlfriend is going to give us a show tonight is she?” He threw the two pieces of soldier at him. He laughed “I would have never guessed that you, of all people, would have turned out to be such a little perv.”

He giggled then frowned, “Bloody hell, this headache is driving me bat-shit. Has your mum got any aspirins?”

“It’s not perving,” he replied, ignoring Thom’s request for painkillers. “She does it right in front of her window with her light on, she ought to close her curtains. I mean, she may as well stand in the middle of the street and do it.”

He picked up the two pieces of his soldier and put them on the window sill next to his binoculars, he’d have a go at repairing him when he’d gotten shut of Thom.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t look?”

“Of course I would,” he replied. “But you have those binoculars so it’s perving innit!”

Kevin sighed.

“Now if it was Andrea herself stripping off or your lovely sister, then I’d watch.” He replied grinning.

Kevin didn’t understand why the boys around the estate all drooled over his sister, as far as he was concerned, she was a right ugly dog.

Thom gave that bayonet one last look before he climbed off the bed. “So what do we do now? I bet you don’t have any beer in the house or any fags.”

Kevin didn’t have a clue what to do now; he hadn’t thought that far in advance. That was a lie, he did know what he wanted, and he needed to get shut of him before he destroyed anything else in his bedroom.

“Are you going to ask your mum for some aspirin or what?”

He heard the front door slamming shut, which did not bode well, he guessed that his loving sister had returned from wherever the hell she went, a few hours earlier than he expected. Something had happened, something had gone wrong.

Bugger, there was no way that he’d go downstairs now.

“I wonder what’s going on out there.” Thom muttered. He walked past Kevin while gazing out of the window.

He turned around and followed Thom’s gave. The night sky was lit up like a Christmas tree; there were lights from cop cars everywhere. Kevin opened the window and peered out.

“Can you see anything?”

He shook his head; he didn’t think any of the cars were actually in the estate, just around the perimeter. A robbery perhaps? There were a load of shops just beyond the estate, including two banks, so it was a possibility.

“I bet it’s a murder. That’s the only reason why there’ll be so many pigs crawling around.”

Kevin was about to gently suggest that his idea about a robbery was more probable when he stopped and bit his lips, he may have found a way to get him out of his bedroom. He picked up his binoculars, “Why don’t we go have a look?”

The big lad smiled, “Sounds like a good plan to me. Are those things any good?”

He handed them over, “Focus in on that house over the road. The one with the high brick fence around it, you can even count the petals on the roses with those beauties.”

Thom kneeled down and brought the glasses up to his face, after a moment he put them back down, “What are you on about? There are no flowers in that garden, just a great big bloody hole in the middle of the lawn.”

Kevin heard Claire banging about in the kitchen, it really did sound like she was in a bloody foul mood. A sense of urgency crept in; there was no way that he could suffer a confrontation with her tonight.

Thom stood up; he noticed that the lad hadn’t given him back those binoculars. Kevin got the uncomfortable feeling that he’d never hold them again. Was the loss of a vintage pair of binoculars a small price to pay to get this lump of meat out of his bedroom? After some considerable thought, Kevin decided that it was.

“He’s probably planting a tree or something,” he said. “Even so, you have to admit, the detail is pretty sharp.”

“I’ve seen better.” Thom replied.

Kevin doubted it.

The boy walked over to the bed and picked up his coat. “You ain’t gonna puke on me if there is a dead body are you?”

“Of course not,” Kevin replied, grinning. “I didn’t throw up when they buried my grandma a couple of years ago; in fact I was the only one who didn’t cry.” Kevin wept out a large puddle when his grandma died but Thom wouldn’t know that. He heard someone making their way up the stairs.

Shitting hell! That’ll be Claire, no doubt looking for some poor bastard to unleash her temper on. He headed for the door. Bugger it; he’ll let Thom take the flak.

“I won’t be a moment, I just need to piss.”

He hurried out and pushed open the door next to his. Kevin was reluctant to leave Thom in there by himself as he had loads of valuable gear in his bedroom but what else could he do? There was no way that he could suffer another showdown with his sister.

Kevin locked the door and padded over to the toilet, his mind was in turmoil, what if Thom said something about him spying on the woman when they went back to school on Monday? His life would be made even worse, if that was even possible.

There was nothing else for it; somehow Kevin would just have to persuade Thom to come back tomorrow night. Andrea’s mum had yet to miss a performance on a Saturday. Last week had been very exciting; especially when she stood on something to reach the top of the curtains, Kevin’s eyes had almost popped out of his head when her bush came into view.

Kevin knew for a fact that if Thom saw something like that tomorrow, he’d never tell anyone, it would be their special secret; it might even bring them closer together.

He unzipped his fly and lifted the toilet lid while wondering who else on the estate watched her strip off and dance naked in front of her window, Kevin couldn’t be the only one who eagerly waited for her performances. He bet that he was the only one who had a decent set of binoculars though.

The tiles received a spray of piss when someone hammered on the bathroom door. He clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t say anything that would earn him a slapping.

“For fuck’s sake, come on you annoying little bastard, I need a shit.”

His sister had such an eloquent way with words. “I won’t be long.” he shouted back.

She brayed on the door again. Bloody hell! Couldn’t she just leave him alone for a couple more minutes? What was she doing out there? It sounded like she was trying to dig her way through the bloody wood.

“I said, I won’t be long." he shouted as he zipped up.

This was so unfair, it looked like he was going to get his confrontation after all, Kevin should have stayed where he was, him and Thom could have then slipped out while she went to the bog.

Kevin unlocked the door and grabbed the handle, knowing for a fact that this day just couldn’t get any worse. As he turned the handle, the door flew back, almost knocking him into the bath. Kevin gasped in horror as two figures spilled into the room. Claire fell onto the hard floor with the other boy landing on her stomach.

“What the fuck are you doing, Thom?”

Kevin jumped back as Thom’s arm snaked out and tried to grab his leg. The blows that Claire rained down on her assailant were having no effect, her eyes met Kevin’s, the look of desperation and terror he saw in there kicked him into action.

He ran forward and grabbed the back of Thom’s hair and pulled, he found himself flying back into the wall, holding a handful of black hair. Thom didn’t even scream out.

“Get the fuck off her.” he moaned.

Thom lunged towards the screaming girl, her shrieks intensified as he fastened his teeth on her cheek and bit down. Her shrieking abruptly stopped when Thom pulled his head back, leaving behind a bloodied red hole in the side of her face.

Kevin tore his gaze away from the dying light in his sister’s eyes and looked at the boy sat on Claire’s chest, chewing like a contented cow.

Thom turned his head, he stopped chewing and began to moan, and Kevin’s eyes widened in disbelief when Claire began to move again and started to moan too.

“Claire?”

Her eyes were as still as those in a filleted fish, he knew that she was dead and yet she still moved. His mind tilted to one side and threatened to shut down completely. His instinct for self preservation only reasserted itself when he spotted that Thom still had hold of his pissing binoculars. He snatched them from his fingers and brought them down upon the top of Thom’s head.

“These are mine, you fucking murderer.” he sobbed.

Kevin pulled them out of the top of his head, watching in morbid fascination as the circular indentation began to fill up with dark red blood. Thom didn’t seem to notice that he’d been hurt. He brought them down again, harder this time then jumped over the sprawl of legs and arms. He looked back to see Claire pushing the now still body off her.

There was no doubt that his sister had become just like Thom.

“I’m sorry.” he said as tears ran down his face.

She groaned louder when he took a step back.

“I’ll get help, I promise. Don’t you…”

Kevin groaned himself as he gazed down the stairs and saw another one, wrapped in filthy rags and wet mud as it heaved its broken torso up the steps one at a time while leaving behind a slug trail of dirt.

Kevin shrieked and raced for his bedroom.

Chapter Three

That sneaky landlord had changed the beer again; he’d swapped the expensive stuff for a barrel of cheapo homebrew. Ernest would put money down on it. He lifted the remainder of the pint to his lips and drained the dregs.

“Same again?”

Ernest nodded. Not that he was complaining. The stuff sliding down his throat tonight didn’t taste that bad; in fact it was a damn sight better than the swill they usually served in the Horse and Jockey.

He watched his drinking pal, Jeff; wobble over to the bar for refills. The next lot would be pint number five, judging by Jeff’s coordination, or lack of, maybe they ought to slow down. If the stuff they were chucking down their necks was indeed home-brew, Christ knew how strong it was. Hell, the potency probably altered with each pint. Besides, Ernest had to get up early for work in the morning.

He leaned back and absently dug his finger into one of the numerous holes sliced into the once plush green upholstery and smiled to himself. Listen to him, getting sensible all of a sudden. Ernest frowned; only it wasn’t all of a sudden was it? His house-breaking days were well and truly over. It must be nearly nine years now since he’d last done a burglary, he’d been working at the mini-market for Mr. Singh for six years now.

Two pints slopped down on the table.

“What’s up with you, Ernest? You’ve got a face like a smacked arse. Is that Paki at work giving you a hard time again?”

Ernest shook his head. “Don’t call him that, my boss is a decent bloke, Mr. Singh treats me okay. He’s worked hard to get where he is.”

Jeff laughed, and then carefully picked up his glass. “You worked hard to get where you were and then you gave it all away to stack fucking beans on a shelf for peanuts.”

He picked up his own pint and took a swallow; he didn’t want to go down this road again. Jeff went over the same old ground at least once a week. He tried to think of something else to say but his mind kept coming up with blanks, he’d known Jeff ever since they were kids and after over forty years of friendship, they must have exhausted all topics of conversation at least twice over.

“What do you think of the beer?” he asked. Hoping Jeff would take the hint and lay off with the ‘worst career move you ever did’ speech. Christ knows what he’d say if he told him that his lad, Darren, was following in his father’s footsteps despite Ernest giving him all those dire warnings. Knowing Jeff he’d probably say that it was a good career move.

Jeff nodded. “This is bloody good stuff, mind you my taste buds are all shot to fuckery tonight anyway. I made myself a well hot curry for tea.”

“Since when did you like curries?”

Jeff shook his head and downed a half pint of liquid before answering. “I can’t stand the stuff.” He belched. “But I read this article somewhere that hot and spicy food gets shut of migraines, so I thought I’d give it a go. I also raided the medicine cabinet too. I’m telling you Ernest, my belly’s fucking rattling.”

“Our Brenda’s had a headache all day, maybe there’s something going round.”

“I doubt it, Ernest. She’s a woman, they always have headaches, what I’ve got is something worse. I may have to see the doctor about it in the morning.”

The way Jeff was slinging those drinks back, Ernest doubted that he’d see the morning. He slowly got to his feet; it was time to empty the old bladder.

“While you’re up, you may as well get the next ones in.”

Ernest didn’t really want another one, at least not yet. Hell, he’d only taken a sip out of this glass. Besides, he only had a couple of notes to last him until next week. He looked down at Jeff’s smirking face and lifted up his almost full pint; he swallowed before opening his mouth and knocking back the beer.

He nodded to Jeff, picked up both glasses and wandered over to the bar, it had to be done, he couldn’t discuss money problems with Jeff; the conversation would just wind back to the inevitable. Ernest placed the glasses on the bar.

“Fill ‘em up again will you sweetheart?”

The barmaid smiled and nodded before reaching for the glasses.

“Wait on! I was here first.”

Ernest and the barmaid both looked at the short man slumped against the bar. He silently groaned when he saw who it was; Steve Reynolds had been his personal pain in the arse ever since nursery. He lived a couple of streets away from Ernest, just behind the old graveyard. As a kid, Ernest often had fantasies of burying him in there, preferably still alive. Come to think of it, he’d still like to put him in there.

Steve gripped the edges of the bar and turned to face Ernest; it took a moment for the man’s eyes to focus but when they did, Steve scowled. “I should have fucking known it would be you. Buy me a fucking beer you cunt.”

Oh great, the man was as pissed as a bloody fart, Reynolds was a bastard at the best of times but when he had beer inside him, he just got plain mean.

He nodded over to the woman, “One for him as well.”

Ernest was going to end up with bugger all at this rate, but it was best to keep on Steve’s good side, when his mouth stopped talking, the fists came out to play. His Brenda had told him loads of times how he knocked the crap out of his wife and kids when he’d had a skinful. Ernest never understood why Brenda hung around with her in the first place. She knew full well the history he and Steve had.

He wondered what the pissed up knob-end would do if he ever found out that it was Ernest who broke into his home fifteen years ago and stole the family’s savings he’d found in the cornflake box in the kitchen, and then trashed the place. Ernest would have loved to have seen Steve’s face when he arrived home that day, especially when he climbed the stairs and looked into his bedroom to see that huge turd in the middle of his bed.

“Him? Who the fuck is ‘him’ supposed to be, the cat’s father?”

“Sorry, I meant Steve.” He hastily replied.

Ernest backed off and headed over to the toilets before Steve could have another pop at him.

“Wait up you, I ain’t finished.”

Ernest’s heart began to speed up, so the line had already been crossed, oh great. He watched Steve slide off the barstool.

“Come on Steve, aren’t we a little too old for this type of nonsense?” he said, desperately trying to defuse the situation.

“What, so I’m too old am I now?”

He looked over to Jeff, hoping to attract his attention but he had his head resting on the table. Oh bloody hell; he had no wish to get into a fight. His skin was saved as the door behind the bar creaked open. The barmaid came out followed by Desmond Naylor. That came as a bit of a shock to Ernest, he’d heard rumours that Des was seeing Annie but he had no idea that he was staying in the pub.

Des nodded to Ernest. “You alright?”

Ernest nodded back, unintentionally copying the big man’s posture. Desmond’s hair was soaked and his t-shirt clung to his bare chest, he had some soap in his ear, Ernest wondered if he dared tell him. He breathed a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that the tosser wouldn’t dare try anything on with him Des standing right behind him.

“I hope you ain’t upsetting folk again shortarse.”

Steve visibly cringed and tried to smile, it was not a pretty sight. “Of course not,” he replied, “We’re just having a bit of a laugh that’s all. Ernest offered to buy me a drink.”

He made that announcement sound as if Ernest buying that nasty fucking dwarf a pint was somehow genuine proof of their everlasting friendship.

Desmond laughed out loud; a fresh pint had magically appeared next to the big man’s left hand. “Don’t you try to bullshit me; you’ve been a right little twat to Ernest ever since he was knee high to a grasshopper.”

To be fair, Desmond did a fair amount of slapping when they were both kids as well but that stopped when they’d both turned over a warehouse on the outskirts of Bradford fifteen years ago.

“I think you’ll find that it’s you who’s buying Ernest a drink.”

“Don’t forget me!” shouted a voice from their table.

That was just like Jeff, where the hell was his friend when Steve was having a go at him? He retreated to the toilets, grinning from ear to ear when he heard Desmond calmly informing Steve that he was paying for his pint too.

Ernest was grateful that the gents were deserted, he leaned back against the tiles and closed his eyes, enjoying the silence and the solitude; he waited for his heart to slow down before he padded over to the urinals.

That Steve Reynolds had been inside for the best part of five years, he’d only just been released. Those bliss-filled nights of being able to walk into his favourite watering hole without risk of being hassled were well and truly over.

The Horse and Jockey was the only pub in the middle of the estate. There were a couple of other pubs within walking distance, the Crown and the Black Bull but there was no way that he’d dare show his face in either of those two. The locals from the Breakspear Rise estate had claimed them.

Ernest finished his business and made his way to the door, he didn’t want to go to another pub anyway. Why the bloody hell should he? He liked it here; this place had been his second home since he was sixteen.

He jumped back when the door pushed open from the other side and a young lad wearing a lime green shirt wandered in. He nodded to Ernest and he nodded back. He didn’t know the lad from Adam. Oh, he’d seen him in the pub a few times but that was about as far as it went, but they both drank in the same place so therefore they nodded to each other. The regulars in the Horse and Jockey all considered themselves to be part of the same family. It was that fucking Steve Reynolds who didn’t belong; he was the one who ought to bugger off.

Ernest grabbed the door handle and wished for the bastard to get sent down again. He re-entered the lounge and wandered up to the bar to collect his drinks. Ernest noted with great relief that Steve’s bar stool was now vacant, he hoped that the man had pissed off out of the pub or, even better had an heart attack and died.

His own heart sank when he spotted him in the games room, arguing with one of the youngsters next to the dart board.

“How’s your lad doing?” asked Ernest. “I haven’t seen him around ours for a couple of weeks.”

He didn’t really wish to start a conversation with big Des but if Steve happened to look over and saw them two getting all friendly, there was less chance of him coming back over. It would of course piss Jeff off too, knowing that his beer was getting warm and Ernest having no inclination to bring it over.

Desmond unwrapped his arms from around the barmaid’s waist and pulled himself another pint. “Our Ashton’s at your gaff tonight mate, along with half the teenagers on Breakspear.” Desmond smirked at Ernest’s shocked expression. “Oh dear, I’m guessing that you didn’t know that your son was having a drug crazed party then?”

He shook his head. No he didn’t have a bloody clue. He was going to tear Darren a new arsehole for pulling a stunt like this. Bloody hell, they’d just bought a new carpet for the living room as well, the thing would be ruined by the time this party ended.

“Your house is going to be in a right state.”

Ernest picked up the two pints, ignored Desmond’s smirking face and walked back over to their table; he was willing to put down his next wage that Brenda knew all about this party. Hell, she’d probably helped to organise it too.

“You took your bloody time.” Jeff said.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I had no idea that you were timing me. If had have known that, I would have run.”

Ernest placed the pints down on the table, gave Jeff a mucky look and collapsed into the seat. “Anyway, it’s about time you slowed down. You’re supping the stuff like its pop. You’re gonna be three sheets before last orders at this rate.”

Jeff grabbed his fresh pint like a starving man reached for the plate of roast beef. His friend was behaving very strangely tonight, stranger than normal anyway.

“Ere, did you know that our Darren was having a party tonight?”

Jeff nodded, “Sure, our Billy took his new bird there.”

“And you didn’t think of informing me?”

Jeff shrugged. “With it being your own fucking house, I had the feeling that you might already know.”

Ernest pulled a lump of foam out of the seat and rolled it between his fingers before flicking it under the table. “No wonder this place is like a bloody morgue tonight, they’ll all be at the party, wrecking my house.”

Jeff put his glass down; he’d already drunk three-quarters. “I don’t think they’ll all be at your gaff.”

He had a point there; the old fellow who propped up the end of the bar at weekends was missing. Ernest couldn’t remember his name, Dennis or David, something like that. Not that it was much of a shock; his wife, Ethel, had passed away last week. Those two doted on each other. He scanned the bar and saw that Scary Mary was missing too. She propped up the other end of the bar and never missed a night.

“I wonder where Mary is. I hope she isn’t at my house.”

A foil packet had appeared in the palm of Jeff’s trembling hand; he had four white caplets in his hand already and was busy popping the rest out. “Don’t talk wet, why would she be at your place? The fat bitch will probably be in bed with an electric blanket over her head.”

He threw the caplets in his mouth and swallowed them down with the last dregs of his beer. “And that is where I should be tonight.”

“So why aren’t you?”

He caught sight of Desmond lip dancing with the landlady and turned away, bloody hell! It looked like he was trying to eat her. That sort of nonsense belonged out of sight; it was putting him off his beer.

“Because it’s Friday night of course,” he replied. “It’s what we’ve always done ever since we left school at least it was until you got that bloody job.”

“What are you on about? I’ve had the job at the minimarket for the past six years.”

Jeff frowned. “Are you sure? It only feels like a week to me.”

He stood up and leaned on the table. “I think I’d better get some fresh air, I don’t feel so good.”

He watched his mate stagger over to the pub door, maybe he ought to walk the lad home, there was definitely something up with him tonight and it wasn’t the beer.

Ernest picked up his own glass, he didn’t really want it but there was no way that he was going to let it go to waste, he was determined to drink the bloody stuff just for the principle.

The glass slipped through his fingers when an ear piercing scream shattered the silence. He looked around wildly for the source. His dazed eyes stopped at the bar and refused to move. This could not be happening. Desmond still held the woman tight but the embrace was no longer a tender one.

She struggled like a fish on the end of a line as he lifted her by the neck off the carpet. Desmond growled then bit into her forehead and tore off a lump of flesh, he spat the piece out and dived back into her face.

Ernest’s stomach churned and he felt hot bile climbing up his throat, no way could this be real, it had to be someone’s idea of a very sick joke.

The screamer let out another blast and Ernest discovered that Desmond wasn’t the only walking abomination in the Horse and Jockey that evening. He finally tore his gaze away from the big man crunching into the still woman’s exposed skull as if it was a fucking apple and looked over to the dart board.

Steve Reynolds had pinned a young blonde girl against the wall, she was the screamer. Both her hands were against his head, she desperately tried to keep his snapping jaws away from her own face.

Ernest stood up, “What the fuck are you doing?” he screamed.

The crazed man didn’t react but Desmond did, he dropped the body and groaned aloud. He could see that the girl’s strength was beginning to fail, Ernest looked around the empty pub, and there must be somebody else who could help the poor girl. There was only him and the boy in the green shirt and he was huddled in the corner of the games room, clutching a pool cue as if it were a teddy bear.

He pulled himself out of the seat while watching that man behind the bar, he kept trying to reach Ernest, yet not realising that the now scarlet painted bar was in his way. He blinked and muttered a short prayer before he picked up a beer bottle left on the next table and ran towards the dart board and smashed it into the back of Reynolds’s head.

The girl screamed even louder as shards of broken glass showered her face. The bottle had little effect, if anything it helped to push the man closer to the girl.

“Don’t just sit there,” he shouted at the boy, “Fucking help me.”

The young lad didn’t even move his bloody head. Ernest moaned, what was he supposed to fucking do now? In frustration and panic, he grabbed the back of Steve’s collar and tried to pull him off the girl but it was useless, it was like trying to pull a pit-bull off a puppy.

“Duck!”

Ernest spun around, the boy now stood next to him, swinging a weighted sock around his head.

“Move it granddad.”

Ernest let go of the man and bobbed down. He winced at the sharp crack that the improvised weapon made as it impacted against Steve’s head. The man fell to the floor like a sack of bricks. He scurried back before the dark grey slop dribbling from the large dent in the front of Steve’s head reached his fingers.

“Oh Jesus fuck! What the bloody hell’s wrong with him?” moaned the girl. She growled before swinging her foot into the side of the man’s head. “That’s for trying to fucking bite me, you freaky bastard.”

The boy offered his hand; Ernest took it and hauled himself off the floor. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I’m Ernest.”

“Don’t thank me yet Granddad, we ain’t done just yet.”

Desmond had managed to get out through the serving hatch and headed straight for them. The boy forced a pool cue into Ernest’s hands.

“Here you go, Granddad, now it’s your turn.”

He look stupidly at the pool cue then jerked his head up and watched the huge pile of meat shamble towards them, what the bloody hell was he supposed to do with this? He might as well be armed with a fucking toothpick.

Desmond clacked his jaws together, it sounded like a mouse trap springing shut. The thing moaned even louder

“Don’t just fucking stand there, you gormless bastard, stab the cunt!”

Ernest thought of all those times when people like him and Steve knocked the shit out of him when he was younger; he remembered all the times when he visibly shook at the sight of them. He gripped the shaft tight with both hands then charged at Desmond, the big man made no attempt to dodge; it was almost like he welcomed death. Ernest was only too happy to oblige. He drove the point up through the man’s jaw and deep into Desmond’s brain. It surprised him just how easy the cue went in, there was hardly any resistance, almost like pushing a steak knife through a hot Sunday joint.

“Oh God, please take me home, Adrian,” said the girl.

The boy took her hand then let her towards the exit. He looked back at Ernest.

“Are you coming or what?”

Ernest nodded, wondering just when the world had gone insane. He looked around for his mate then remembered that he said he was going home. Bloody hell, he hoped that Jeff had got home safely.

Chapter Four

Dennis Flynn padded very slowly back into the living room, holding the cup of hot chocolate with both hands. It was his own fault; he really should have poured a little of it down the sink. It was only the surface tension stopping the stuff from slopping over the sides and spilling onto the carpet.

The coffee table was right in front of him; he leaned over and placed the cup gently down on the cork mat, amazed that he hadn’t lost a single drop. Dennis collapsed back into his favourite chair, wondering if he dared to actually taste it. He just knew that it would taste as vile as the last one he’d made a few minutes ago, perhaps it would be best to let it go cold and throw it down the toilet.

Dennis Flynn was an exact man. Making hot chocolate should have been as easy as putting on a hat, he’d followed the instructions to the letter and yet it still tasted bloody horrible, certainly not like as tasty his late Ethel used to make for him every night. Then again, his late wife wasn’t an exact person, knowing her; she probably wouldn’t have even read the instructions. He glanced down at the over-full cup, it looked the same as the ones she made for him, that was all that mattered, it was more of a sense of carrying on the routine than anything else.

Dennis gazed at the television noticing that it still showed the test card; that nugget of information did not surprise him in the least. He also knew that if he chose to turn the radio on again, only static would greet his ears. He picked up his binoculars, brought them to his eyes and fiddled with the focus wheel to bring the garden over the road into clarity. The road was quiet now; it appeared that Mr. Harding and that other chap had wandered off, probably to find more victims.

He had heard them slam their front door earlier on. His neighbours, Eileen and Donald Harding were going on their usual walk around the estate. They had been following this nightly routine for nearly twenty years now, every single night at ten on the dot.

Their sweet, sugar spun life had been a constant thorn in his side for over two decades. Their happy go lucky outlook made Dennis physically retch. Yet somehow, at least until tonight, they had never been beaten up, had their house broken into or had the local kids give them any verbal abuse. Anyone else stupid enough to walk around Breakspear at that time at night would have had to be either insane or mentally ill.

Their luck changed a little while ago when they saw a young man stumble over a low wall opposite their house and fall to the floor. Of course, they had gone to investigate, to see if they could be of any assistance. He watched the whole drama unfold through his binoculars, He felt like he was standing next to Donald. Just by watching the face of that strange man, Dennis just knew that those two good Samaritans were in serious trouble. He couldn’t contain his excitement when the man snapped out his arm and grabbed a handful of Donald’s hair as he bent over the man. He pulled him down and bit a large chunk of meat out of the side of his neck. The man was dead before he smacked into the tarmac.

The woman had screamed until she was blue in the face and at last it must have dawned on the woman that their neighbourhood wasn’t made of fluffy clouds and cute cartoon bunnies. The only response to her cries for help was the twitching of curtains and the locking of doors.

Her husband started to twitch a few minutes later, Dennis had trouble believing his own eyes, and this was getting better and better. He thought all his birthdays had come at once when both her husband and the strange man jumped on the woman and preceded to pull her apart like an old rag doll.

The woman was still where those two had left her, slumped against a lamppost on the other side of the road. Her left arm was lying in the middle of the road. He had no idea where the other one was.

That man may have done more damage to the woman but Dennis remembered that he had left a pan of water boiling in the kitchen and he didn’t want to the pan to boil dry.

Of course, he had played the good citizen and attempted to phone the police. After he’d checked on the pan, predictably the line was dead. It didn’t take a complete idiot to figure that all the events were connected. Something truly earth shattering was happening on his doorstep, Dennis was so excited.

He glanced at his watch; it had now been seven minutes since the old bag had been mauled. He zeroed in on her face, eager to see if his prediction would be confirmed.

When her facial muscles twitched followed by both eyes opening, Dennis whooped and gave himself a high five; his dull nights had become a great deal more interesting.

Maybe he should take the binoculars upstairs, into the spare room; he’d have a far better view of the estate. Dennis put them on the coffee table and rubbed his eyes before reaching for his reading glasses.

His nights had become very interesting recently when he noticed, quite by accident, the young woman over the road had taken to stripping in front of her bedroom window. The binoculars were bought out of his pension money from a second hand shop in Leeds the next day. He knew that he’d feel like a right buffoon if it had only been a one-off but she was there the next night and the night after that. He may have stimulated his long lost libido but it didn’t half bugger up his eyesight.

Dennis was rather upset and annoyed when the woman had failed to make an appearance tonight, of course now he knew why. He guessed that the poor woman was probably in the same state as Mrs. Hardy by now. His emotions changed from disappointment to astonishment when he witnessed that man crawling across the street. It was Ronald Spinks and he was dead, he’d died ten years ago. Dennis knew this because it was him who had murdered him and buried the body in the garden over the road while the house was between tenants.

From that point on, events just escalated, exhilarating him and scaring him both in equal measures. From the safety of his living room, he watched two old men, he was sure that one of them was Albert Pannier; it was difficult to tell because most of his face was missing. They lurched out of the alleyway between number eight and ten stopped right in front of a young mother pushing her pram and pulled the baby right out of its seat. It took them just seconds to extinguish the child’s light. The mother’s screams were cut short as they both dived on her too.

Just ten minutes later, Rebecca Westwood walked past his window holding her son’s hand. Daniel Westwood was only eight but he already had form; the little bastard had even tried to put Dennis’s windows through a couple of years ago. Dennis shot him in the leg with his air rifle from the bathroom window, the kid had been very polite to him ever since.

The two old men had dragged most of the pieces back into the alleyway but that pram, splattered with bits of baby still lay on its side in the middle of the road. Both Rebecca and Daniel paid it no heed as they walked past. Dennis was hoping that Rebecca’s maternal instinct would compel her to investigate; it looked, as his wife had always stated, that the girl didn’t have any.

It was just typical behaviour from Breakspear’s younger generation; they were so involved with their own sad and pointless lives that they just didn’t notice anything beyond their own blinkered vision. The feeling of community pride that thrived on the Breakspear estate when he and Ethel moved here, fifty years ago, was long dead.

Dennis had zoomed in on the kid’s face to see if the fallen pram would draw out any reaction from Daniel. His sullen features remained unchanged at least until they approached their garden gate.

The change was sudden as it was frightening. The light in Daniels eyes just went out and his face lost all of the animation. Dennis had seen this happen before lots of times, the most recent was when he watched his wife die. He was now looking at the face of a dead child.

His heart began to beat a little faster when Dennis realised just what was going to happen next. He moved a little closer to the window, eager not to miss this. Sure enough, the little boy suddenly lurched to a standstill just before they reached their gate, of course Rebecca must have just thought that her darling son was being awkward and proceeded to give him a good bollocking; how she failed to notice that the kid was now a walking corpse was beyond him.

The lass didn’t have the brains she was born with and Rebecca, like the rest of her family, weren’t born with that much in the first place. Daniel wrapped his arms around her neck and fastened his teeth round her jugular. He found it unnerving how they always went for the neck first; the two old men did the same with the young mother, but not with the baby. Dennis figured that they didn’t perceive that to be that much of a threat.

His hot chocolate was now cool enough for him to take a sip; he winced as the vile liquid hit the back of his throat. My God, this one tasted worse than the last one. This was just ridiculous, what on Earth was he doing wrong? Why did it not taste like his wife’s hot chocolate? It’s not like he could ask her now was it? Well, he could, but it was unlikely that Dennis would receive a coherent reply.

He grinned as he heard the slow, monotonous pounding on the cellar door. “And speak of the devil.” he murmured.

His loving wife had awakened from her not so eternal sleep. Trust Ethel to be late, she never was very prompt. Then again, the ropes he’d tied around her wrists and legs had been very tight; maybe it just took her awhile to work herself free. That would be ironic; before he’d taken the decision to bludgeon her with the lump hammer, she couldn’t tie her own shoelaces without his help.

Dennis stood up; he flicked through the channels one last time before turning off the TV. He supposed that he’d have to deal with Ethel before that noise drove him to distraction The trouble was that Dennis was at a loss as to how he was going to achieve this. Ethel was dead and Albert Pannier certainly was. The man had been rotting under a flower bed for the best part of a decade. How do you kill something that’s already dead? It wasn’t the sort of question that usually got asked.

The banging stopped, then re-started as he approached the kitchen door, the sound seemed louder, and it had definitely become faster, almost frantic. Could she sense that he was closer?

He had a machete under the bed and a shotgun hidden in the base of the wardrobe. Dennis was positive that one of them should be able to put an end to her. He paused for a moment as a screaming man ran past the living room window. Light bulbs went off in his head; he’d just had an epiphany. It was madness out there. Residents were consuming or being consumed, there had been no sign of any police or ambulance or even the army. They must know what was going on. Dennis figured that the area must have been sealed off. Why stop at Ethel? He looked up at the framed portrait of Clint Eastwood handing above the fireplace.

“The Rojos on one side of town, the Baxter’s on the other and me right in the middle.”

Dennis was going to have a lot of fun tonight, after all, it wasn’t like there was anything on the television.

Chapter Five

That shambling horde of undead rotting bastards had cornered him; there was no way that he’d be able to get past them, not this time. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, what was he going to do? He was surrounded; they’d eat him for sure if he didn’t find a way out. Bugger, he only had the baseball bat and the hockey stick left in his inventory.

Jacob Kingsley tugged at his long goatee, this was a bloody quandary. He couldn’t even ask his clan mates for assistance, the fucking internet had died an hour ago. He sighed then paused the game instead, playing off-line just wasn’t the same; it sucked big monkey’s balls. Leaning towards the television to study the screen, he looked past the frozen snarling dead faces to see if he could see a path through them, thank God, the designers had opted for the slow, shambling zombies, oh this was so annoying there must be something he had missed.

The snarling faces splattered all over the game box got his bloody goat when he first purchased Dead City Rising for his 360. Since when did zombies snarl? Everybody knew that was wrong. Still, apart from that major oversight, it was a pretty decent game, fucking hard too; Jacob had heard a rumour that someone in the States had actually clocked it on insane mode. Personally, he thought that rumour was a big pile of steaming poo. He couldn’t even finish the game on medium and Jacob knew that his gaming skills were bloody good, they ought to be; playing games was all he did in his spare time.

Dead City Rising 2 was supposed to be coming out next month. Just in time for his twentieth birthday. Of course he would be buying it himself, probably the only present he was going to get this year anyway.

It would be nice to have a party too, like that would ever happen, who on earth would he invite? Nobody liked him on the estate, which was cool as he didn’t like anybody either. Speaking of parties, he knew that the house over the road was having one tonight, not that he’d been invited, and not that he gave a fuck either. Just what did he have in common with the average brain dead scummy chav bastard that infested the streets of Breakspear apart from fuck all?

Jacob turned the telly off; he’d decided to find out what had happened to the internet. Those bastards had better not have cut him off, if they had, there’d be hell to pay, it’s not like he owed them any money.

While he was checking the wires downstairs, it might be an idea to get a bit of grub; maybe he could convince his mum to make him a sandwich. She was still in; he had heard her moving about a few minutes ago. Jacob wondered why she was still in the house; she ought to be down at the Horse and Jockey by this time, propping up the bar, it’s what she did on a Friday. What the hell was he talking about? She was in that place every fucking night. He remembered having his eighteenth birthday in that dump. God, that was embarrassing, almost as embarrassing as finding out that every scumbag on the estate called his own mum ‘Scary Mary’.

He slid his chair back and gave Bub a salute. The poster of zombie Bub from the original Day of the Dead movie directly above him saluted back. Apparently Dead City Rising 2 was going to have sprinting zombies in the game. He hoped to Christ that the rumour was wrong; it would completely ruin the game. Everybody knew that zombies did not run. It was like the first commandment or something.

He reached into his back pocket and brought out his phone, if mum was home then no doubt the fat bitch would be guzzling her way through the bottles of White Lightning cider at the side of the telly. She would be too fucked to stand up, never mind make him a sandwich. He decided to order out instead, the diet could wait until tomorrow.

There was no signal on his phone, oh bollocks; he’d have to go downstairs anyway to use the house phone, if he could find the bloody thing. Christ knows where his mum would have put it this time; buying the messiest woman in the known universe a cordless phone for Christmas wasn’t one of his better ideas. Jacob opened his bedroom door and wandered down the stairs.

When Jacob was a kid, his dream was to wake up one day to find that someone had swapped his parents during the night, he’d open his eyes to find himself in a luxurious house, clean and tidy and full of toys and best of all, his parents spoke to him like he was a normal human being. What was he talking about? He still had that dream. To have a mother that didn’t drink herself to oblivion or leave the house looking like a bomb site every day would be so cool. Jacob stepped over a pair of her dirty knickers, draped over a pile of old newspapers.

He wasn’t a bit like this, he kept his bedroom immaculate and the eighteenth party disaster had put paid to any notions of him accompanying his mum to the pub every night. He managed to get to the foot of the steps without breaking his neck. Jacob cringed when he saw the door handle was covered in buttery fingerprints. He took a step back, lifted up his foot and booted the door open. He shook his head and wandered into the living room.

Mary Kingsley wasn’t sat in her favourite chair, nor had she opened any bottles of cider. Scary Mary was kneeling down in front of the television with her face buried deep in their pet cat’s open stomach.

“What the fuck are you doing?” screamed Jacob.

Mary dropped the dead cat and lifted her vast bulk off the carpet, frothy scarlet gore dripped off her jowls. Mary groaned and took one step towards her son.

“Oh, my fucking God, My mum is a fucking zombie!”

Jacob stumbled out the living room and charged up the stairs; his racing mind rushed through the first level on Dead City Rising, he had twatted a big fat zombie woman in the underground train station, he threw a fire extinguisher at her head. Oh bloody hell; there must be something similar he could use to dispatch his mum.

He stopped at the top of the stairs and opened the curtains so he could check the outside; he just had to see if the rest of the estate was in the same situation, he had time. Jacob knew from experience that although a zombie’s sense of smell was far superior to a human’s, height confused them, even with the steps right in front of her; it would take her fucking ages to reach him.

Jacob looked out of the window and grinned like a lunatic. The zombie apocalypse had arrived. Oh God, this was just brilliant. He watched a lurching woman with no arms turning in a circle as an old man kept dancing forward, slicing into her with a long knife then dancing back out of her reach. A bit further down, near the main road, there was another zombie on the floor, one lad had his boot on the zombies arse while another bloke kept smashing what looked like a snooker cue over the zombie’s head. He had to get outside – and join in.

Mum had found the stairs; she had yet to figure out how to climb them.

“What’s wrong you dumb bitch?” he taunted, “Are the stairs a bit too hard for you to work out is it?”

He decided to kill her with dad’s old lava lamp, the glass would shatter, obviously but the base was mega heavy. Hell, he didn’t even have to move from the top step to do it.

“You wait there mum, I’m gonna get you a nice surprise.” He said before rushing into his parent’s bedroom. He hated going in here, not because he respected their privacy or anything, it just smelt bad, like a cross between sweaty socks and rotting bacon grease. The stench in here tonight was even worse, Jesus! What the hell had she been doing?

Jacob held his nose and scanned the dingy room for the lamp. This was just disgusting; he’d seen tidier landfill sites. He heard his mother groaning away at the bottom of the stairs, he was a little surprised that she was still down there and waiting for him.

At last, his eyes caught sight of the lamp, buried under a couple of bulging black bin liners, under the window. His parent’s bed was the only thing in there that was relatively free of detritus; he couldn’t even see the carpet. There had been evidence of a tidy up, by that he meant all the rubbish pushed to the edges of the room, but that would have been in the distant past. Torn supermarket carrier bags spilling their contents of old newspapers and puzzle magazines competed for space with discarded clothes and DVD’s.

He figured out what the spicy new stench was when he located a load of cat poo layered between a horse racing pullout and a TV listings magazine dated last month. Jacob stood on the head of a broken vacuum cleaner and dived onto the bed, there was no way he was standing on that carpet.

As he bounced across the bed, Jacob weighed up the pros and cons between going it alone or joining a group. Judging by how the zombie mum was acting, these buggers were the slow type, he smiled.

“Up yours Dawn of the Dead remake.”

Racking up a decent kill count shouldn’t be that much of a problem, God he wished he could get hold of a shotgun. As more unfortunate souls joined the ranks of the dead, their swelling numbers would present a major predicament. He had no desire to go the same way as his game character, thank you very much.

Joining the nearest band of survivors would probably be his best chance of surviving the apocalypse. The social barriers that prevented him from interacting with the rest of the people on Breakspear would now be gone; everybody would work together in order to defeat the common adversary. Any group would of course welcome Jacob with open arms; everyone on the estate knew that he was the resident zombie expert. For the first time in his life, he would be accepted and loved.

Jacob kneeled down at the edge of the bed and pushed his arm through the black metal railings on the footboard and reached towards the lava lamp. As soon as he’d finished taking out his zombie mum, Jacob could get on with enjoying his new life. His future never looked so bright.

The boy squealed when a hand snaked out from under the bed and fastened around his wrist, he tried to pull away but only succeeded in dragging the owner of the appendage out.

“Oh God no, Dad let go please!”

His father regarded him with dead eyes then opened his mouth and like a cobra he darted forward. The searing pain exploded through Jacob’s body when the man bit into his bicep. He reared back with a lump of his son’s arm still in his mouth, only then did he release Jacob.

The boy fell back, he clutched his damaged arm, moaning and sobbing, and gazing in disbelief as his scarlet life fluid spurted through the cracks in his fingers. He looked up, whimpering when he discovered that his mother had found her way up the stairs. He sobbed one last time as the dead woman lurched up to the edge of the bed and fell on to him with her mouth wide open.

Chapter Six

That last screw had somehow managed to defeat every tool in Kevin’s modelling box. Even the butter knife that he found under his bed was no match for the stubborn bastard, in the end he just lost his rag and battered the fucker off the wall with the end of a never-worn ice-skating boot. To make things worse, the noise he made got those things outside his door all worked up.

Kevin had thought, or at least hoped, that they had gotten bored with waiting and left the house, but no, they were still there. To make matters worse, if that was fucking possible, he heard three different moans; it appeared that Thom wasn’t as dead as Kevin had first thought. Bloody hell, what did you have to do to kill the bastards?

He gazed down at the genuine piece of war memorabilia and wondered if this would stop them. It was sharp enough to cut through flesh; he had no doubts about that. He had made a right mess of Star Wars wallpaper while practising his stabbing techniques.

His bayonet wasn’t really the issue, Kevin knew, deep down, that he could be armed with an assault rifle and grenades and still be in the same position. The problem was him; he’d never been the confrontational type, which was ironic considering the vast amount of military junk that littered his room.

Ever since he was young, he had negotiated or tricked his way out of potential fights and arguments, and if that didn’t work then he just ran as far as fast as his legs could take him.

He jumped when one of them banged against the door. Those tactics weren’t going to work with those things were they? Oh Jesus, just where the hell could he go? Kevin was trapped in his bedroom. He hurried over to his window and peered out, he might have a chance out there, on the street. He spun around as they banged on the door yet again: this time he actually saw the door frame shake.

His gut dropped when he saw a pair of grey, skeletal hands appear under the door: the fuckers were trying to find a way in. How long would it take for them to burst through and launch into his poor body? One hour, maybe two? He shook his head and pressed his back against the door, knowing that even with the blade he’d be hard pressed to stop one, never mind three, of the bastards.

How long would it take them to realise that his door wasn’t as solid as it looked? His dad had once put his fist through his sister’s door during one of their drunken arguing bouts. The fingers disappeared and the banging resumed, they were going to be through that bloody door as if it was made from paper maché. He let out a hysterical giggle; it probably was.

The door handle began to turn. Kevin screamed.

“No you flipping don’t!”

He raced over and grabbed the foot of his bed and pushed it across the door. Bloody hell, he was such an idiot; he should have done that in the first place! Why didn’t he run into Claire’s bedroom? Her door had a massive lock and bolt on it. The handle swung down and flipped back up again. Were they learning or remembering? Why was he even asking? If he didn’t do something, he would soon be their dinner, even with the bed blocking the door, it wouldn’t hold them forever.

The light from the full moon shone through the window; he heard no sounds at all from outside. There had been a few screams earlier but nothing for a good few minutes since. He picked his bayonet off the bed and opened the window to get a better view. Breakspear looked deserted. He looked up and saw the telltale flashing light of an aircraft slowly descending.

“Maybe it’s just happened in the estate; I bet the rest of England is still ok...”

The handle turned and this time it stayed down. He leaned out, it was a fair way to drop but the ground should be soft. If he stayed in the middle of the road and ran like fuck he’d be on the main road in five minutes.

“And back to normality.”

He threw the bayonet out, looked up and down the street one last time and climbed onto the window sill. When the door was pushed open a couple of inches and his bed moved across the room, he screamed and nearly jumped there and then.

They still couldn’t get in, not yet anyway. Kevin turned, his eyes fixed on that door. Two pairs of hands reached around and inched up and down the edge, one pair belonged to his sister.

Maybe there was a cure for this already; maybe it still wasn’t too late to save the ones affected.

“I’ll come back, Claire,” he whispered. “I promise.” He eased his legs and body out into the warm night air, he doubted that the drop would hurt him if he hung from the window and dropped to the floor; it should only be a few feet.

As he hung to the outside window ledge and was preparing to let go, his boot was grabbed. He jerked his head down and saw Thom’s head leaning out of the open living room window; the boy’s hand guiding his foot towards his snapping jaws. He felt his fingers slipping: oh fuck, if he let go now, he would break his bastard neck when he hit the ground.

He swung his other foot into Thom’s face: he felt the crunch of broken teeth but the grip on his boot still remained firm. Kevin booted him again. This time he managed to find the spot he’d already hit with the binoculars. His foot sank into Thom’s head: it felt like he’d just booted a watermelon. The hand released his foot just as both of Kevin’s hands slipped off the wooden sill. He instinctively brought up his knees when his feet crashed into the lawn.

Kevin rolled away from the window then shakily got back on his feet. He’d done it! He couldn’t believe that he’d just jumped out of his own pissing window. He reached down and snatched his bayonet out of the lawn and looked over at the downstairs window.

He managed a strangled laugh. “Got you that time, didn’t I?”

Thom’s upper half sprawled out of the window, he wasn’t moving. Kevin tapped Thom’s head with the flat of his blade then jumped back. He still didn’t move.

“I got you that time.” he repeated. He used the deep grass to wipe off the thick mess, coating the front of his boot. Events would have been so much different if Kevin had opted to wear his comfortable fabric trainers when he changed out of his school uniform tonight.

“Oh, Jesus!” Kevin fell to his knees and threw up his last meal into his dad’s flower bed.

The sound of moaning made him look up towards his bedroom window, he wiped his chin on the back of his hand then let out a small moan of his own. She’d managed to get into his bedroom, Claire’s hungry eyes viewed him as a dog looked at a rabbit, she slowly blinked before turning around and disappearing from view.

He rushed over to the garden gate, unlatched it and ran out into the still deserted street, Kevin glanced behind him; he could see Claire through the kitchen window making her way towards the open front door, oh fucking hell! The bitch was following him.

Yeah well, let her. It’s not like she’d be able to catch him. Kevin ran into the middle of the road and sprinted to the end of the street, he stopped and turned. Claire had reached the gate; she paused too then slipped out of the garden and lurched away in the opposite direction.

Kevin turned onto Breaks Road and walked over to the white lines; he stopped in the middle and slowly turned in a tight circle. It felt like he was the last person on the estate still alive, nothing moved. The main road leading out of the estate was at the end of this street; he consoled himself knowing that in a few moments his nightmare would be over. He started to jog; there was no point in knackering himself out by going hell for leather. He passed an upturned pram in the middle of the road and turned away when he saw the lumpy mess spattered all over the tarmac, not wanting to dwell upon the horror that must have happened on this spot earlier tonight. Jesus, the whole of Breakspear had descended to hell.

Without realising what he was doing, he backed away from the pram, his mind conjuring images of a zombie infant crawling towards him, clacking its jaws like a set of comedy teeth.

“Is the situation not bad enough without you thinking up disturbing shite like that?” muttered Kevin.

In a house, a few doors from where he stood, an upstairs light flicked on. His hope surged by the fact that he wasn’t the only person on the estate still alive. No dead person would turn on a bloody light, unless they leaned on it. He altered course and jogged towards the house, the feeling that he was still alone had left him.

As he approached, a high pitched scream blasted out from the room. Kevin shuddered to a halt and fell to his knees, he couldn’t take any more of this; it was just too much.

The screaming abruptly stopped and Kevin spared a single thought for the poor bastard who had just been got. He didn’t have a clue who lived there; unlike the rest of his family he had kept himself to himself. He guessed he’d feel a lot bloody worse if he actually knew who had lived at that house.

It was bad enough when his sister turned into one of them and they hadn’t liked each other for years; it was like having a stranger living in the house. Kevin enjoyed being alone and yet for the first time in his life, he craved for company.

The silence was broken when he heard frantic tapping on glass; he automatically looked over to that window before realising that the noise came from a window a few feet from where he was kneeling.

Through tear-soaked eyes, he saw a round, pink blur pressed against the rear window of an estate car, parked on the other side of the road.

Kevin heard the door open as he wiped his eyes; he got ready to run, just in case the figure turned out to be one of those things.

He watched a young girl, possibly a year older than him approach. He didn’t have a clue who she was; he didn’t recognise her from school.

“Oh, my God!” she gasped. “Are you really alive?”

Kevin nodded.

The girl sobbed and ran up to him; she wrapped her arms around him, hugged him tight and buried her face into his shoulder. Her brown hair smelt of strawberries.

“I thought I was the only one left.”

Kevin didn’t know whether he should hug her back or not, he’d never hugged a girl before. He decided to risk it.

“My mum’s dead.” She peeled her face off his shoulder and nodded over to the house next to them. “We only came to drop off my Gran’s birthday present. Everything was normal, and then all of a sudden my dad dropped the paper he was reading and jumped on my mum.”

She put her head back. The girl quietly sobbed.

“What the hell is going…” the girl stopped in mid sentence, her body went rigid and she began to moan.

“What’s wrong,” he said, fearing the worst. Kevin tried to release her grip but she wouldn’t let go.

“There’s one behind you.”

She finally let him go; then grabbed his hand and dragged him to the car. Kevin spun his head to see a woman with no arms staggering towards them.

He was so focussed on her that he failed to notice the thudding sound of approaching boots until it was too late. The bayonet was snatched from Kevin’s grasp.

“Give me that knife you fucking useless clown.”

He watched, gob-smacked, as a gangly youth wearing a biker’s jacket and sporting a blonde crew cut ran forwards and pushed the blade through the woman’s eye. The youth then lifted his leg high and booted her to the floor.

“How the fucking hell have you two managed to stay alive for so long?”

He ran up to the corpse and pulled the bayonet out of her head, wiped both sides of the blade on the woman’s coat, and tucked it under his belt.

“I mean, just how dangerous can this bitch be? She’s got no fucking arms and yet you still piss your pants and cringe away.”

Kevin tried to place the boy’s face as he swaggered up to them; he’d seen him around the estate but didn’t know his name. He did know that the lad hung around with Ashton Naylor so obviously the bastard was going to be trouble.

“Is this your girlfriend, big nose? She’s cute, far too pretty for an ugly cunt like you.”

The boy pushed past him and tried to place his arm around her shoulder. She whimpered, ran behind him and got hold of Kevin’s hand.

He had difficulty describing how her clinging to him made him feel; his mother had been the last female to hold his hand…when he was about nine.

The tall lad sneered. “Suit yourself you weird bitch. I’m Darren by the way. I expect to hear you scream my name when the next dead freak wants to scoff you and your queer boyfriend.”

He spun around and stormed away.

“Good riddance,” muttered the girl.

Kevin wished he knew what this girl was called. Why was he so scared to ask her name? He watched the tall boy getting further and further away and began to panic.

“Wait on!” he shouted.

The girl squeezed his hand; he felt the same way but Darren knew Ashton and that meant that the fucker was well hard. It may only be about half a mile to the edge of the estate, but Christ alone knew what could jump out on them between here and the edge. He was sure that he could swallow his pride for the next few minutes. The girl would understand his reasoning, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t be able to protect her, Darren had stolen his bayonet.

Darren stopped and turned, “Are you addressing me?”

“Do you not want to come with us?” he stammered. “We’re getting out of here.”

The boy slowly grinned without humour and walked back up to Kevin. “Well then, why the fuck didn’t I think of doing that? I mean, here I am running about like some brainless turd just hoping that someone like you would show me the light.” He rapped his fist on Kevin’s forehead. “The estate’s been cut off, you fucking moron.”

Darren sighed. “Wait on, I bet this is the first time that you two scared little bunnies have dared to venture out of your hidey holes, isn’t it?”

Kevin nodded; it seemed the safest thing to do.

“Trust my luck to be saddled with a pair of little mice.” He muttered then grabbed hold of Kevin’s arm and pulled him out of the girl’s grasp. “You stay there, princess.” He bent down to Kevin’s level. “If you want to stay with me, you’d better pull your fucking weight. Are we clear on that?”

Kevin nodded again.

“I was with a couple of lads earlier and they pulled their weight, we made a good team until some army cunts in gasmasks put bullets through their brains.”

Darren gave him back the bayonet

“You’re gonna fuck up the next zombie we find. If you start blubbing or try to run away, I’ll ram your pig sticker up your fucking arse.”

Chapter Seven

They all stopped in what Adrian had earlier named ‘the safe zone’; that meant any place away from low walls, corners of buildings and parked vehicles, especially them. The group had spotted a dozen of the deadies, another phrase coined by Adrian, hiding under cars. Any poor sod that got near them found a pair of arms reaching out, pulling them off balance and dragging them under the car. They’d seen it happen a couple of times whilst travelling through Breakspear.

Ernest nodded once; Adrian nodded back and so did Emily. MrsWatson just leaned across and pecked his cheek.

“Good luck dear,” she whispered.

They’d picked her up about twenty minutes ago. Ernest saw the woman as they were running past the shops; her back was flat against the mini-market’s metal shutters. Three of the deadies were shambling towards her, they were on the other side of the street and Ernest privately thought that they wouldn’t be able to reach her in time.

There was only one of the buggers left standing when they reached the woman; Adrian took that one out with his weighted sock. It turned out that Mrs.Watson was more than capable of looking after herself, as her husband had found out when he went all funny just after ‘Eastenders’ had finished earlier on.

Ernest also discovered that she delivered Avon products in her spare time and when this was all over, she was more than willing to slip him the odd free bottle of shampoo as long as he kept quiet about it. She was the only person in their little group who seemed to think that everything would be back to normal in the morning.

As agreed earlier, Ernest swapped his trusty pool cue for Adrian’s weighted sock, he’d changed the sock a couple of times since they’d left the pub, it had received a lot of use.

“Look after it granddad.” whispered the lad.

You needed space to swing the cue, which was something he would be desperately short of where he was about to go.

“Are you sure you don’t want back up?”

Ernest shook his head and patted the lad on the shoulders. This was something he needed to do alone. They had already worked out that it started with the headaches. Accepting that his wife was one of them now had been bloody hard but, due to their situation, he’d hardly had a spare moment to dwell on it.

They hadn’t come across Brenda so far, or Jeff for that matter, then again the estate was a bloody large one and Ernest knew that they weren’t the only group trying to keep alive on Breakspear tonight. He’d been hearing sporadic gunfire all night, not that it surprised him; it was well known that if you needed a gun in Bradford, you always went to Breakspear.

They’d checked out Adrian’s house first as it had been the closest to the Horse and Jockey. The place stank like the grave and it was obvious that there had been a struggle going on here earlier, but now the place was deserted. Ernest’s expert eyes saw the damage a boot had done to the pebble-dashed wall outside the front window and judging by the fact that the window was wide open, it looked like someone in his family had got out. Adrian seemed more than relieved when Ernest relayed this information. Emily said she couldn’t care less about her pissed up dad and Mrs.Watson had already explained what had happened at her house. That just left Ernest.

He wound the end of the sock around his fingers and took a deep breath, then pushed open his garden gate. The evidence of Darren’s not-so-secret party was all around him; he saw crushed lager cans thrown around the front garden and a couple of smashed beer bottles under the window. The house was in darkness but the door was wide open. Ernest wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad sign. His house hadn’t been spared from the mayhem that had blighted the rest of the estate; he saw evidence of that too.

Ropes of wet gore hung down from Brenda’s rose bushes in the middle of the front lawn, the ground around the flowers was soaked in blood. On the freshly dug earth running parallel to the path were a pair of bright orange trainers, the feet were still in them. Ernest had been planning to plant potatoes in that patch of dirt next Friday.

He stopped by his door and looked behind him, wondering if he really should be doing this. What if his Brenda or Darren was in the house? What if they had become deadies, did he really have the strength to put an end to their suffering?

“Oh Jesus, please forgive me for what I may have to do.”

He placed his hand upon the door and pushed it open. Nothing jumped out on him, there were no bodies; the hallway was deserted. He leaned over the threshold, looked to the right and looked up the stairs; a young girl lay sprawled about halfway up the steps. It was difficult to judge whether she was still alive or had become one of them.

There was no way of knowing whether his kitchen contained any of those horrors as the door was shut, he could nip round the back and peek through the window but he knew that Darren had turned the yard and the back garden into a junk yard for his bikes, there were way too many concealed areas in there. Ernest stepped to the side and peered through the living room window, he saw two bodies lying beside the sofa, and he didn’t know either of them. He stepped into the hallway, checked to make sure the living room door was shut tight then started to swing the weighted sock around his head. He coughed loudly.

Just as he thought, the girl lifted her head, fixed him with a pair of dead eyes and began to groan. As she moved he saw that her stomach had been ripped open, it had only been her body pressed against the stairs keeping her guts from bursting out. Her insides spilled out and splattered down the stairs, his carpet now resembled a gutter from an abattoir. The girl hadn’t even noticed that she had just lost half of her body weight and continued to moan. He knew her noise would attract the attention of any others in the house so Ernest ran up, ducked to avoid her grasping fingers, and smashed the sock into her temple. Her moaning stopped and the girl fell back down.

“Rest in peace little lady.” he whispered.

Ernest stepped over the body and climbed up a couple of steps, all the doors upstairs were shut, the house was still silent. Again he wondered if he was making the right decision here, perhaps it was better not to know what had happened to Brenda. Ernest took a deep breath, no, he had to do everything in his power to ensure that she was put out of her misery; he looked down at the bloodied heap of teenager at the foot of his steps and wondered if her parents would feel the same way.

Those thoughts would have to wait, he needed to keep his wits about him; if he let his mind wander he wouldn’t leave this house, not alive anyway. Ernest went back down to the hallway wondering which one of them outside would vote to dispatch him if the unthinkable happened to him.

He opened the front door a little wider and placed Darren’s boots against it to stop the door from swinging shut. Ernest needed to be sure that his exit was clear, just in case. If those two lying on the floor really were a pair of deadies then as soon as he opened the door they should both react. He’d have to check the kitchen too; Ernest knew that he needed to remove all threats from downstairs before he went up those stairs. Although he knew that if they did trap him, escaping from an upstairs window wouldn’t present much of a challenge, but why take the risk?

After counting slowly to three, he grabbed the handle and eased open the door. His eyes adjusted to the darkness fairly quickly, another skill that he still retained from his previous dishonest career. The bodies didn’t move, but just to be sure, Ernest coughed. Not one moan emerged from the pair. He let out a sigh of relief and placed his hand on the door; somebody else’s hand fell on his. It seized his fingers and pulled them upwards. He squealed and tried to jump back, the door swung shut to reveal a pretty girl staring back at him and attempting to pull his fingers up to her waiting mouth.

Ernest couldn’t get loose, oh Christ! It was as if his fingers were wedged in a vice. The girl began to moan and from the corner of his eye, he saw another one stand up from behind the sofa. Ernest brought the sock down on her head, she jolted but didn’t go down, and there wasn’t enough bloody room to hit her temple. The other thing was now right behind him, and was moaning too. He dropped the sock, formed his fingers into a point and snapped his arm forward, thrusting his digits into the girl’s eye. Her moans immediately stopped, she slid down the wall and Ernest felt sick as his fingers slipped out of that warm, wet hole he’d made.

He dropped to both knees and dived for the sock, but it was stuck under the lad’s trainer. He looked up and watched it bend over, drooling like a teething baby and reaching down to grab him. Ernest knew that if those grasping fingers got a hold of him, he was finished. He threw himself down and rolled to the side. There was no fucking way that he was going to allow one of Darren’s brain-dead friends to eat him in his own house.

His ashtray was on the table across the room. He got back on his knees and crawled towards it, it wasn’t ideal but he couldn’t think of anything else close by that he could use to defend himself. He knew without turning around that the thing was coming after him. Ernest reached up and grabbed the ashtray, throwing the contents into the lad’s face then he jumped to his feet and ran at him, smashing the improvised weapon into his mouth. He … it … staggered back and fell over the arm of the sofa, Ernest reached down and snatched up his sock and swung it around his head waiting for the dead boy to get back on his feet.

“Come on you bastard.” he snarled.

The sound of his voice seemed to spur it on, the boy slowly stood up and shambled towards him, Ernest waited for him to get a little closer before he stepped forward and smacked him in the temple.

“Fuck you.” he muttered as the body joined the other two on the carpet.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead and resisted the urge to collapse into his sofa, he clenched his fist hard enough to draw blood hoping the pain would stop the shakes, oh Jesus, just how close had he been to joining those filthy things? One mistake would be all it took.

He left the living room, knowing that it would be unlikely that he’d ever go in there ever again. Ernest stared in revulsion at the sticky mark he left on the door handle as he clicked the door shut; it looked as though he’d just dipped his hand into a large pot of jam. He wiped as much of it as he could onto the sock, reminding himself to turn it inside out before he gave it back to Adrian.

There was no choice now, he had to check out the kitchen; he’d been hoping to leave it and head upstairs, after all, the door was shut tight and he’d seen no evidence that the buggers were opening handles yet, but he needed another weapon.

The soft grip carving knife that he’d bought from that dodgy looking bloke in Leeds indoor market should do the trick. It was more like a short dagger than a kitchen knife, one punch into the eye socket and they’d drop like a big sack of shit. He nodded to himself; Ernest had made up his mind.

He hurried over to the door and listened for any tell-tale sounds of moving about or moaning. He’d made enough noise in the living room to excite any prone deadie who may be lurking in the kitchen, the walls in this bloody house were paper thin, the sound carried right through them.

This time, Ernest counted to five before he pushed open the door, he also kept hold of the handle and slammed the door into the wall; there was no way that he was going to fall for that trick again. When the door hit the cupboard and bounced back, Ernest nodded to himself, wishing he’d done that with the living room door.

Thankfully, their kitchen was small and had no places large enough for a body to squeeze in so it made his search a three second affair. He padded over to the window and looked out into the blackness; he saw nothing but his own gaunt reflection. He sighed and opened the cutlery drawer, while he searched for his knife he couldn’t shake the notion that the girl in the living room had been waiting for him. He grinned as his hand grabbed the knife. Could that be possible? Had she heard him enter the house and hidden there, ready and waiting for him to come through? God he fucking hoped not, then he thought about them hiding under cars, was it not the same thing?

Ernest left the kitchen and shut the door, he stopped at the foot of the stairs and took one more deep breath before stepping over the dead girl, he took one last look at the open door, resisting the deep urge to forget it and run out before beginning his climb. He stopped halfway up, oh fuck! The bathroom door was now open, he knew for a fact that it was closed when he’d first looked up here. He walked up a couple more stairs; Darren’s door was open too.

“Darren? Is that you?”

Deadies may crawl under cars and hide behind doors but they sure as fuck couldn’t open a door. It had to be him.

He heard the sound of glass smashing.

“Darren!” he shouted.

Ernest raced up the stairs, into his son’s bedroom and over to the broken window, he looked out and saw a man in camouflage fatigues scaling the fence and over into the back field. That wasn’t his son, he watched the man race across the field, God he was fast, and then he disappeared over a fence on the far side.

Just who the bloody hell was he and more to the point what was he doing in his house? Maybe it was another survivor just like him or perhaps somebody else, like the army for instance.

It was bloody strange that none of them had seen a whiff of anyone official, it was usual not to spot a copper on Breakspear, they tended to leave the place alone, but Ernest thought at least one person would have dialled 999 by now.

His thinking was disrupted when he heard something bang against the wall. The noise originated from the room next to Darren’s. Oh hell, that was his sodding bedroom. He rushed out, noticing for the first time that the padlock on his son’s door had been smashed off. His room door was still closed; he put the sock gently down on the carpet and grabbed the door handle.

Ernest then let go, deciding on a different tactic, he stood back, raised his foot and booted the door open. He stood on the threshold gazing in astonishment at the sight before him. His Brenda was sat up in bed wearing a nightie over her mud streaked clothes and eating what looked like the bottom of an arm. She tore a lump of the meat and turned her head to face Ernest. She made no effort to get out of bed.

Brenda then moaned and held the meat out in front of her. Ernest fell back against the banister, his darling wife was offering him the food; she wanted to share it. He looked down and saw the dried muddy footprints and drops of blood leading along the hallway and into the bedroom. Why the fuck hadn’t he spotted that earlier?

His wife moaned again; he felt the grasp of his own mind slipping away; he looked at the knife in his hand then back at Brenda who was still holding the meat out towards him. Oh Christ, it looked as though she was trying to smile. He couldn’t do this, tears ran down both cheeks, Ernest shut the bedroom door and ran down the stairs. His three colleagues were waiting for him by the front door. They parted as he ran out of the house; he fell to the floor and threw up, then turned his head and looked into their concerned faces.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Adrian nodded and hurried over to help him get to his feet. As they guided him to the gate, Ernest remembered that he’d left Adrian’s sock in the house. He hoped the lad would forgive him.

Chapter Eight

Candice Palmer waited for Chelsea to turn her head before ramming another stick into her mouth; Candice thought that she’d gotten away with the sly move until her new mate punched her in the arm.

“You lying bitch. I thought you said you’d run out of chuddy.”

She rubbed her arm and contemplated just how Chelsea would react if she twatted her in the gob with her metal bar. “I never said anything like that, you’re hearing stuff again, must be your age or something.”

Chelsea put out her hand, “Well give me some then,”

She sighed and fished about in her back pocket for the packet of chewing gum, this was so not bastard fair, it was her last one as well and to make matters worse, the shop wouldn’t be open. She slapped the stick into the palm of her hand.

“Satisfied?”

Chelsea grinned and nodded whilst stuffing the piece into her mouth. “Share and share alike, Candice, besides, I’ve got more fucking points than you.”

“Bollocks,” she replied. “How do you work that one out? It was me who bashed the kid’s head in and if you recall, it was also me who took out the granny.”

God, Chelsea was such a bloody liar. She looked at the end of her bar, it was still a bit gooey down there, she thought she’d wiped most of that lumpy stuff that had come out of the old bag’s head on the grass verge by the post box, she must have missed a bit.

Chelsea pointed her own weapon at Candice, she had a cricket bat; her end was in a worse state than the bar.

“What about those two kids gnawing on that dead dog then, who did those two? It wasn’t fucking you was it? And I also bet that you’ve conveniently forgotten about the bloke in the stupid hat haven’t you?”

She hadn’t forgotten about him, Candice shuddered when she remembered just how close she had been to getting chomped on. The fucker had sneaked up on them when they were just coming out of that deserted house laughing and giggling, whilst holding onto the weapons they’d just found. If it hadn’t been for her mate’s quick reactions, her ticket would have been punched there and then.

She hadn’t really spoken to Chelsea until they met at the party at Darren’s gaff tonight, well more sort of bumped into each other, the stupid Goth bitch spilled cider down the front of her new dress. Chelsea wanted to smack the clumsy fucker right there and then and would have done too if that kid with the pink hair hadn’t suddenly started acting all funny and weird. When some do-gooder went over and asked him what was up, the cunt fastened his teeth round his nose and bit the bastard thing off.

The room just fucking erupted with people screaming and throwing up and everything, stuff got all serious when this other lad went the same way as pink hair and headed for her. Chelsea looked into the kid’s eyes and saw nothing behind them; it was like looking at the face of a doll. For some unknown fucking reason, the Goth chick pushed her out of the way and whacked the kid in the ear with a stiletto. They got out of the house pretty fucking fast after that.

Chelsea lowered the cricket bat. “I could murder a kebab, you know, this zombie killing is bloody hard work.”

“Do you really think that’s what they are?” she asked, surprised that the topic hadn’t come up until now.

“Well what else could they be?”

Candice shrugged.

“Well you just better hope that they are,” replied Chelsea, “cos if they’re still proper people, then that makes us two murderers don’t it?”

She had a good point there; they may have just got a disease or something that had turned them into homicidal lunatics. If the bastards had just attacked them and Candice and her mate just fought back, then she supposed it would be classed as self defence. She watched a piece of crimson slop fall off the end of Chelsea’s cricket bat.

They had actively been seeking the cunts out though and terminating their arses. Candice grinned; they were like zombie hunters or something.

“What’s so fucking funny?” asked Chelsea.

“We are Candice and Chelsea, the zombie warriors, wiping the undead scumbags off the streets of Breakspear.”

“And you’ve been reading too many comic books. I’m so hungry. I wonder if the chip shop is open.”

Candice looked at her as if she’d gone soft in the head. “Are you having a fucking laugh? Do you honestly think there’ll be a queue of zombies inside Mike’s Fish Bar, all wanting battered brains and chips?”

She watched Chelsea rubbing that metal ring she had through her bottom lip, Candice had seen her do that a couple of times before, it must be her stress reliever or something.

“I ain’t fucking stupid; I mean they might have opened up before the shit hit the fan.”

Candice decided there and then that it was a stress reliever; she must fiddle about with that fucking stupid thing when faced with difficult questions, like what is two plus two. The girl was proper thick. The other girl sighed, placed the bat over her shoulder and turned around.

“Well are you coming or what?”

Her own stomach had started to growl now; the last thing that she had rammed down her neck was a sausage roll at dinnertime. “What the fuck for? It won’t be open, you know that.”

“Well have you got any better ideas?”

The girl grinned when Candice shook her head. “I thought not.”

Chelsea started walking down the middle of the street.

“Wait up!” she shouted.

Candice found that she couldn’t move her legs; she looked down and found a pair of grimy hands had shot out from under the car and fastened around her ankles.

“Get the fuck off my legs you twat!”

She gripped her bar with both hands then slammed it down; the end plunged straight through the thing’s wrist and smacked against the tarmac below. Its fingers flopped apart like a dead jellyfish. The other hand tightened its grip; she hissed in pain and almost dropped the iron bar.

The hand pulled back, knocking her off balance, she saw a bald head belonging to a middle-aged bloke emerging, its jaw opening and shutting like a snapping turtle coming out of its shell.

“I said, get the fuck off me.”

The other girl had started to run back to help her out.

“You’re too fucking late, you fat bitch.” She whispered.

Those teeth were now centimetres away from her new trainers, Candice had no doubt that those pearly whites would slice through the fabric in two seconds flat.

“Eat this you fucker,”

She finally wrestled the iron bar out of the thing’s arm then rammed it hard, into the mouth.

“Are you alright?” asked Chelsea, panting.

She rubbed her ankle, trying to get the circulation working again, there were going to be a right set of ugly bruises on that in the morning.

“Of course I’m alright,” she replied. “And that, by the way, is twenty more points to me now.”

She wrenched the bar out of the thing’s mouth, “Are you still wanting to stuff your fat face?” she asked smiling, “Cos if you think that I’m traipsing all the way to the other end of the bastard estate on a knackered leg then you’ve got another thing coming.”

Candice waited for her to stop getting all pissy before she released her bombshell.

“Cos I’ve got a better idea, pick a number.”

“Eh? What are you on about?”

Candice grinned. “Pick a fucking house number. You can bet a pound to a penny that most of them are gonna be empty. Their kitchen cupboards and fridge are bound to be stocked up with shit loads of goodies.”

Chelsea grinned back, “You ain’t just a pretty face are you?”

“Like I said, pick a number.”

She held the bat out in front of her and turned around until Chelsea faced a whitewashed house opposite a Volkswagen Beetle.

“What’s so special about that one then?”

Chelsea pointed to the fence. “Look at the garden, the lawn’s actually been cut this year and the door isn’t a council one. I bet their larder’s packed with loads of really expensive gear from Marks and Spencer’s, none of that value shit.”

It was more likely that the gaff belonged to an old couple, the cupboards would be full of cream crackers and tins of corned beef and all that other stuff that pensioner’s ate; still it was her choice so Candice wasn’t going to bitch about it.

As they reached the metal gates, she heard something shuffle behind them, Candice spun around, her iron bar raised above her head. The thought of earning another twenty points disappeared when she saw an old man limping towards them.

“Fuck me!” gasped Chelsea, “That bastard is still alive.”

“Only just,” muttered Candice, how the fuck had he managed to stay alive? He was like ninety or something.

It was the first living person they’d seen since the outbreak. They’d heard a couple of gunshots but no live sightings until now.

“Oh thank God! Proper, real people, I need your help, can you help me?”

Candice casually laid her bar on the wall and slowly walked towards him, she had no wish to scare him, and the poor bastard looked terrified.

“Please, my wife is trapped and there are these dead people after us.”

The man sighed then whimpered. He looked at her with hound dog eyes, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Have they touched her?” Chelsea asked.

He shook his head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“For fuck’s sake, you daft old bastard, have they bitten her yet?”

The man started to cry. Candice hurried over and put her arm around him.

“Jesus, Chelsea, don’t be so fucking heartless.” She wiped his face and gently lifted his head. “Where is she? We’ll do what we can.”

He slowly smiled, “Thank you, oh thank you. We’re just parked around the corner.”

She watched him scurry away, she turned and looked at Chelsea who shrugged back then they both hurried to catch him up.

He stopped behind the rear doors of a blue van.

“This is yours?” Chelsea asked.

The man nodded, “She’s in the back,” he replied.

Something was wrong here, since when did old couples drive about in vans? Candice then realised that she’d left her pissing bar on that wall, bloody hell!

The old man turned and walked between the two girls. “Open the doors,” he said from behind them.

Candice jumped when she heard an explosion behind her, she watched in horror as Chelsea dropped to the ground, Candice spun around and saw the man holding a sawn-off shotgun at her face.

“Your friend’s fallen down. Oh dear. Now walk over to those doors before I blast your pretty little head off.”

“What the fuck is going on? Oh Jesus Christ! We were trying to help you.”

He brought the gun up to his shoulder, “I won’t ask you again.”

Candice thrust her arms up into the air and took two steps back. “Please, we’ve done nothing to you. Let us go.”

“One more step.”

Candice complied; hot, salty tears were streaming down her cheeks. She heard the doors behind her fly open, and before she had a chance to turn, a pair of blackened, stinking hands seized her head. Candice was pulled back into the back of the van; she managed to emit one short scream before three sets of teeth tore into her.

Chapter Nine

Her soft, warm hand encompassed his, Kevin gazed deep into Stephanie’s beautiful brown eyes and sighed. The pale light from the full moon reflected off a small rain puddle just by his foot. He sighed again, it was just his damned luck to have to go through the zombie holocaust before he was able to finally find a girl who didn’t laugh or spit at him.

It just wasn’t fucking fair.

They both sat on the flat roof of a brick shed; it felt a little safer up here than down there on the path. Darren wouldn’t let them go into the house; he said that they weren’t worthy enough to step into his mate’s house, so apparently they were the lookouts. Stephanie had pointed out earlier that if enough of those things did appear then they’d be trapped on the roof. Kevin tried not to think about that, besides, what were the chances of that happening? The most they’d ever seen together was three. That did worry him a little. Breakspear was massive, there were thousands of people living on the estate, so where the hell were they? The place was as quiet as the grave. Kevin shuddered, that was perhaps a bad word to use.

The house next to them looked like it had been transported from the posh estate next to theirs. The well tended garden, stone cladding and brick driveway looked so out of place in Breakspear, not to mention the Merc and four wheel drive parked below them. The look of surprise must have been evident on his face when Darren pushed open the gate, he grinned like a Cheshire cat when he had told them that they weren’t fit to enter Edgar’s house and that the bunnies were on look-out duties. Kevin was cool with that anyway. He had no desire to go into that house, it looked too creepy for his liking, also, who knew what could be lurking behind every corner. He could see everything from up here.

“Do you think he’s right about the estate being cut off?”

He shrugged, “Why would he lie about that? It would explain why the place isn’t crawling with emergency services.”

Although he did get the feeling that Darren was telling lies about the two people he was with earlier getting shot.

She hugged him tight then looked back at the dark house. “Well I don’t trust him, he’s creepy.”

“Well I don’t trust him either but I think we’re safer if we stick together.”

She shook her head, “He’s the type who always looks after himself, and he’ll try to use us as bait or something. I reckon that we ought to leave him while he’s in the house. We’d be at the edge in ten minutes if we go now.”

She stroked his cheeks then kissed him gently on the lips. “You’re stronger than you think you are, Kevin. I bet bastards like him have been treating you like shit all your life. We don’t need him to tell us what to do. You’ve killed once and I know you can do it again.”

She stood up and looked towards the old cemetery and the abandoned church next to it. Kevin and most of the kids in the estate played there when they were younger, until the council put a fence around it.

“I know you can protect us, Kevin.”

He stood up and joined her. She looked into his eyes

“If he’s right about them shooting people, why haven’t we heard gunfire?”

He shrugged.

“Everyone else has left, that’s why. It’s the only explanation to why it’s so empty.”

“Not everyone,” he replied, pointing at a figure shambling towards them.

“Oh God, it’s one of those things isn’t it, I hope it goes past us.”

The figure then waved, Kevin instinctively waved back.

“Can you help me please?” shouted the figure. “My wife is trapped.”

Kevin rushed over to the edge. “Where is she?”

“Just on Dunthorpe Street. Please hurry; there are two of those things trying to get to her.” The man started to cry.

He hurried over to the edge, comforted to see that Stephanie was right behind him, she nodded once.

“Time to leave,” she whispered.

Kevin turned around and dropped down onto the path, was she right about him being able to kill again? The first one was just a fluke, the old woman, she must have been pushing eighty, and she was too busy chomping down on a severed leg to notice him sneaking up on it. The only thing stopping him from bottling out was Darren’s threat of him killing Kevin if he didn’t go through with it. He also wanted to impress the girl. He’d thrust the bayonet into the back of her neck, she just fell forward; Kevin couldn’t believe how easy it had been or how sick he felt.

He helped Stephanie down, how would he cope with two of them though, oh God, Kevin was beginning to get sick again.

“Where the fuck do you think you two are going?”

Kevin jumped at Darren’s voice; he looked up and saw him leaning out of an upstairs window. “That bloke over there is in trouble,”

“Like I give a fuck? You ain’t going anywhere. Now come in here now, both of you.”

When Kevin didn’t move towards the door, Darren’s body ducked out of sight for a moment before reappearing. He now held a shotgun.

“Look what I’ve got. Come on bunnies, I won’t tell you again.”

“He’s bluffing.”

Kevin grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door.“I’m not going to risk it, and I don’t know how I’d be able to live with myself if he hurt you.”

He hated himself for being secretly glad that he chose that moment. The thought of facing two of those monsters had filled him with dread.

The front door opened. “Get in here bunnies. Uncle Darren has something to show you.”

They followed him into the living room, Kevin gasped when his eyes landed on a young man sat in the middle of the room, tied to a dining chair with two belts and the flex cord from an iron.

Hope and anxiety showed in the eye that wasn’t swollen shut.

“You fucking animal!” gasped Stephanie as she stared at Darren’s bloodied knuckles.

The man’s face was a mask of blood and bruises; he stared at the twin rivulets of blood streaming from his face and suddenly wished that they just made a run for it. Stephanie was right, he was an animal.

“What have you done?” he asked.

“Done a bit of work on him,” he replied, panting. “I needed some fucking answers, didn’t I?”

Darren picked a gas mask off the sofa and sat down. “Okay then, Corporal Dexter, why don’t you tell my bunnies what you’ve already told me.”

Darren put the mask on his face.

The man stared at Kevin, he had to look away.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I can’t begin to imagine what you must have gone through tonight.”

Darren pulled the mask off and kicked the man in the shins, “Yeah okay, enough with the soppy bollocks. Just get to the good bit.”

That acid look the soldier gave Darren earned him another boot in the shins.

“The whole area has been contaminated.”

“What with?” asked Stephanie.

The soldier shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just a grunt.”

“So where are the rescuers?”

Darren laughed. “This is the best bit.”

The soldier shook his head. “I’m sorry but there won’t be any. Everyone has been infected. Sooner or later you’ll all turn into one of those things.”

“Now that bit is bullshit by the way.” said Darren.

“Why the fuck would I lie?” spat the man, “You ripped off my mask you stupid little boy so I’m infected too. You may as well shoot me now.”

“Don’t you fucking tempt me!”

Kevin thought that bit was a lie as well. Both Thom and Stephanie’s dad had headaches before they turned, he felt fine. “So what happens now?”

“My superiors are just waiting for the powers that be to give the go ahead and then the area will be cleaned up.”

“That means that the soldier boys will come into Breakspear with flamethrowers and burn the place to the ground.”

The soldier nodded, tears were rolling down his face, for some reason Kevin thought he was crying because he wasn’t getting out of here and not because of what was happening in Kevin’s neighbourhood.

“Wait a minute; they won’t burn us too will they?”

The soldier nodded again. A quiet gasp escaped from Stephanie’s mouth. Darren rose from the chair; he pulled a pistol out of his jacket pocket and pointed it at the man.

The soldier looked at the boy; there wasn’t a trace of fear in his broken face. “Do it, you fucking cretin. I’m dead anyway.”

Darren grinned and pulled him out of the chair, “I’ve got a better idea.”

He pulled him out of the living room and into the hallway then opened the cupboard door under the stairs. Darren pushed the man inside and bolted the door. “He may come in useful later on.”

Kevin jumped when the man barked out an abrupt yelp. The man then started to shriek and boot the door, even over the commotion; Kevin still heard the sound of a low moan.

“Oh God! There’s one of them in there with him.”

He ran towards the door but Darren just shook his head then pushed him away. The screaming then stopped to be replaced by the wet sound of tearing flesh.

Darren grinned. “So that’s where Edgar was hiding. I did wonder.”

He walked up to Kevin and pushed him back into the living room. “You had better start thinking of a way out of this mess cos no fucking soldier is going to turn me into a bastard barbecue.”

Chapter Ten

Ernest couldn’t believe the sense of relief he felt when the two women appeared at the front door, unharmed. Emily left the house followed by the old woman.

“They have gifts,” whispered Adrian.

Ernest nodded; he saw the carrier bag as well.

Mrs.Watson took the girl to one side as they were walking away from the shops. Ernest only caught snippets of their conversation but from what he could gather, she had somehow persuaded the girl to check on her parents.

He jumped off the bonnet of the classic Volkswagen and wandered over to greet the girls, he’d checked out the vehicle when the girls entered the house, there were a few spots of blood on the floor by the passenger door but no horrible surprises hiding under the car.

“The house is empty,” said Emily. “I’ve no idea where mum and dad have gone. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

Mrs.Watson nodded. “You’ve done everything you could sweetheart, that’s what counts.”

This ghost town estate was really beginning to worry Ernest now. Where was everybody?

“What’s in the bag?” asked Adrian. “Pressies for me I hope.”

Emily picked out two cans of coke and threw them at the boys, “It seemed a shame to let them go to waste.”

“What, no beer?”

Emily smacked the grinning boy on the arm. “Bloody hell, Adrian, haven’t you had enough of that tonight?”

The noise of the can opening sounded thunderous to Ernest. He opened his and took a swig then watched Emily take out a pack of sandwiches; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something to eat. The image of Brenda offering him that leg swam to the front of his mind, Ernest closed his eyes then took another drink to force the hot bile making its way up, back down again.

“Are we ready?” he asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Come on then, let’s get out of here.”

It surprised him at just how reluctant he was to leave the estate. After the mind blowing shock of the situation had quietened, he found himself looking forward to the next encounter with the deadies. Jesus, the fights were like a bloody drug, he hadn’t felt this alive in over a decade, at least since he’d taken the decision to go straight. Perhaps Jeff had been right after all.

Maybe he was just sick in the fucking head; Ernest decided to keep that observation to himself, things were bad enough as it was without the others thinking that they’d hooked up with a psycho. He placed the now empty can on the roof of the car and turned around. Adrian was totally still, he looked like a cat watching a mouse.

“Are you okay?”

The lad nodded, “I’m sure I saw something move just then, over there in that window.”

Emily followed his gaze to the upstairs window in her house. “You couldn’t have, Mrs.Watson checked that room, that’s my parent’s bedroom.”

“No, I did, I saw something move.”

He wondered over to the fence, his gaze still on that window.

“Ernest? Get him back over here, implored Mrs Watson.

He walked over to the lad, thinking that perhaps their new recruit to the group may not have been totally straight with the girl. Oh shit. He saw something move as well. Adrian was now directly under the window, he looked back, “I’m not seeing things you know.”

Emily screamed as a black shape jumped through the window, Adrian had no time to get out of the way before it landed on him and smashed the boy into the grass. Ernest gripped the cue and prepared to leap over the fence just as the thing’s head dived down and fastened its jaws over Adrian’s face.

“Oh god, Mum, please, no please don’t do this.” sobbed the girl.

A pair of hands came down on Ernest’s shoulders, preventing him from moving.

“We really do need to move out.”

Mrs Watson physically turned Ernest’s head to the right.

“Look around you Ernest,” she shouted, “They’re coming out of the woodwork.”

He saw one sitting up in next door’s flowerbed, two more crawling out from under a car across the road, dozens of them appearing in open doors and in windows.

“What the fuck is happening?” cried Ernest.

A dozen windows smashed simultaneously. Ernest saw one approaching Emily, she hadn’t seen it, he ran over with the cue raised and took the thing out, and he grabbed the girl’s hand then pulled her back to where Mrs.Watson stood. There were dozens of deadies in the road, a few of them had noticed the group and lurched towards them. He jumped on next door’s wall and stood on his toes, the road leading to the edge of the estate was thick with the things, and they had no chance of getting through that lot.

“What the hell are we going to do now?” screamed the girl.

The house next to Emily’s looked empty, no lights on, and no sign of movement. He glanced over to Mrs.Watson.

“We need to get inside that house.”

The one from the flower bed was now within spitting distance. Mrs.Watson thrust the sharpened end of her walking stick up into its throat then grabbed the girl. Ernest jumped into the garden and ran across the lawn, he looked back.

“Don’t just stand there, come on!”

He watched the woman take another one out before pushing Emily over the wall, she followed her. Emily began to moan. Ernest watched her get up, stagger over to next door neighbour’s fence. He saw Adrian slowly get to his feet and follow another deadie that had come out of Emily’s house, he then stopped and turned, sniffing like a dog as Emily approached the low fence.

She lifted one leg over the wood.

“No!” he screamed, “Come back.”

She ignored him, lifted her other foot over and ran towards Adrian; she ducked under his flailing arms and scooped up his new sock. That one had a couple of smooth pebbles that Ernest had taken from a fish pond; she swung it around her head then cracked him above his ear. Emily jumped back over. Ernest didn’t know what to say; instead he grabbed the door handle a little shocked to find it locked.

“Now what do we do?” asked the old woman.

Ernest stepped back and gazed up, the bathroom window had been left open.

“You have got to be joking.” said Mrs Watson.

Ernest grinned and jumped onto the drainpipe. He scrambled up, pleased to find that his old climbing skills hadn’t deserted him. He looked behind him as he climbed above the first floor window, there were four of them trying to squeeze through the open gate, and the girls were preparing themselves to fight. He reached the bathroom window and pulled it a little wider. These new windows the council installed in all the houses a couple of years ago were far easier to squeeze through than the old metal ones. Ernest dropped into the dark bathroom; he tuned the noise from the outside out and attempted to listen to the house. He used to be able to tell whether a home was occupied by just standing in one room and closing his eyes. His senses told him that this place was empty but these weren’t normal times, he grabbed a towel, the only available weapon and opened the door. If anything was out there, he’d at least be able to put this over their head before running like fuck.

The hallway was as empty as the bathroom. He heard Emily screaming and vaulted down the stairs, he grinned when he saw a set of keys hung up beside the outside door, pleased that some things never changed. He silently thanked the residents for being so stupid and unlocked the door.

Ernest let them both in before shutting the door and locking it again. Mrs Watson dropped his cue on the floor then wrapped her arms around him, and after a couple of uncomfortable seconds, he returned the gesture.

Emily coughed loudly and tapped Ernest on the shoulder with the cue. “Do you not think we should be checking out the house?”

He nodded, feeling his face redden. “Who lives here?” he asked.

“A young Jamaican couple, I think they may be on holiday though, I didn’t see their car outside.”

Ernest didn’t know what to think anymore, he felt like his brain had been wrung out. He walked back up the stairs, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him, the layout of this house was the same as his so the largest room should be the last door, if the Jamaican couple followed the norm, that should be where their bedroom was. If they were anywhere, he guessed that it would be in there.

He reached the door, took a deep breath and turned the handle. The room was empty, Emily dropped to the floor and looked under the bed, he could have kicked himself for not thinking of doing that. She looked at both of them and shook her head.

“Looks like you’re right,” he said. “The house is empty.”

He walked up the window and gazed out; the deadies were moving away, he couldn’t believe just how many of them were out there. It looked like a crowd of football fans all moving in one direction, it was eerie and absolutory fucking terrifying. Emily joined him at the window; she took one look and darted to the door.

“Come on” she cried, “They’re going, that means we can too.”

She was at the landing and running down the stairs before either of them could speak. Ernest looked at the woman in puzzlement before they both hurried to catch her. Emily had the door open while they were coming down the stairs; it looked as if the deadies weren’t coming back just yet. They reached the garden gate and watched the girl run down the street.

“We won’t be able to catch up with her you know?” Mrs Watson said. “Do we let her go?”

He shrugged, “I’m sure we’ll catch up to her eventually, come on, it’s almost over.” As he grabbed her hand, they both heard what sounded like a crack of thunder; they turned to see Emily fall to the ground with the top half of her head missing. Ernest spied a couple of soldiers running up to the prone body. He pulled Mrs Watson back towards the house.

“What do we do now?” she sobbed.

He clicked the door shut behind them. “Now we hide.”

Chapter Eleven

Emma Reynolds’s television had been showing static now for the best part of two hours. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece; it said it was a quarter past five, it had been showing that time for three years. Emma tutted, not believing it was nearly six o’clock; she’d forgotten to make tea again.

“That will never do.” She muttered to herself.

She got up and turned the channel over; if it was nearly six then the early evening news should be on. Of course they would only show the bad stuff, they always did. The only good news they’d shown recently was the silver jubilee last week. That was grand; they’d even had a party on the street just like the old days. Everyone helped out, she’d even made a couple of plates of sandwiches herself, just cucumber and tuna spread, nothing too fancy.

Emma changed the channel over, deciding the news would be too depressing. She laughed as the static continued to show. The Benny Hill show was on; he was such a funny man.

She picked up the cup of cold coffee that had been stood on the table beside her for the past three days. Her son, Steve had made her it when he last visited. She took a sip and winced. There was too much sugar in this tea, she wondered if she’d picked up Arthur’s cup by mistake.

Emma remembered filling up at that street party when her old friend, Ethel turned up with her new husband. Those tears soon dried when she saw the profound change in her old friend, she used to be such an outgoing girl back when they were all single. Ethel, herself and Mavis Watson all used to go into Bradford on a Saturday night and party. Now Ethel was as quiet as a mouse, she jumped a foot every time her husband spoke, the poor thing. Emma remembered just what a little terror that Dennis Flynn used to be when he was little. Good lord, he was such a nasty piece of work. He nearly got expelled for hitting that young girl from Form Two with that lump of wood, he showed no regret when the teacher pulled him away.

Bullying was the one thing that Emma really did hate. The teachers had sent her little Steven home this afternoon; they said that he’d been picking on that kid, Ernest Belmont again. What utter nonsense. Her little Steven was such a kind and thoughtful boy, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. It didn’t stop her husband from giving him a good hiding and sending him to bed with no tea.

She turned the television off and walked past the urn containing her husband’s ashes sat on the mantelpiece above the fire. Emma decided to check on her boy. If he was still awake, she’d fix him up a nice plate full of dripping sandwiches. Arthur wouldn’t know, he’d already gone to work; he started his night shift at five.

Emma opened the door leading to the stairs, he had been so worried lately, the silly man. For weeks now he’d been saying that the business was going to go bust, as if that would ever happen. People would always buy British instead of all that silly foreign rubbish. He’d bought the family a brand new Austin Princess last year, that car was the envy of the street, a good solid British car.

She opened the door to the spare room, packed with old furniture and bin bags full of rubbish and smiled; her little darling was fast asleep. She gently closed the door; she’d leave him where he was, it was best not to disturb him. Emma wandered into her own bedroom and weaved through the dozens of supermarket carrier bags full of rotting food and stopped at her dressing table.

A fly crawled out from a hole in a shrink wrapped packet of thin cut beef steaks that her home-help had bought for her two months ago and flew up to the woman and landed on her cheek. She brushed it away and picked up a bag of sugar from the pile eight deep stacked up in front of her. Arthur always needed a cup of coffee from when he came home after his shift, she couldn’t remember if she had any left downstairs.

Arthur just loved his sugar. Emma gazed out of the window onto the street, the surging tide of shuffling dead were just outside her door. The old woman’s eye’s shone, she couldn’t believe it, the street party was still on. No wonder she’d been feeling a little lonely. Emma hurried out of the bedroom.

Mavis would be there and Ethel. Emma needed to see her friend to warn her about that Dennis Flynn. She made her way down the stairs, humming to herself. When she reached the bottom, she completely forgot what she was supposed to be doing, and then Emma noticed the bag of sugar in her hand. Arthur must want a cup of coffee, he always wanted sugar in his drink, and it was strange that she didn’t hear him come home.

The bag dropped from her hand when she saw the silver jubilee plate on the shelf just above her head.

“Oh my lord! Of course, they are having a street party today.”

She grinned and opened the front door and stepped out into the warm night. Six of them lead by her dead son, peeled away from the main group and shambled towards her. Emma walked up the path, hoping that they wouldn’t be too upset at her for not bringing any sandwiches to the party.

Chapter Twelve

His occupants had stopped banging against the side of the interior of his van a few moments ago. The silence made a very welcome change, and his headache was particularly grateful. At first, Dennis had assumed it was because of his proximity, perhaps they could smell him and their inability to reach their next meal was causing them to lash out in frustration. It seemed to be a fine theory until he remembered that his van was supposed to be airtight, it was an old security van.

It almost brought a tear to his eye when he’d pulled the tarpaulin off the vehicle earlier tonight. He’d been storing the van in a rented lock up for years, he had of course made sure that the vehicle was still driveable and road worthy, even when he’d retired from his extra-curricular activities, he couldn’t bear to have his precious van destroyed.

There was always a chance, no matter how unlikely, that he may need to use it again. He chuckled to himself; he really was prepared for every eventuality.

There had been many times in the past few years, particularly on days when his self control had weakened, when he’d considered getting the vehicle crushed. If the authorities ever found it, the forensic department would have a party. Even he had lost track of just how many people had spilled their insides in the back of his van.

He took out a pack of sandwiches from the glove compartment and placed them on the seat next to his, he’d made them earlier when he’d realised just how busy he would be. Unlike his disastrous attempts at making hot chocolate, his sandwich making skills were now well honed. He suspected that his previous skills of using a sharp knife and the joy he felt when he cut things up probably accounted for his unexpected new talent.

The headache was now beginning to fade as the tablets took effect, like the sandwiches, they were another commodity that he had brought with him; it paid dividends to be well prepared.

It was a shame that he hadn’t been sufficiently well prepared when he’d first spotted those two brats. If he’d been carrying his rifle they and the mouthy one inside the house could be in the back of his van by now; he had plenty of room. Dennis suspected that his headache had begun right at the moment that the kid had poked his head out of the window, waving that shotgun about, he hated unpredictable events.

The survivors had been few and far between, he suspected that they’d either gone into hiding or got out of Dodge City. There wasn’t much in the way of dead people too for that matter, he couldn’t explain that ambiguity.

Dennis took a huge bite out of one half and sighed in bliss as the flavours of spiced pork and sun dried tomatoes just exploded in his mouth. They were his two favourite foods. He swallowed and paused for a moment, enjoying the hot spice tingle on his lips. He’d heard that human meat had a similar taste to pork. It astonished him that he hadn’t thought of finding out until now.

He took another bite and decided that it was time to look in on his guests; they had been rather quiet for a while now. Dennis slid back the metal door, revealing a clear, thick Perspex plate set into the wall. Four pairs of eyes stared back at him. He focussed on the girl, Claire, and settled down to a staring contest. Hell, he wasn’t even sure that she could even see him. After a minute, he gave up; it was like trying the stare down a marble statue. It was creepy how none of them were moving; they reminded him of four lizards in a glass tank.

Dennis switched on the main light and three fluorescent tubes bathed the back of the van in bright, white light. He shook his head, not so much as a twitch, even their pupils didn’t contract.

The lights showed in their naked glory just what they had done to the other girl; he had trouble actually finding any piece of her larger than an apple. He saw a few scraps of clothing, a couple of splintered bones and lots of thick, lumpy scarlet gore splattered around the walls. He watched a chewed up morsel of the girl slip from a large hole in Albert Pannier’s chest cavity. It slid down and plopped onto the floor. Dennis just had to find out why they were compelled to feast on human flesh, there had to be a logical reason. He thought perhaps there might be some chemical or nutritional protein present in the living human body that they needed in order to stay re-animated. Perhaps some long forgotten primal carnivorous instinct kicked in once they’d been contaminated and transformed them into nightmarish monsters.

He switched off the light and shut the plate. He picked up the remains of his sandwich and stuffed it into his mouth. Perhaps they just killed because they enjoyed it. Dennis enjoyed killing people; after all, he had never been able to find a logical reason for his own homicidal behaviour.

Seemingly unanswerable questions niggled him. He had no clue why they’d consumed the blonde girl but left the one with the lips rings with just a lump missing from her thigh. He picked up the other half of his sandwich and took a bite. Trust him to ask questions that had probably never been asked before.

His chewed up food almost ended up on the side window when he spotted a very familiar figure stumbling out of a house a couple of doors down, it was scary Mary with her docile husband just behind her. Dennis watched her for a few seconds with a huge grin plastered all over his face. The stupid fat fuck kept falling over, trying to clamber up her garden path, oh God what an amazing sight and what a glorious opportunity. He reached for his pistol and placed a single round in the chamber, oh lord! He was so going to enjoy this. It would be the ultimate revenge for putting up with the endless insults and snide remarks from that uneducated and spiteful big tub of lard.

She had now reached her gate; he prepared to open his door. His only regret was that the bitch wouldn’t suffer. Oh, he would have walked a mile over broken glass to have been given the chance of stuffing the screaming and sobbing woman in the back of his van with his guests. He was sure they would have taken more than a few hours to consume her.

His chewed up food did splat against the glass when he saw more movement glimpsed in the corner of his eye. Dennis sat back in his seat, unable to grasp just what he was seeing. A vast swarm of the things shambled and lurched towards his location. Jesus Christ, they were everywhere. It looked like the whole of Breakspear was out there, he guessed that he wasn’t that far from the truth with that statement. They filled the road, the pavements and the gardens on either side. Mary and her husband joined the mass and he lost them in the crowd. Dennis felt like a goldfish looking out as a school of piranhas swam past his bowl. Despite knowing that he was safe in here, he still felt his heart beat double up. God, what a rush, he tapped on the side window as they passed his van, a little disappointed when none of them even glanced up. His guests had started up the moaning song again; he guessed that they must know that their comrades in arms were on the march. Now that was a valid question, just where were they marching to?

He banged on the partition. “Hush up back there. You’ve been very naughty zombies; you are not going out to play with your friends.”

Dennis giggled and felt a mental gear slip. Did he really just say that? Within moments, the swarm had passed by; he watched them get further away through his wing mirror, thinking that must be the strangest thing that he’d seen so far tonight.

His eyes darted forward when he heard the sound of an engine. He wasn’t the only one to hear it. A young couple streaked out of a house further up the road, right into the path of an approaching armoured car. The vehicle screeched to a halt. Dennis watched gob-smacked as half a dozen masked soldiers leaped from the vehicle and pointed weapons at the pair, they forced them to lie on the floor face down with their arms behind their back. A moment later, another vehicle approached and stopped behind the armoured car.

It looked a bit like a van the local dog wardens used. Two people wearing white bio-hazard suits stepped out and slowly walked towards the couple on the floor. Each one held a long pole with stiff wire hoops on the end, they fastened the hoop around the neck of the sobbing people and pushed them into the back of the van, they weren’t being very gentle.

“It looks like the game has moved up a notch,” he murmured. “There are new players in town. Events are about to become very interesting.”

Chapter Thirteen

There had been a very subtle in change hierarchy. It was something that he’d seen happen all his life when he got together with a group of people. Kevin had, as per usual, been relegated to the bottom of the pile. Stephanie stood with Darren, searching the street for any sign of the shambling horde. He stood behind the pair, looking at this bayonet and wondering why he didn’t hold a gun like the two in front of him.

“Can see you them now?”

Darren nodded, “Fuck me lass, you’ve got sharp bastard eyes.”

She smiled and glanced behind her. “No thanks, Darren. You ain’t my type.” Stephanie winked at Kevin, but by the time he’d smiled back her head was facing the front again. He sighed.

Darren cradled his shotgun like a bloody teddy bear. He hadn’t let go of his new toy now he had seen the mess it made of people. Darren had used it on Edgar and the soldier earlier, and remarked that he was curious to see why his old pal was hiding under the stairs, like it was perfectly acceptable to put everyone’s life in danger just to satisfy his own curiosity. He thought that he might have been sitting on a huge cache of weapons. If the gun hadn’t worked, they would all have been fucked.

After all that, they found that the storage cupboard was empty but they did discover that the soldier was wearing some very curious protective covering under his fatigues. His legs and arms were covered in flexible tightly meshed armour. Stephanie told them both that it wasn’t standard issue. In a combat situation, only the torso was protected. They both looked at her in astonishment as she reeled all this out. It turned out that his trembling new girlfriend was in the bloody armed forces. She snatched up the pistol from the chair and within seconds, she had pulled it apart. Stephanie showed them where the ID plate had been filed off and the unusual rounds in the magazine. She concluded that the soldier wasn’t regular army, probably private security force or a mercenary. Darren had agreed with her, moving his head up and down like a fucking nodding dog, and didn’t object when she stuffed the gun down her jeans.

Kevin moved forward and stood beside Stephanie. Three pairs of eyes were transfixed at the sight before them; Kevin felt his spine turn to water as hundreds of them slowly made their way through the estate.

“Jesus! Look at that bastard go!” shouted Darren, pointing at a house opposite where they were.

Kevin gaped in horror as a young lad leapt from an upper floor window; he rolled on the grass below and limped out of the garden gate. They could hear him screaming from where they stood.

“Come on lad,” urged Kevin, “You can do it.”

Even limping, he was out pacing them.

“I’ll bet anyone a tenner that the cunt gets eaten.”

Kevin groaned aloud when he saw a couple of the dead emerge from a garden in front of the boy, he swerved to try to avoid their flailing arms, he managed it but then tripped up over his own feet. As he went down several of the things homed in and just fell on him. Kevin closed his eyes and tried not to burst into tears.

“Oh yes!” shouted Darren. “That’s money in the bank.”

He heard Stephanie call him a heartless bastard. Darren just laughed back at her. He tried to imagine what he would have done in the poor kid’s place. Kevin had been lucky when he got out of the house; there were only a couple of the things after him not a thousand. He opened his eyes and looked at the bayonet, would he have had the guts to slit his own throat?

Kevin wanted a gun, it wasn’t fair. Darren said that Steph could have one because she was more of a man than he was. He wasn’t too sure whether he liked the new Stephanie yet. He preferred it when she clung to him like a limpet and squealed at every sudden movement, a bit sad and pathetic. Kevin sighed, a bit like he still was.

“Okay, it’s time to fuck off. I’m not keen on staying here when those fuckers arrive.”

Kevin decided that it was time to make his stand. He shook his head. “I’m not going to the cemetery.”

“Oh for crying out loud, not this bullshit again, now you listen to me, you fucking retarded clown. They are not fucking zombies. It’s a chemical bastard weapon. The dead have not come back to life.”

“Bollocks,” he replied. “I know what I saw and I saw some dead thing crawl up my fucking stairs!” he screamed.

Darren sighed and thrust his hand out in front of him “Look lass, he’s your fucking baggage, you sort him out.”

Darren jumped off the shed and hurried into the back garden. “Don’t take forever either, cos I ain’t waiting.”

She walked up to Kevin, hugged him tight and kissed him gently on the lips. “I do believe you Kevin.”

“But you still want to go with him.”

She nodded. Kevin felt like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

“Darren is a foul mouthed dickhead but he’s handy with a gun and at least he’s still alive.”

“Only just.”

“Oi Darren!” she shouted. “Is that bone yard still in use?”

“Nobody’s been planted in there for over fifty years.”

“You see? There’ll be six feet of hard packed soil between your feet and a few old bones, besides what other option do we have?”

Kevin slowly nodded, “Okay then.”

They both jumped down and caught up to Darren who was busy trying to climb over a six foot fence. Stephanie scaled it easily and helped the reluctant Darren to the top, Kevin didn’t need any help, he reached the top and looked behind him. He couldn’t see the approaching things just yet.

The cemetery was just off the next street, he’d never thought about how odd it seemed until now to have some deserted old graveyard smack bang in the middle of a housing estate.

“I wonder who he is.”

Kevin looked up to see a dark blue van slowly glide past the front of the house. “Do you think they could be soldiers?”

“What are you asking me for?”

“I’ve seen that van tonight already,” muttered Stephanie.

“Yeah well, I don’t think we’re the only ones still alive in Breakspear. They ain’t gonna get right far in that old thing,” said Darren. “That tin box will stop the zombies but as soon as the soldiers see that, they’ll blast it sky high.”

Kevin watched the van turn off into a side street and disappear. “I wonder what he’s doing.”

“He’s selling ice cream you fucking retard,” sneered Darren.

Stephanie giggled.

“It’s fucking obvious what he’s doing ain’t it. He’s looking for survivors.”

“You mean like us?”

Darren glared at Kevin, “The answer’s no. we ain’t gonna start running after that van. Besides, I’ve got us a foolproof plan to get us out of here.”

“So what’s in that cemetery, Darren?”

“You ain’t from round here are you, lass?”

She shook her head, “No we were just visiting. We live in Leeds.”

“Well if you follow me sweetheart, you’ll be back in Leeds in a few hours. There’s a stretch of land separating the old church from the graveyard and there’s a manhole right in the …”

“If you’re thinking of that Rat tunnel,” interrupted Kevin, “Forget it. The council blocked it up a few years ago.”

“Interrupt me again and I’ll throw you in those nettles. I bet you didn’t go down there before it got blocked up did you.”

Kevin shook his head.

“I didn’t think so, you little chickenshit. Well, that tunnel is part of a network and apparently one of the tunnels leading off goes all the way into the rise.”

“But how do we get in if it’s been blocked off?”

Darren jumped down, “There’s another way in.”

Kevin glanced behind him; those things were now visible and were getting uncomfortably close. He followed Steph and climbed down. He wondered where they we heading, he had the feeling that they were heading to the cemetery too.

They all ran through the garden and onto the main road, this was the main bus route through the estate, the shops and the local pub were just a bit further down. They hurried over the deserted road and onto the grass verge on the other side. The council had erected a chain link fence all around the church and the cemetery, Kevin remembered it going up, and he also remembered how long it took them to finish it. The estate kids kept tearing it down every time they the workers buggered off home.

Kevin followed Darren as he walked along the perimeter; they passed dozens of repaired holes, it wouldn’t be long before they found one that the council had missed. Darren stopped dead, “Bloody hell! It looks like we ain’t the only ones to think of this place.”

A whole section had been flattened into the grass; it looked like someone had rammed a car into it. Kevin followed the others through then glanced back. His blood turned to water when he saw a group of zombies turn the corner and head in their direction. He looked the other way and saw a load more shambling towards them.

“What the fuck are we going to do?”

Darren’s arrogant features slipped for a moment to reveal a very scared looking boy. He looked at the shotgun and then back at the approaching horde of people. “Let’s just hope to fuck that it really is there.”

“We’re surrounded.” muttered Stephanie.

“Yeah well fuck ‘em. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes anyway.”

Darren sprinted over the rough ground like a rabbit, the lad could shift, and they had trouble keeping up. They passed the old church and reached the tumbledown cemetery gates a couple of minutes later, it had been years since he’d been here and never at night.

Just then, the moon broke through the heavy cloud cover, its pale light washing away some of the shadows, revealing the scope and depth of the ruined graveyard. The place had been neglected and forgotten for decades, except for generations of kids from the estate. Kevin suspected that not many of them had shown the respect a place like this deserved. Many gravestones had been knocked down but plenty still remained upright, the lichen covered stones obscuring any number of horrors just waiting to grab them as they passed.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes.” muttered Stephanie.

Darren nodded, distracted, he was busy scanning the ground in front of him. Kevin had the awful feeling that Darren had never been here before.

“Is that what you’re looking for?” said Stephanie, pointing to a large block of stone set right in the middle of the cemetery.

“Yes that’s it, the mausoleum, there ain’t no flies on you is there.”

Kevin forced his eyes away from the approaching horde, he was sure that they were slowing down. He stared into the graveyard, just daring for something in there to move. Stephanie was right about it being full of mouldering bones, how could anything in there hurt him? It didn’t stop him from gasping at loud when he did see a shadow move.

“What the fuck was that?” he shouted.

Darren jumped, “For fuck’s sake man, you scared the shit out of me, what’s up with you?”

Kevin just pointed at the corpse slowly lurching up the path. Kevin wanted to punch the air and then punch Darren for doubting him yet again. Stephanie raised her pistol.

“Put that away you silly cow. Jesus!”

He marched up to the thing and smashed the butt of his shotgun into its face, the head jerked back before the whole body dropped to the path. Darren lifted up one of his feet, winked at Stephanie before he slammed it through the head.

It cracked open like a rotten egg, spilling black gelatinous syrup across the weed choked gravel path. Stephanie turned away.

“Oh Jesus,” she gasped, “the vile bastard.”

He saw a few more of the filthy things, all in various stages of advanced decay, staggering between the gravestones. He moved closer to Stephanie.

“I don’t think they’ll be able to do us much harm, I doubt that they could even open their jaws.”

Darren laughed, “The fuckers probably have to get someone to chew their food up first.”

A young man wearing the remains of a suit staggered up to Darren, as it struggled to lift its arms, he turned the shotgun around and swung the stock into the side of its head. Darren kicked it as he hurried past.

“Come on,” he said, “Stop fucking about.”

Kevin charged over, determined to show him that he was just as capable as Darren.

“Thank fuck for that,” muttered Darren, “I thought it was going to be another of one of dad’s lies.”

Kevin stopped dead; he didn’t think he was supposed to hear that. If all else failed, there was always the top of that stone, it looked high enough. He wondered how hard it would be to climb on the roof and if it was large enough to hold all three of them.

He glanced over his shoulders, to wait for Stephanie; he wished he hadn’t left her now. The zombies and they were zombies, fuck whatever Darren said, were now streaming though the broken fence. This wasn’t going to end well, he knew it.

Kevin turned back to find that Darren was no longer in front of them. He couldn’t see him anywhere, oh Jesus! Had he done a runner and left them in the lurch?

“He’s over there.” said Stephanie.

She pointed at a large red painted metal canister half buried in the soft soil, as he placed his hand against the metal, his whole body shivered.

“Darren? Darren what are you doing?”

The lad didn’t reply to his question. Kevin skirted around another crawling body and walked towards him. “Darren, are you alright?”

As Kevin got closer, he gasped when he saw the state of Darren’s hand; it looked like it had been welded to the outside. Darren began to moan; he turned around and gazed at Kevin.

He took one look at those cold, unfeeling eyes and wanted to scream. Darren pulled his hand off the canister and took one step closer to Kevin, the lad’s hand hung down; it looked like a lump of melted toffee.

“No, please. Not you as well.”

He tried to take his bayonet out but ended up dropping it into the mud.

Kevin shrieked when he saw the left side of Darren’s face explode in a geyser of blood. Stephanie rush passed him and picked up the dropped shotgun, she pushed the weapon into Kevin’s trembling hands. She pulled him over to the entrance of the mausoleum; he saw the thick steel chain wrapped around the bars secured with a padlock and knew there and then that it was over.

Steph started to bash the padlock with the handle of her pistol.

“Can’t you just shoot it off?”

“Of course I can’t shoot it off,” she replied sobbing. “That only works in films.”

She carried on hitting the padlock. Kevin tapped her on the shoulder.

“I think I know why they’ve come here.”

He watched dozens of faces pop up in the windows of the old church, they must have heard the banging.

“I also know where the other survivors are too.”

Steph groaned. “Oh sweet Jesus, they’ve come here to feed.”

Chapter Fourteen

It had been five minutes since he’d last looked at his watch and ten minutes since Ernest had pushed his thin body into the cupboard under the sink. Looking for a potential bolthole used to be second nature when he did the houses over. A convenient hiding place had saved his skin on many occasions back in his past. He didn’t think that he’d taken it to this extreme before though.

They had to be gone by now, probably further up the street in another house. He hadn’t heard a sound for ages. He pushed open the cupboard door and peeked out between a bottle of bleach and washing liquid. The kitchen was deserted. It was time to go; he couldn’t stand another second in here. The cramped space wasn’t bothering him, he just had to get away from this smell, Jesus, and he was getting high off it. He’d never be able to clear his nose of peach infused washing liquid and pine disinfectant, he could even taste the stuff. He pushed all the bottles to the side and wiggled out, Mrs Watson had gone to hide upstairs, he hoped she was okay, thinking that she would have come downstairs by now. He took a deep breath and stretched his limbs; it felt so good to be able to move again.

Ernest wandered over to the kitchen window, and looked out, hoping to see where they had moved to.

His heart almost gave out when he saw that they were still outside the house, oh Christ! They had Mrs Watson face down in the road, he heard her cry out when one of them booted her in the side.

The front door burst open, Ernest ran back towards the cupboard when two masked soldiers ran into the kitchen with their weapons raised.

“Get down on your knees, now!”

He dropped to the floor and raised his hands, Ernest watched the short stocky one slowly advance, the barrel of his gun never wavering. He watched the soldier’s finger tighten on the trigger; Ernest closed his eyes, hoping that it would be over fast. A bullet in the brain was a far better way to die then to have a group of dead people banquet on his flesh.

“Oh this is fucking unreal,” said the soldier, laughing. “He was under the bloody sink all this time.”

He felt a pair of gloved hands frisk him down, Ernest dared to open one eye, shocked that he still breathed. The soldier bent over his body as his searched him. He stayed as still as possible, it had been many years since he’d been searched but he knew the procedure, he also knew what happened when you resisted.

“He’s clean.”

The soldier stood up and for the first time, he caught a glimpse of him through the face-plate. Bloody hell, he was only a kid, about Darren’s age. He just hoped his lad had managed to escape, if anyone could, it would be him. Ernest Belmont had made damned sure that his son hadn’t turned out to be a snivelling weakling.

“How the hell did he get in there?” said the other man speaking for the first time. “He must be double jointed or something.”

He was a lot older than the kid, he guessed mid thirties. Ernest daren’t look up to see if the voice fit the face, he had no wish to antagonise them.

“You’d better maker sure you secure the slippery bastard extra well then, we can’t have our bank notes getting away from us.”

The young soldier brought out a bundle of clear cable ties.

“Not here, you bloody idiot. Do it outside.”

“I take it you ain’t the rescue party.” muttered Ernest.

The soldier grabbed his arm and marched him towards the kitchen door. He laughed. “Hell no, we ain’t even in the army.”

“Shut your trap lad.” snapped the other one.

“Oh, come on, Gary, stop being such a misery guts. I mean, just who’s he gonna fucking tell?”

The lad pushed him into the hallway, Ernest stared at the older man as he was marched passed the man, hoping he might see just a glimmer of compassion in his hard eyes. They looked as dead as the shuffling corpses he’d been destroying all night.

“This one’s just earned us another grand. I said there was another one in here didn’t I.”

The one named Gary nodded, “Yeah okay, don’t rub it in. I reckon that we ought to give that old bitch another good kicking for lying to us.”

Ernest saw red; he caught the boy by surprise and wriggled out of his grip. Fuck antagonising them, he dived on the older man, intending to rip the arrogant fucker’s throat out. The man saw him coming; he just moved out of his way and slammed Ernest’s head into the wall.

The man bent over and lifted Ernest up by his hair. “Nice try sweetheart, I ought to put a bullet in you here and now for pulling a stunt like that.” He lifted him up and threw him at the other soldier, “Just keep hold of him you daft cunt.”

A gloved hand encircled his throat, “You’ve made me look like a right twat.”

Ernest tried to laugh, “You didn’t need my help.”

Gary pulled the boy’s hand away, he grabbed Ernest’s arm and forced it up his back then marched him out into the sunlight.

“Do you see the cunts dressed in white?” said the lad jogging at his side. “They’re gonna slice you and your mum up. They want to find why you ain’t gone the same way as the others.”

Gary threw him down, next to Mrs Watson.

“Are you alright?”

The woman managed to nod.

“The lad bent over him and grinned. “When you feel those scalpels and bone-saw cut into your flesh, I want you to think about all that cash that you’ve earned us.”

Ernest looked into the lad’s mask and spat at him. “You ain’t going to live to see any money my friend.”

Gary sighed. “Yeah, whatever, just get on the floor.”

Ernest shook his head, “You can go fuck yourself. I’d rather die here and now.”

Gary shrugged, “Fair enough.” He raised his rifle.

Ernest watched the man’s eyes flicker and turned his head to see one of the men dressed in white edge closer to him, he saw the metal pole he held in his hands. He had one last chance and he took it. He sprung up and hit the astonished man hard in the chest; he staggered back and fell against the van. Ernest grabbed the man’s mask and ripped it off his head.

He watched the terrified man try to hold his breath and scramble about on the floor for the mask before one of the soldiers dragged Ernest back.

Gary slapped the young lad on the back and began to laugh. We’ve just earned another grand. He pointed his rifle at the handler who was trying to fasten his mask in place.

“Get in the back of the van!” he shouted.

The handler shook his head, “No, please Gary. Come on man, I’m okay, I promise.”

Gary shook his head, “Bollocks, you’ve been infected; now get in the van before I blow your head off.”

Ernest watched the other man in white open the rear door and helped the other sobbing man into the large cage. The young lad waved the bundle of cable ties in his face.

They both jumped when Gary’s head exploded in a spray of pink and red. The headless body fell to its knees and slumped forward to reveal the diminutive form of Dennis Flynn standing a few feet behind. He raised his shotgun and pointed it at the kid.

“Hold out your arms in front of you.” Dennis said.

“Please don’t kill me,” he sobbed.

“Ernest, would you care to use those plastic ties on our soldier friend?”

He took the bundle out of the lad’s trembling fingers and secured him, he took perverse pleasure in pulling them extra tight. Ernest turned his head to watch the other man in white tear down the road.

Dennis shook his head and tutted. He marched up to the whimpering kid and pulled the mask off. “I’ve got some friends I want you to meet.”

Ernest hurried over to Mrs Watson, thankful that they hadn’t yet tied her up; he gently lifted her off the road and slung his jacket around her trembling shoulders. “Did they hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered, “I’m just a little shaken up that’s all.”

“Hello Mavis,” said Dennis. “It’s been a while.”

“That it has.” She replied.

“I don’t suppose you know how to make hot chocolate do you?”

She shook her head, “No, I can’t stand the stuff.”

“Oh, well that’s a shame.” He dragged the boy away. “See you around.”

Mavis slung her arms around Ernest’s neck, sobbing. He held her tight and took a couple of deep ragged breaths, wondering if this fucking nightmare would ever end. She sighed deep and looked at Ernest.

“Did you see the madness in his eyes?”

He nodded, he bore very little resemblance to the quiet little guy who used to sit with his wife at the end of the bar every Saturday. “Somehow, I think meeting Dennis again would be a very bad idea.”

“We need to get out of here. I don’t think I can take much more.”

Ernest stood up and stretched, his body needed a good rest, that was for sure, he hadn’t put it through this much punishment since the old days.

“The old days,” he murmured. “Of course, how could I have forgotten that?” he gazed down at Mavis and smiled. “I think I know a way out.” His hand suddenly went to his neck, “Shit, I’ve lost the key. Never mind, the shop has a pair of bolt cutters.”

He lifted the woman up. “Are you up to a bit more walking?”

She nodded. “Wait a minute, what about the bloke they forced into the van.”

He shrugged, “What about him?”

“We can’t leave him in there, that would make us as bad as them.”

He nodded and wondered over to the doors and pulled them open. Mavis gasped. The flat eyes of a deadie stared back at them and it started to moan.

Chapter Fifteen

The kid came out from nowhere; instinct alone saved Colonel Marsham from having his face ripped off, he managed to get his arm up in front of his mask just before she flew into him. The little bitch tried to take a chunk out of his arm, luckily the mesh armour under his uniform saved him from infection.

“Don’t just stand there!” he yelled. “Get this thing off me.”

Marsham grabbed her blonde hair with his other glove and attempted to pull her off him. It was impossible to shift her; she hung on with the tenacity of a terrier.

A handler and two soldiers ran to him, they grabbed her and pulled, if anything, it made her clamp down harder. He clenched his teeth and tried to block out the numbing pain, his imagination calmly informed him that the girl’s teeth were tearing through the mesh as if it was made out of pie crust.

“Give me your knife, son.”

The nearest man passed over a double bladed eight inch dagger. It wasn’t standard issue but Marsham wasn’t going to object.

“May the lord forgive me for this heinous deed.”

He placed the tip into the little girl’s ear and rammed it in to the hilt. The girl let go of his arm and slipped to the floor.

“Sir, we have more hostiles at two o clock.”

Marsham followed Klinski’s coordinates and stared in shock at the interior of the shadowy garage. Oh lord, there were at least a dozen of them, crawling along the oil stained concrete floor like stalking cats. Marsham didn’t think any of the poor little blighters were over the age of six.

He placed a heavy lid on his screaming conscience and shot the first one three times. Klinski and Rushworth took out the rest with several carefully placed shots.

“I think I’m going to go to hell for what I’ve just done,” murmured Sergeant Rushworth.

Marsham didn’t answer; silence appeared to be the appropriate response. He walked over and closed the garage door; he had no wish to gaze at that sickening scene any longer.

Klinski looked in the window of a nearby car; he then lifted his rifle and put the side window through. Klinski reached in and pulled out a grey blanket.

“If we live through this,” said Klinski, “I swear to God that I’ll make sure that the people responsible will pay for this.”

He placed the blanket over the rumpled form at his feet and bowed his head. The other two joined him in prayer.

Those responsible? Just where would you start? The ones who dropped the canisters twelve miles off target or the bastards who created this vile weapon in the first place? He shook his head and walked back towards base, the other two were more than capable of securing the immediate area.

The chances of the shit hitting the faces of those who were ultimately accountable for this fuck up were next to zero. Unless of course the EU or the US got wind of what us naughty Brits had been cooking up.

He laughed bitterly to himself, who was he trying to kid, they’ve probably known for years, hell he’d bet his last pay cheque that other countries had a say in this.

Two suited technicians nodded to him as he passed them, Marsham couldn’t find the energy to return the greeting.

Their base was a deserted house far away from where the main action was situated, unless of course the things changed direction again. He looked back at those white suited geeks, gazing at indecipherable gobbledegook on a monitor. How would they react if he informed them that the pack was coming back? He walked into the living room and through to the kitchen. The geeks would probably shit themselves and start to panic; they were good at doing that. He groaned to himself when he spotted the head geek rushing over to him.

Doctor Marious was his usual excitable self. He got the feeling that the good doctor thought he was involved in some sort of school science project; either that or the man was bereft of normal human emotions.

“There you are,” he said. “Come and look at this, I think we have made a breakthrough.”

The man hurried off, automatically expecting Marsham to follow him.

“Is it a cure?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there isn’t one,” he led him into what used to be the dining room. “Just look at that.” he announced.

Marsham had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at, all he saw was a small lump of meat twitching away in a clear glass container.

The doctor sighed “Oh, save me from the slow. Look, that piece was cut away from the sample you brought us.”

Marsham nodded. They found one of them upstairs in the bedroom, a dead boy of about fourteen or fifteen; his foot was jammed between two slats in the base of a small bed. Unfortunately, he startled the hell out of Rushworth and received a round through the head for his trouble.

He’d stared at the monster, watching in disgust as grey mush slipped across the carpet and wondered if this had been his bedroom.The walls were covered in sci-fi movie posters and shelves were packed with plastic military models, everything from battleships to a helicopter gunship. He picked up a model of a German panzer tank and marvelled at the detail, the paintwork alone was exquisite. Marsham then watched his men drag the body out of the bedroom and decided that just like them, the definitely now dead boy was a stranger to this house

“You are looking at dead flesh, Colonel Marsham.”

It twitched a couple more times; he fought off the desire to look for someone pulling strings. “But it’s moving.”

The scientist nodded. “Indeed it is, but it’s still dead, just like the rest of those things shuffling around this housing estate.”

Marsham wanted to laugh; he had to be jerking him about. “This is bullshit, once you’re dead that’s it, you lie still and rot.”

“Not anymore, it appears that the weapon has given us another stage of existence.”

“Explain.”

He shrugged, “I can’t, none of us can explain it, at least not yet, and the phenomenon defies all explanation. I don’t think even God could explain this one.”

Marsham took out a model soldier he found upstairs and placed it on the table then reached for his radio. “Start packing away your equipment, doctor. We’re evacuating.”

He took immense pleasure in watching the man’s conceited features show panic. “I’m calling in the fire teams. You’ve thirty minutes to make yourselves scarce.” He said, walking away.

Chapter sixteen

He turned the last label of the cream of mushroom soups to face the front and stood back to make sure that they were now all symmetrical.

“This is our best selling soup line you know,” said Ernest. “It is six pence cheaper then the supermarket on the end of Bridge Street. Mr. Singh wouldn’t tell me where he got the stock from but I do know that he doesn’t get it from any of our regular suppliers.”

Mavis had her mouth full of mackerel in tomato sauce. He had the insane urge to ask her if she was going to pay for that tin she’d just opened.

Being in the min-market was almost as bad as his last visit home. He saw evidence of his handiwork everywhere he looked. That sugar bag display at the front of the shop may have been his boss’s idea but it was him who had to build the bloody thing up. Twice, when that annoying little brat thought it would be hilarious to jump into it. Ernest was the poor soul who repainted the entire shop when Mr. Singh decided that meadow green was a more appealing colour than leaf green.

Ernest sighed and picked up a packet of cream crackers and placed them back on the shelf. He’d spent many long hours in this shop, working like a slave for less than minimum wage. Looking back, Ernest wondered if he’d subconsciously chosen this life of drudgery as penance to atone for his past misdemeanours.

“So where are these bolt-cutters?”

He pointed over to the door, “They should be behind the counter. That’s where I last saw them anyway.”

“For some reason I thought he’d have them for sale.”

Ernest laughed, “Mr. Singh sells most things but even he wouldn’t sell tools to help the thieves on Breakspear make their jobs more efficient.”

He walked past the baking section, stopping himself from pulling the bags of self raising flour forward and leaned over the glass counter. Ernest smiled when he saw them lying next to a claw hammer.

“Is it there?”

He nodded, “Yes, here it is, just where I thought it would be.”

Ernest skirted past the sweet display and ducked behind the counter. The hammer was there for only one reason; it was Mr. Singh’s only method of protection. The police had told him numerous times that he was risking his own life by keeping the shop open so late and having no visible alarm but he had just smiled back at them and tried to sell them the contents of the shop. Nobody had robbed him yet nor had the shop been turned over.

He heard Mavis walking towards the counter. She must have gotten bored of stuffing her face with food.

“Time to go.”

Ernest yelled out as cold fingers gripped his hair and pulled him back up, Ernest looked into the dead eyes of his former boss, and then saw its mouth opening. His hands scrambled blindly across the counter, trying to find something, anything to get this abomination off his hair.

The claw hammer seemed to mock him, the ideal weapon was just out of his reach. Ernest pulled back, screaming in agony, feeling his hair pulling out at the roots. The thing started to moan and reached across the counter with its other hand.

Through tear blurred vision, he saw something move behind Mr. Singh and he heard Mavis let out a single grunt. His former boss suddenly let him go and fell face down, cracking the counter glass when he hit it. Ernest saw the handle of a screwdriver sticking out of the back of the neck.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry, I took so long,” she said. “I couldn’t get it to come out of the plastic packet.”

He gingerly touched the top of his head and winced. “The bastard nearly turned me into a monk.”

“We should have searched the bloody place before we went shopping.” She looked into his eyes.

Ernest saw tears begin to form.

“I nearly lost you.”

“Yeah well, luckily for you, our hardware section was stocked up last week.” He picked up the bolt-cutters. “Let’s make tracks.”

They both looked towards the rear of the store when they heard the sound of smashing glass.

Mavis ran round and joined Ernest behind the counter. He saw a shadow move in the corridor that led to Mr. Singh’s living room and got down on the floor, he wrapped his hand around the hammer and gripped it tight, just in case.

She tensed up and stifled a gasp. “It’s another one.” she whispered.

Ernest thought she meant another deadie until he spotted a flash of camouflage clothing flashing between two aisles. After their last encounter, he was more than reluctant to stand up and wave. He just hoped that he’d find nothing of interest and bugger off.

The man walked past the baking section and abruptly stopped when he saw the slumped body of Mr. Singh.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed the soldier.

The rubber grip handle gave Ernest some reassurance. It frightened the hell out of him to realise that he’d have no conscience in using it on that soldier, if he got the chance, though somehow he doubted that the soldier would allow Ernest to slam the business end of the hammer into his head. Any threatening gestures would probably be answered with half a dozen shells ripping through his body.

Hopefully, with Mr. Singh’s help, it wouldn’t come to that; the man’s body was providing excellent cover. The man prodded the body with his gun before walking away. Ernest heard him opening the drinks fridge.

“I’ve searched the building and there are no live ones here, over.”

“That’s a negative, satellite reconnaissance showed two warm images in that building, over.”

Ernest watched him open a big bag of Maltesers.

“I’m telling you, there’s nobody in here. Can you not ask them to check again? Over.”

The soldier proceeded to throw the chocolate sweets at the back of the dead man’s head.

“So you want me to tell the techs to hi-jack another foreign satellite just because you are an incompetent halfwit? Look again, over and fucking out.”

“Well you can go fuck yourself control,” he muttered. “Bollocks to this, I’m out of here.”

He felt Mavis reach over and grab his hand, she squeezed tight. He nodded back; it looked like they were in the clear. The soldier dropped the bag on the floor and wandered down the last aisle. Ernest tried to relax.

Suddenly, the soldier doubled back on himself, he was laughing. “It won’t be stealing; it’ll all be getting torched anyway.”

He was heading straight for them; they both pressed their backs against the counter when his hand grabbed the top of the till. His shadow loomed over them; Ernest shut his eyes and pretended to be dead. That man above them must have seen loads of dead bodies tonight so he shouldn’t bat an eyelid at the sight of two more, besides he would be more concerned with raiding the till.

He heard the sound of the gun being cocked.

“Come on, up you get or stay down there forever, it’s your choice.”

He felt Mavis move, Ernest opened his eyes and slowly got to his feet.

“And you can drop that fucking hammer. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

The soldier waved them out from behind the counter and pushed the end of his gun into Ernest’s back. He marched the pair over to the freezers. “Put your hands face down on the glass.”

Ernest received a not so gentle prod in his ribs when he hesitated.

“How the hell have you two managed to stay alive throughout all this? You don’t really strike me as survivor types.”

Ernest watch him put the gun between his legs, he knew that he’d be able to get out of the shop before this clown knew what was happening but what about Mavis? He couldn’t leave her here.

“Deja vu.” She muttered.

“Shut your face, grandma.”

Mavis sighed; she lifted her hands off the glass and turned around. The man fumbled with his gun, he finally brought it up and pointed the muzzle at the woman.

“Turn back around!” he shouted, “Or so help me I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” she asked. “Shoot a defenceless old lady in the face?”

She placed both hands on the barrel of the gun and pushed it down. “Let us go. You’ve already radioed in that the building is empty.”

She smiled at him. “You see, you really are going to have to kill us before we go with you. Now do you really want that on your conscience? What would your mother say?”

Ernest took his hands off the fridge and faced the soldier. He saw fear and indecision in his eyes. Was he really going to let them go?

“Why not just pretend you didn’t see us and go look in that till.” She looked over at Ernest. “If you get stuck, I’m sure Ernest will help you. He used to work here.”

Would naked greed win out over orders? Oh Christ, he fucking hoped so. Then Ernest remembered something that might help to win him over. “There should be over three grand in the safe.”

That got the bastard’s attention.

“Do you have the combination?”

Ernest nodded. Mr. Singh trusted him with the numbers a few weeks ago when the man had to rush home due to a family emergency. He hoped he hadn’t changed the bloody numbers.

He tapped the side of his head. “They are locked up in here mate. Are you ready to see some serious cash?”

The man nodded. Ernest hoped that he wasn’t laying it on too thick, he had to get the guy hooked, and if he was distracted then it would be a lot bloody easier to lay the fucker out. He had no intention of letting him walk out with that money; he’d helped to put those notes in there.

“Come on then,” he said. “Is the safe in the back room?”

The man didn’t wait for Ernest to answer; he raised his rifle and aimed it at his head. “If you’re lying, I’ll blow you in two. I’ve decided that I don’t like you, you’re a bit too slimy, a bit weasely.”

Mavis suddenly stopped and stared at the back room; Ernest looked too and groaned when he saw another figure climbing through the broken window. Oh shit, the man must have got back-up. There was no way they’d get out of this now.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the man behind him grind to a halt. Ernest wondered what he’d do when he found out about the money. Then he saw the man point his rifle towards the back room. Ernest’s instinct kicked in, he dived on the Mavis and pushed her down, narrowly missing cracking her head on the metal shelf stacked with eggs.

A single shot rang out, Ernest glanced back to see the soldier drop to the floor. An uneven spot of dark blood appeared on the man’s stomach and rapidly spread across his chest. They heard unhurried footsteps coming towards them; Mavis grabbed Ernest and pulled him around the corner out of sight just as the figure came into view. The figure paused before darting into the aisle. The man looked down at them and smiled.

“Hello again,” said Dennis. “It’s a small world.”

He ran over to Mr. Singh and lifted his head up. Ernest heard the old man mutter something but he couldn’t hear what it was. Dennis then walked over to the soldier and checked his pulse; he nodded to himself before coming back over to them.

“I’ve got most of the pieces in place now,” the man suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh God! I can’t put into words just how fucking alive I feel. It’s ironic really, to think that it took a total catastrophe for me to realise that I should never have given up what I love the best. I bet you don’t know what I mean by that do you, Ernest?”

He kept silent.

Dennis crouched down and nodded to Mavis. “You were pretty cute when you were younger lass. I almost chose you instead of instead of Ethel.” He giggled. “You’d be in the van instead of her.” He grinned. “Not that it matters, you’ll be in there pretty soon.”

Dennis stood up and looked back at the fallen soldier. “I want you two to carry him outside and hurry up; I don’t want him dying on us just yet.”

Mavis looked at him, her eyes full of fear, she then glanced at the gun Dennis had in his hand. Ernest could see the madness in the old man’s eyes as well.

“Well come on!” urged Dennis, there’s still loads left to do tonight.”

Ernest got to his feet and padded over to the man on the floor, he didn’t look very alive to him. He put his arms under his shoulders, waited for Mavis to grab his legs then attempted to lift him up, he was surprisingly light.

“It’s all down to us and them in the end.” He saw Ernest look back at his ex boss, he started to laugh again. “No, no it’s not about whose alive or dead.”

He rested the body on the edge of the sofa; it didn’t look as if Dennis had noticed that he’d stopped.

“There’s us, me, you, Mavis and a few others scattered around. We are potentials. If those things out there catch us, we’ll join their ranks. Then there are the others, they’re the competitors.” He grinned. “Now if they get caught, they’ll get ripped to bits and chewed up. Now why do you suppose that is, eh? I mean, it’s not like they get any nutritional value out of the flesh, I mean how can they? Their bodies have effectively shut down.”

Dennis waved his gun at Ernest; he got the message and lifted the body back up.

“I’m not sure just yet why this is, although I suspect that our dead friends are scared of the competitors, you see I reckon that if a competitor survives a bite then they’ll change but perhaps into something else?” he shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

This mad man was going to kill them both; they had to get away from him. Mavis managed to get the man’s feet out of the window, Ernest heaved and shouldered the rest of him through the hole, he landed on the grass below in an untidy heap, if he wasn’t dead earlier,Ernest suspected that he was now.

“Right then dear, you first, out you get.”

Ernest hoped Mavis that the woman would climb out from the window and just make a run for it; he wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“I think it may have something to do with tribes you know. In the future, this planet will be ruled by the dead, it’s inevitable, but I don’t think that the dead will be one big harmonious group. Right, you wait there. After I climb out I want you to be right behind me. If you take too long, like have strange ideas about running back into the shop to grab a knife or some other weapon, you’re going to find the Pretty Mavis cut up into several bloodied lumps.”

He watched Dennis climb through the window, he wanted to break down and weep, he felt like he’d failed everyone. Ernest knew that this was not going to end well and he couldn’t see a way out of it.

After he heard him drop down, Ernest looked wildly around the room looking for something, anything that he could use to protect himself and Mavis from that fucking lunatic. Potentials and competitors? Oh Christ, what a fucking loony toon.

Oh fuck, there was bugger all here, then he remembered the soldier, the lad must have a knife on him somewhere, Dennis was bound to make them carry him to wherever to was going. Ernest nodded and grabbed the window frame, it was better than nothing he supposed.

As he hit to the ground the fact that the soldier had dropped his fucking rifle in the shop hit him like an express train, Ernest couldn’t believe he had been so God damn stupid. He slowly turned around expecting to see the face of the grinning old man leering at him.

He saw Mavis, a teenage boy and a young woman. The boy held a long knife; Dennis was at his feet with a pool of blood spreading out from under him.

Chapter Seventeen

He held the bolt-cutters in one hand while tucking the handle of the hammer down the back of his trousers, he’d tried pushing the handle through one of his belt hoops but the hoop was too bloody small.

Going back into that place was probably one of the hardest things he had ever done, he was left with no choice though; Ernest needed those bolt-cutters.

Despite his earlier idea about grabbing the soldier’s gun, he left it on the floor, they were fine until the ammo ran dry or it jammed. He’d stick with the hammer; you didn’t have to put bullets into that. Ernest missed his trusty pool cue; it was one item that the minimarket had never stocked though.

The soldier had begun to stir; Ernest had gained enough experience tonight to understand what that meant. He leapt through the smashed window, put the bolt-cutters on the ground and pulled Dennis’s shotgun out from beneath the old man’s body.

“Life’s a bitch ain’t it,” he said. “Welcome to Breakspear.”

He took hold of the barrel and brought the stock down hard on the man’s head. His movements ceased.

“Live by the gun, die by the gun. I’m sorry but you didn’t deserve the hammer.”

He looked over at Dennis and wondered how long it would be before he started to move again. Ernest didn’t even know if he was dead yet. He lifted up the barrel of the shotgun, well if he wasn’t, he would be in a second.

As he lifted up the shotgun, a single cry echoed through the night air, followed by four gunshots. He dropped the weapon and spun around.

“Oh, Jesus.”

He’d forgotten that the strangers said they were going to do that. The other three stood beside a blue van opposite the square, and there were four bodies lying at their feet.

The soldier had commented on how he and Mavis didn’t look like the types to survive. Ernest wondered what he would have thought if he saw their new friends, especially the boy, he didn’t look strong enough to fight his way out of a wet paper bag.

He picked up the bolt-cutters and jogged towards the van, hoping these two would be able to fill the boots left by Emily and Adrian.

“So you got them.” Mavis said.

Ernest nodded, trying not to look down at those four chained up corpses between him and the other three. In the end, he gave in to his morbid curiosity and stared in disgust at what Dennis had done to them. He had no idea who three of them were and it took him a while to recognise Dennis’s dear departed wife. The poor thing looked like she’d been dead for a couple of weeks before she’d succumbed to whatever the fuck had happened to their estate.

Having his wife rise from the grave, even if she actually made it there, wasn’t good enough for the old man. He’d manacled her legs together and done the same to her hands. He saw rectangular strips of flesh cut out of all of them. Jesus, he’d been experimenting on them too. He noticed a dark haired woman with a large number of facial piercings lying next to the remains of a man that looked like it had definitely been dug up. The woman’s lips had been sewn together; he shook his head at the madness of it all.

“This is Emily,” said Mavis.

The girl smiled and nodded, he nodded back, unable to trace her. Ernest thought he knew everybody in the estate, so either he was wrong or the girl was a stranger. If she was, the poor lass picked the wrong bloody day to come visiting.

“And this is Kevin.”

The boy stepped over the bodies and shook Ernest’s hand, it was obvious that he wasn’t used to the gesture.

“Thanks for looking after him.” he said.

“That’s okay,” Ernest replied, not knowing what the hell he was talking about. He hadn’t realised just how bad the lad smelled; he stank of gone-off meat. The stench was coming off that dirty, tattered jacket he wore over his sweatshirt. The girl had one on too, what the hell had they been doing?

“Kevin here is Adrian’s younger brother.”

Ernest immediately dropped his eyes to the floor, “Oh Christ, lad. I’m really sorry.”

Kevin sighed, “It’s okay, I accepted that he was gone a bit back, I’m just glad that he took a few of those filthy bastards with him.”

Well, he sounded tougher than he looked. He gazed back to where Doctor Death had fallen; suddenly remembering that he intended to smash his skull in. “Thanks for saving our lives, both of you. I reckon that if you hadn’t turned up, we’d have both ended up like those poor bastards on the floor.”

The boy shrugged, “Yeah well, we were seconds away from shouting out to the old man until…” he paused and took a deep breath, “…until he opened the van doors and those things spilled out.”

Kevin turned and padded round to the front of the van. Mavis hurried after him.

“That young girl there is Kevin’s sister,” said Stephanie.

Oh Jesus, talk about a double whammy; that kid would be in therapy for the rest of his life, if they lived through tonight that is. He quickly searched around to find something to cover her body, he had to make do with half a bed sheet he found in the back of the van; it was covered in bits of God knows what but it was better than nothing.

“Mavis says that you may be able to get us out.”

Ernest nodded at the girl, glad that she had changed the subject. Mavis returned with the boy, he waited for them both to draw near before he answered. He reckoned that the lad ought to hear this too; he looked like he needed cheering up.

“Yeah, I can get us out. There’s a tunnel that leads all the way from…” he trailed off when he saw the colour drain from both of their faces.

“It’s under the old graveyard isn’t it,” muttered Kevin.

Ernest nodded, “Yeah, how did you know?”

The hardened fighter disguise fell away to reveal a very frightened looking boy. Mavis hurried over and put her arm around him.

“We’ve just escaped from the cemetery,” said the girl.

“What do you mean by escaped?”

“There were thousands of them coming out from every house and shuffling through the streets.”

“We saw that happen as well.” He decided not to mention that Adrian didn’t live through that, the lad looked traumatised enough.

“Yeah well, we were with this other lad who led us into the cemetery. See if you can guess where that vast swarm of people were heading?”

Ernest looked into the girl’s eyes; he couldn’t imagine what kind of terror she must have felt when she saw that swarm of ravenous things coming towards them.

“How did you escape?”

She picked at the decaying fabric covering her clothes then looked at Kevin and smiled at him before walking over and grabbing his hand.

“We wore a disguise. It was Kevin’s idea.”

“There were a load of people hiding in the old church; those dead people just tore into them. I thought that we might be able to slip past them if we smelled as bad as they did.”

The old woman had a very funny look on her face; as though she’d just found God.

“We took these rags off a couple of dead people and hoped for the best. I mean, we had no other choice.”

“Potentials and competitors,” murmured Mavis.

Stephanie stared at her “What does that mean?”

“It’s something that Doctor Death was going on about in the shop,” said Ernest. “He said that was how those things saw the human race, if you’re a potential then they’ll take a chunk out of you and you’ll end up turning into one of them but if they see you as a competitor, then those bastards will rip you apart and eat the bits.”

“A bit like a paper shredder,” whispered Mavis.

“I think that’s why you were able to get past them; a competitor will take priority over a potential.”

“This is bullshit,” said Kevin, “you’re not buying into this crap are you Steph? I mean, you’re repeating some twisted theory that a fucking homicidal maniac came out with.”

“Come on Kevin, you’ve got to admit that it does sound plausible, they just pushed us out of the way to get to those other people.”

Ernest gazed at that badly decomposed body next to Ethel, not believing what he was thinking. He swallowed down his fear and turned to the others. “We need to go into the cemetery, personally I think it’s the only chance we have.”

Kevin staggered back, shaking his head. “I’m hearing things.”

“You got out;” said Ernest, “we’ll be able to get in.”

“Are you having a laugh?” cried Kevin. “We barely escaped with our lives. If those things hadn’t been distracted we’d have had no bloody chance. Those poor souls will all be dead now.”

Ernest shrugged, “Well in that case that swarm will move on then, because you can guarantee that they’ll be more refuges like the church, scattered about the estate.”

He held his breath and leaned over the corpse. He grabbed the shoulder, cringing when his forefinger pushed through into the soft flesh; it felt like he’d just stuck his finger into a rotten pear.

“Ernest, you really do believe Dennis’s ideas don’t you,” said Mavis.

He looked at her and nodded, trying to ignore the troubling frown and those warning bells going off in his head.”

“I do know that Dennis was empathically dead and had no conscience, but he wasn’t insane.”

“Well what about these dead things inheriting the planet? Will he be right about that bit too?”

He shook his head, “Of course not. I don’t think that’s even possible. Come on Mavis, Do you honestly think I want to do this? What other choice do we have?”

“There are always other choices, say we do get out of here Ernest. What will happen when we eventually die? Will we stay dead or will we rise up from death and spread this plague? Have you considered that? Good lord, we could be the ones responsible for killing our species!”

“You don’t know that.”

“And neither do you. I think we should…”

“I can hear something coming,” hissed Stephanie.

Ernest saw headlights reflecting in the windows of the dark houses and raced over to hide behind the van, the other three were right behind him. He peered through the side window; his heart sank when he saw a convoy of military vehicles rumbling past. They turned off and travelled down towards the old church.

“We have to give ourselves up; it’s the only moral action we have left.”

“Have you lost your mind lass? How can you even suggest that after the way they treated you earlier?”

“Those poor men were terrified, Ernest. The people they answer to will be professional specialists and I’m sure that they’ll treat us with dignity and respect.”

“Jesus lady, what planet did you come from?” muttered the girl.

Mavis ignored her; she smiled and stood up. “Look, I’ll show you.”

“For Christ’s sake woman, sit down!”

She moved out of the way of Ernest’s arms and hurried around the van with her arms in the air.

“Maybe she’s right, Ernest. Maybe we ought to give ourselves up.”

He looked at Kevin and shook his head, “Believe me son, she isn’t.”

The boy tried to stand up but Stephanie reached out and pulled him back. “You ain’t going anywhere.”

Three soldiers saw her and immediately raised their rifles. The woman stopped. Ernest shut his eyes; he just knew what would happen next. He turned and slid down the van and jumped as three gunshots blasted through the air. He heard the girl start to sob and he so wanted to join her.

“Oh Jesus, that’s murder,” she cried. “Why the hell did they have to go do that?”

“There are no vans out there; they have all the specimens they need. Those soldiers are a cleanup crew; they’ll have orders to shoot anything that moves.”

“Can’t we find somewhere to hole up and try again in the morning?”

He shook his head, “I’ve already thought of that one Stephanie, but it has to be tonight.”

“A load more soldiers have just turned up, it looks like they are trying to repair the fence.”

“Ernest opened his eyes, he stood up and joined Kevin by the window, thankfully the van obscured the poor woman’s body.

He slammed his hand against the side of the van, frustrated and angry, it wasn’t fucking fair.

“Why does it have to be tonight?”

“They’ve got eyes in the sky. They’ll use satellite imagery to find us. If we find a nice safe hidey hole, within hour an hour those bastards will boot the door down.”

Chapter Eighteen

“We should have taken that armour off the soldier in the house, Steph. If it’s bite proof, I bet its bullet-proof as well.”

Ernest looked up,” What did you just say?”

“We captured a soldier, he…”

“You said armour didn’t you.”

The boy nodded.

“How could I have been so fucking stupid?” he said, grinning. “It’s staring us right in the face.”

Ernest looked through the side window and whooped with joy when he saw the ignition keys dangling down.

“Okay kids, into the back, let’s get this done.”

Stephanie grinned herself and tapped the side of the van with her knuckle. “It’s a fucking armoured car. Bullet-proof? I bet this bastard is missile-proof!”

Ernest climbed into the cab and started the engine, he hoped those two in the back had secured themselves as he got the feeling that this was going to be a very bumpy ride.

The three soldiers had heard the van start up, he watched them race towards him and waving their arms. He gunned the engine then pressed down on the accelerator then headed straight for them. He shook his head, unable to grasp their stupidity. The sensible course of action would have been to just open fire; he doubted that even the toughened glass would be able to withstand a concentrated barrage of gunfire.

“This is for killing a sweet old lady.” He said.

Two of the soldiers weren’t agile enough to get out of the way; the van clipped them as he drove past. Ernest missed the remaining soldier despite swerving towards him; still, two out of three was a good result.

Ernest drove towards that fence, hoping that the surviving soldier would do the wrong thing and go check on his comrades; he also hoped that they’d turned into deadies just as he bent down to check on them.

Half a dozen suited figures scattered like bowling pins as the van ploughed through the wire fence, he heard a few bullets ping off the bodywork and just prayed that the soldiers didn’t have anything larger in their arsenal, like a tank.

“Holy fuck!” he gasped, when the old church came into view. Despite all the mind numbing terror he’d been through tonight, it still didn’t prepare him for the inhuman carnage and butchery a few metres in front of the van. It was slaughter of biblical proportions. He saw dozens of separate groups of the vile things scattered around the churchyard, systematically ripping up human bodies and chewing on their flesh.

Not everyone had succumbed to the dead horde, he saw a few survivors, clinging on to high walls; a few had even managed to climb onto the remains of the roof. Ernest wanted to close his eyes so he didn’t have to look at them, he watched two of them standing up, and one had even begun to wave. It would have been so much easier if there had been no survivors. Those poor bastards must have thought that he was the cavalry, that Ernest Belmont was going to rescue them.

There was just no feasible way of him helping them; either the deadies or the soldiers or both would swarm over them as soon as he stopped the van.

“Mavis Watson would have tried to help them,” he muttered.

Mavis was dead though, she’d lost her life in the mistaken belief that everybody was a good person deep down. Ernest knew that he was a good person deep down too, but he was also a realist.

He recognised that waving man; he used to come into the mini-market nearly every day for the Daily Mirror and a pack of Golden Virginia. He’d always stop for a few minutes to pass the time of day with Ernest. He raced pigeons.

Suddenly someone behind him opened up with something a little more powerful than a rifle, the noise was deafening; it sounded like hail hitting glass. He didn’t know just how much more punishment his van could take. He pushed the van down the grass slope and headed towards what was left of the cobbled road that ran alongside the church. He heard the girl in the back scream and felt something slam into the back of the partition; had they hit her? He daren’t shout out, instead he prayed and tried to get a little more speed out of the vehicle. Two of the dead stepped out in the front the front of the van, one went under the wheels, he tore his eyes off the road for one second to look around; some of the groups had got to their feet and were making their way towards the cemetery; it was almost as if they all knew where he was going.

Ernest looked into his remaining wing mirror and almost wept with relief when he saw the soldiers weren’t pursuing, they had their hands full now, their gunfire had attracted the interest of a large crowd of the dead.

His wing mirror broke off when he smashed through what was left of the cemetery gates; the mausoleum was now in sight, in two minutes they’d be there and on their way out of this nightmare. Ernest stopped the van and banged on the partition; he looked through the side window and saw a large number of the things heading towards the now stationary vehicle. He picked up the bolt cutters, still wishing that he had his pool cue, and leaped out of the van.

The other two joined him; they were both covered in blood.

“It’s okay,” said the girl, “it isn’t ours.”

Kevin passed him a metal baseball bat.

“I found it in the back.” said Kevin.

Ernest nodded and gratefully accepted it, the weight felt good, he strode forward and stepped over a fallen gravestone, there were eight of the shambling dead, standing between them and their goal. He dropped the hammer and threw the bolt-cutters towards the mausoleum; he wished he had an extra pair of hands. A dead youth with long black hair and wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt lumbered over. He swung the bat back, fought off the insane urge to shout ‘Fore!’, and smacked the end into the youth’s temple.

“The body’s gone!” said Kevin.

Emily shook her head, “He dropped further into the cemetery.”

The boy’s voice rose in fear, “Bollocks, it was here, I know it was,” he said pointing to the ground, “You can even see the depression and the blood splats.”

Ernest took his eyes off them when he felt another one coming towards them. An old woman dressed in a night shirt started to moan, she took a couple of steps forward and tripped up over the fallen boy, Ernest slammed the bat into the back of her head; almost yelling in grim satisfaction when he heard her skull crack. He glanced behind him and watched Kevin fire his shotgun point blank at a dead copper’s head.

“Come on!” screamed the girl. “Oh my God, look at that!”

Ernest turned his jaw dropping when he saw them; they were all coming towards them now. He turned back and dodged the snapping jaws of a young woman.

“Get that gate open,” shouted Stephanie, “I’ll deal with the rest.” He saw her raise the pistol and ran over to where the bolt-cutters had landed.

He scooped them up and darted over to the gates. The chain had already been snapped off. He spun around as the panting pair joined him, he pointed to the chain on the floor.

“I didn’t do that,” he said.

Kevin shook his head, “What the hell? It was locked, I swear it.”

The girl pulled the gate open and looked inside, “Come on,” she said, “it’s not like we have a choice is it.”

Chapter Nineteen

He traced his fingers across the smooth stone; it felt like meeting up with an old friend; many pleasant nostalgic memories flooded into Ernest’s mind, certainly a lot better than the horrific imagery currently polluting his poor head. He turned and watched; grinning as the two behind him waded through the ankle deep water.

“How long is this bloody tunnel?” asked Kevin. “I can’t feel my fucking feet now, this water is freezing.”

Ernest pointed to the pale stone. “We are officially at the halfway mark, there’s an alcove set into the wall just a few metres away, and we’ll rest up there until we get our breath back. Unless you want to carry on that is, we should be out on the other side in twenty minutes if we carry on.”

Kevin shook his head, “No, can we stop for a bit? I need to make sure my feet are still there.”

He still had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that somehow they had managed to overcome the overwhelming odds to make it out of Breakspear intact. He’d lost everything and so had Kevin. Stephanie still had a home to go to but she had lost her parents. She’d already explained that she had no wish to visit her home; there were too many memories there. Stephanie wanted to forget about her past, she wanted to make a new life with Kevin, somewhere else, where nobody knew them.

He could understand that sentiment, besides, he got the feeling that if the authorities found out about them, their new lives would be effectively over. He’s already made peace with his inner self and knew that, at least for the time being, he’d have to revert back to his old ways in order to survive. Hotels and bed and breakfasts weren’t free. Neither were clothes and food, something they all needed as soon as possible.

Ernest suddenly stopped and looked back; his senses had gone to red alert. The other two halted their progress and waded back.

“Are you okay?” asked Stephanie.

“Oh hell, they’ve got into the tunnels haven’t they?”

He shook his head, not sure what to think, then he heard something splash into the water further down. Kevin whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Stephanie grabbed Kevin’s hand, “It’s probably just a rat.”

“That was a big fucking rat,” muttered Ernest.

“You don’t think they’re following us do you?” asked Kevin.

Maybe his silent victory was a little too premature; he heard another splash this time much closer.

“It isn’t them,” replied Stephanie, “not unless they can squeeze through those bars. I made bloody sure that the chain was secured.”

Ernest sighed, “Do you not remember that car disappearing down that hole?”

Kevin shook his head.

“It happened about fifteen years ago, just behind the Horse and Jockey. The estate was built on the remains of the original town of Breakspear. They were supposed to have cleared the area and filled in the old sewer system.” He looked up, “as you can see, they’ve missed this one, who knows what others they missed. The estate could be riddled with tunnels.”

“Well that’s just fucking fantastic.” muttered Stephanie.

“But that’s the only way in, isn’t it?”

Ernest wished he’d kept his mouth shut now; the lad looked close to losing it again. He shrugged, “As far as I know, yes. Look lad, I used to use these tunnels all the time, I never saw anything larger than a rat in all that time. Relax kid; it probably is just a bloody rat.”

His hand tightened on his bat when he heard another splash, this time it came from in front of them.

“That’s no rat,” said Stephanie.

Kevin raised the shotgun. “Oh bloody hell! They’re in front of us too, the bastards have us surrounded, and it must have been them who cut the chain.”

Stephanie placed her hand on the barrel and pushed the barrel down “Calm down sweetheart, think about what you’re saying.”

Ernest watched the girl struggle to keep the gun pointed at the floor when two soldiers burst out from an intersection, they spun about, startled and pointed their own guns at them.

“Fucking drop them!”

The other soldier’s eyes locked in on Ernest, he saw torment and fear in there, these men were soldiers no longer, and Ernest just saw another couple of survivors. He looked behind him one more time before he waded past the young couple; he nodded at the older man and held out his hand.

“I won’t say it’s a pleasure to see you but at least you’re alive and a couple more guns are more than welcome. I’m Ernest.”

The man shook Ernest’s hand; he looked at his own pistol then dropped it in the water, “Jack, Jack Marsham. I’m sorry Ernest but we’re both empty.”

Ernest gazed at the other man who immediately looked to the floor before turning his rifle around and gripping it like a club. “Do you have a name?”

“This is Klinski,” replied Marsham. “I hope your friends have some ammo left, there are two of those things behind us.”

Ernest nodded, “There’s three behind us too.”

Stephanie raised her pistol; she pointed it directly at Marsham. “These fuckers killed Mavis in cold blood, Ernest. Have you forgotten that already?”

Kevin pointed his own shotgun at the two men.

“I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about, lass,” said Klinski. “But if you want to shoot us then go ahead, I mean, if we don’t get a move on, we’re dead anyway.” He shook his head and turned around to face the way they’d just come. Ernest could now hear the deadies splashing towards them, they had begun to moan.

“Steph? Come on, don’t lose your cool.”

“Listen to him, lass,” said Marsham. “Pick your target wisely; I can’t imagine you have many round left in your new toy.”

Ernest could see the others approaching from their direction now, oh Jesus, there was dozens of them. “Shit! We can’t win this one! Kevin, take out those following the soldiers!"

Kevin looked at Stephanie, she lowered her gun and they splashed over to Klinski.

“Do you know a way out of this bloody maze?” asked Marsham.

Ernest nodded, “Yeah but what do we do about them?”

He didn’t hear the reply as Kevin and Stephanie fired at the same time, at the three wading over.

Stephanie released the clip, “I’ve two rounds left,” she gazed at the deadies wading towards them. “Why have we stopped?”

Ernest heard her but didn’t respond; he couldn’t. His attention was fixed upon the approaching crowd of shambling deadies, in particular, the one in front. It was his only son, Darren.

“Oh please, not you too,” he moaned. Ernest took one step forward. He couldn’t leave him like that, it was bad enough that he’d left Brenda, but Ernest would just die if he knew that he left Darren like this too. He hadn’t told the others about his wife, which was one fact that he intended to take to his grave.

“I love you son,” he whispered.

Ernest then took one look at the baseball bat, if he used this; the other things would tear him to pieces. Ernest looked back at Stephanie, intending to ask for the pistol. They both stood transfixed at the approaching horde, only they weren’t staring at them, it was Darren who held their gaze.

“You know him don’t you.”

They both nodded.

“I thought he was dead.” muttered Kevin.

Ernest heard the venom dripping off the boy’s tongue and suddenly it all clicked into place. Darren had been their other companion, no bloody wonder that cowardly little shit had been able to stay alive for so long; his son had been helping them out.

“And you two left him to die?”

Stephanie tried to put her hand on his shoulders, he took one step back and lifted the bat. “Don’t you dare touch me,” he growled.

Ernest saw Marsham move closer to the girl, she yelped when he whipped the pistol out of her hand, suddenly Ernest found himself gripped in a crushing bear-hug.

“Lose the emotion feller.” said Klinski.

He moaned aloud when a single shot echoed through the tunnel. Klinski let him go and grabbed Kevin’s shotgun.

“I haven’t finished with you two, said Ernest.

Marsham grabbed his arm and pulled him around. “Settle it later, you heard Klinski, lose the emotion or I’ll drop you myself.”

Ernest glared at the two kids as he passed them; he wasn’t going to forget this.

Epilogue

Dennis poked his finger into the huge blister on the side of his ribs; the yellow blood that spurted out reminded him of jam dropped in custard. It was strange how it didn’t hurt when he popped it. There was another one a bit further down his body but he couldn’t reach that one, at least not yet. It would take another hour of manoeuvring before he could puncture that one as well.

He gazed at the bars in the metal drain a few feet above his head, Dennis wasn’t sure just how long it would take before he had enough strength to attempt the climb, but it didn’t matter, it wasn’t like he had anything else planned.

The pain, oh he remembered the pain alright, thankfully, only the memory remained, thanks to his wife of course. It had taken him quite awhile to drag his broken body over to Ethel; Dennis was dying, in fact, a distant part of him was rather surprised that he hadn’t passed on already. He found enough strength to push his index finger into her eye socket; the dried orb offered little resistance. He scooped out a little of the stinking material and pushed it into the stab wound.

He fell head-first into the storm drain seconds before those soldiers arrived with their flame throwers. Some of the inflammable material found its way down the drain but he was too far gone to feel the stuff burning into his flesh.

It was getting light up there now. Dennis grinned; it wouldn’t be long before he was strong enough to emerge. He finally found out why the walking dead hunted down the competitors. Dennis had become one and understood why they feared them.

The End...

For NOW

The next book in this series is called Walking with Zombies and is now available from Amazon.

Walking with Zombies

A Foreword by

Dave Jeffery

Let's get one thing straight: I love zombies. The myth, the literature, the movies, the comic books, you name it I have at some point digested it like some lumbering undead horde chows down on a hapless survivor caught in a cul-de-sac.

Given this admission, some may say that it was perhaps inevitable that I should stumble across the novel The Unwashed Dead by Ian Woodhead, given its rising popularity amongst hardcore zombie fans. In truth, I knew the work of its author before this particular book came to my attention. My first introduction came with the release of Spore, a genuinely creepy gross-fest of a short story released as a free sample on Smashwords. This tale has gone on to have over ten thousand downloads on Amazon Kindle alone. Other works followed; each demonstrating Woodhead's genuine gift for leaving the reader's psyche unsettled for days afterwards. I read The Unwashed Dead three times in two months, the tale enriching my experience with each outing. The gritty commentary of life and un-death on a Northern Council Estate has remained a favourite ever since. But what raises The Unwashed Dead above that of its peers? It’s a simple matter of heart. The book had it in abundance; an unbridled passion that I saw in many of the fans of the genre - me, especially. We shouldn't like any of Woodhead's characters; they are coarse and self serving, riddled with dysfunction and vanity. Yet like them we do, care for them, hope that all ends well for them though we know, deep down, they will meet an end as brutal as their upbringing.

Want literature that's going to stimulate the cerebellum and win Nobel Peace Prizes?

Read Steinbeck. Want work that has been through the commercial mixer and hit the belt bland and bloated? Then don't knock on the door of Mr. Woodhead's crypt. But if you want pathos wrapped in greased rags or the kind of biting social commentary harking back to Romero at his best, then come on in and take a seat and settle down with this, the sequel: Walking With Zombies.

But expect blood, lots of it. And if you're like me and many others, you'll love every single drop.

Dave Jeffery

Author of Necropolis Rising

Walking with Zombies

By: Ian Woodhead

Chapter One

Talbot Field decided that his wife would be waking up tomorrow morning in a great deal of pain. He crushed the empty cardboard tube with his beefy hand then launched it at the bathroom door.

“What have I told you about this?” he muttered through gritted teeth, “No more warnings, Christine. This time I really am going to mess up your pretty little face.”

It did occur to him that if he’d have just pulled the light cord upon entering the bathroom, he’d have seen straight away that his bone idle wife hadn’t replaced the toilet paper.

Talbot blindly felt along the tiled shelf to make doubly sure that he hadn’t missed the new toilet roll in his previous search. He then kicked his feet around the lino. The only item of interest he found were a pair of his wife’s underwear. Talbot picked them up and took a tentative sniff. They were clean, well nearly clean. These were the ones he’d bought her last week. The soft silky material gave it away. It wasn’t often he bought her presents. It wasn’t often that he actually liked her, but he saw them in the shop window and knew that he just had to see her wearing them.

Christine hated the colour red. He knew that as the assistant wrapped them, complete with a stupid bow around the package. That didn’t matter though because Talbot wanted to see her filling them, she’d wear them or face the consequences.

He’d forgotten all about them. She certainly hadn’t worn them for his pleasure. Talbot turned them over and gave them another sniff, this time the subtle odour of cream cleaner wafted into his nostrils. Oh, the defiant bitch, she’d been using them to clean the fucking bathroom.

“You are so going to pay for this,” he muttered.

He took a deep breath, imagining the look of her shit eating grin fall from her face when he presented the evidence. Talbot then had an epiphany.

“A shit eating grin may be the best lesson.”

Talbot chuckled to himself. He liked the idea. He decided not to punch the bitch after all; he’d make her eat these knickers instead, after he’d wiped his arse on them first. The punishment would fit the crime.

It was about time he showed her where her place was again, even after twelve years of marriage. The stupid cow still had the occasional lapse. He shook his head. Some people never learn.

He used the underwear to clean himself, and then carefully folded it up before placing the package next to his feet. Talbot was a little disappointed that he would have to wait for a few hours before he could play his little game. She wasn’t home from work yet, not that being a waitress in some swanky restaurant was a proper job mind, but it was the best she could do with only having limited intelligence.

Talbot was due to go out in a few minutes too. He had an appointment with a certain young man who had fallen behind on the re-payments for his lovely car. He smiled; knowing that at least one person tonight would be kissing his fists.

He pulled up his trousers and hid the package at the bottom of the bathroom bin.

He doubted that she’d empty it between the time she arrived home and the time he got back himself. The dirty, lazy bitch never cleaned the house properly anymore.

His balls tightened and he felt the beginnings of an erection at the thought of doing some serious face reshaping on the cocky little bastard who thought that he could piss in the face of Talbot’s employer. Speaking of which, he pulled the light cord, so he could read the time on his watch, he didn’t want to be late.

Talbot laughed aloud when he saw the full roll of toilet paper; it had fallen in the sink.

Christine hadn’t been as slack as he initially thought. He turned the handle and padded into the hallway. He still intended to stuff those knickers into her mouth as punishment for using them as a cleaning rag. The bitch needed to learn respect. That underwear had cost him the price of three pints.

Before he went down the stairs, he paused at his eldest son’s bedroom door. He’d caught Brendan smoking, earlier this evening. The stupid boy thought that he wouldn’t be able to smell the smoke if he leaned out of the window. The lad was a moron, just like his mother. He often wondered if the boy was actually his.

Just as he had promised, he’d forced the lad into the dog cage. Talbot put his ear to the door, there was no sound coming from the other side which was a little odd, Brendan hated the cage. The last time Talbot had put him in there, he had howled for nearly twenty minutes. He couldn’t hear anything, not even quiet sobbing.

His internal warning system kicked into action. Something was wrong. He grabbed the handle and pushed open the door then flicked the switch. The naked bulb fitting bathed the room in harsh white light. He saw his first born son on all fours still in the cage just under the window. Talbot immediately noticed the other, smaller cage lying in front on

Brendan.

“What the fucking hell have you done?” he shouted.

The occupant of the smaller cage was in Brendan’s left hand. His son slowly looked at his father, an emotion that Talbot hadn’t felt for many years made an unwelcome appearance, it was fear. The only thing he saw in his son’s eyes was his own reflection.

The terror that he was so used to seeing had gone. The boy dropped the bloodied remains of his pet hamster and opened his mouth. Talbot turned away, unable to look at those blood stained teeth, his son began to moan and pawed at the cage door.

The key to the padlock was in his top pocket and for the moment it would stay there too. Talbot closed the bedroom door and hurried downstairs, he hadn’t a clue what had happened to Brendan, nor did he really care. The boy had obviously taken something, it looked to Talbot that smoking was only the start of it. He was just glad he’d caught it when he had; if the little bastard was taking drugs then being locked in a cage was the best thing for him.

Fuck knows where the boy’s mind was, probably orbiting the next planet in the solar system, whichever one that was. He grabbed a red marker pen off the window sill at the foot of the stairs and left Christine a short note on the whiteboard that he’d fastened to the wall next to the coat hooks. He ordered the bitch not to disturb Brendan. Talbot knew that she’d leave that door well alone, especially after the last time.

Three weeks ago, he’d left a note of a similar nature before he left for work, but before he did, he sellotaped a single hair across the door and the frame. It didn’t surprise him to find that the hair had been snapped in half upon his return. It did surprise his wife when he confronted her with the evidence. He’ll never forget that stupid look upon her dozy face just before he used her back and chest as a punch bag. Talbot felt his loins stirring again. He opened the front door and stepped out into the cool night air, after he destroyed the lad’s face, he may have to pay a visit to his boss’s place on the other side of town, the Stockholm Club. He always felt the urge to fuck someone after he’d fucked someone up.

That barmaid, the one with the tiny tits had given him the hint that she needed a big man to look after her the last time he’d visited the place. Talbot walked down his garden path and stopped at his car door. She'll do nicely. Talbot liked his girls young.

Chapter Two

Marlene Jeffrey gave the front tyre a hard kick. It didn’t help her situation in any way but the sporadic burst of violence made her feel a little better, at least for a couple of seconds. This was so unfair, what the hell was wrong with the damn thing, she’d only had the car for a couple of months. This wasn’t supposed happen to new cars.

Maybe she should just count her blessings and thank the good lord that her pride and joy hadn’t chosen to stop whilst she was in the middle of that rough housing estate.

Marlene used the Breakspear Estate as a short cut on her way to work. She’d never
encountered any trouble in there and despite the rumours, the place had always seemed quiet enough but still, Marlene knew that she shouldn’t take risks. Cutting through Breakspear cut thirty minutes off her journey though and saved her a fortune in petrol.

She bent down and tapped on the glass, Marlene’s passenger looked at her with hopeful eyes as if somehow her getting out of the car and gazing in confusion at all the incomprehensible components under the bonnet would somehow magically make the car go again.

Thomas Maryland had only just started working at the Stockholm club, this would be his third night, and Marlene had serious doubts whether he’d still be there this time next week, which was a real shame as she really liked the lad. All the floor staff got on with Thomas, his personable manner and his no nonsense approach to getting the job done was a breath of fresh air, something rare in kids nowadays. It was the chaos he brought with him to every shift that would be his undoing.

Marlene had never considered herself to be all that superstitious, but her opinion didn’t really matter, she wasn’t the one who’d employed him. Their boss, Bernard

Crowley was the total opposite; she had seen the man cross himself after Thomas had walked past him. Since he had started, they have had two stabbings, several windows broken, a small fire, and a break in and last night, the cooker in the kitchen blew up. All the incidents happened whilst Thomas was working.

Marlene opened the passenger door and ushered the lad out. She already knew that Mr. Crowley had looked into the new boy’s work history and found that trouble followed Thomas around like a shadow.

“Are we walking then, Marlene?”

“Looks that way,” she replied. “I’m buggered if I know what’s up with the motor. No

Worries though, we’re not that far from the club.”

The car worked fine until he got into it. She pushed that dangerous thought to the back of her mind, collected her bag and locked the car. There was nothing wrong with the lad; it was just a bunch of coincidences.

She looked around the high street; her car should be safe here, there were plenty of street lights and the main road was usually busy although for some strange reason, tonight was different.

“What time is it?

Marlene glanced at her watch, “It’s just gone seven. Don’t worry, we won’t be late.”

“Oh, it’s not that,” he replied, “I just wondered that’s all.”

She sneaked a glance at the lad, while he was busy watching a man stumble out of a chip shop further along the street, he was rather tall for his age, she already knew that he’d just turned eighteen. Thomas also had the right build to match his height. With those soft facial features, shoulder length, dirty blonde hair and easy going manner, he ought to have a mile long queue of girls demanding his attention.

He told Marlene earlier on that he was still single. She briefly wondered if he was gay.

“Thank you, for the lift by the way.”

“You’ve already thanked me twice. Like I said the last time, don’t worry about it.”

She turned away but could still see his eyes giving her own body the once over, Mr.

Crowley preferred his waitresses and female bar staff to wear low cut tops. There was probably some law against that but Marlene didn’t really mind. Thomas was certainly getting an eyeful. She mentally shook her head; the lad wasn’t gay, probably just very shy.

She was single herself at the moment, her last boyfriend had dumped her in favour of a newer, younger model. That had really hurt, Marlene was only twenty nine, it’s not like she was ready for the scrapheap or anything, and even so, and she wouldn’t consider dating the handsome young man beside her. The lad’s mum was probably only a couple of years older than her. It was such a shame though; he did have a nice body.

“You’re the only person at work who’s actually nice to me, Marlene.”

She abruptly stopped and gazed at the lad in astonishment. Where the hell did that come from? “Don’t talk wet,” she replied. “Of course the other’s like you, why wouldn’t they? I know for a fact that Dominic thinks you’re a smashing lad.”

Thomas sighed, “I’ve seen that oh so familiar look appearing in their eyes, especially last night when that oven exploded. Their attitude has altered since I started work at the club.” He shrugged. “It’s happened so many times now, I could write the bloody script.”

“They were only accidents Thomas. Nobody blames you.”

He started to nod; she didn’t think he heard her.

“They all say that, at least they do at the beginning, until other stuff goes wrong and then one by one they all start to look at me. I’m a Jonah you see, bad things happen to people when I’m around, never to me though, I’ve noticed that, never to me.”

She shook her head; wishing that pleasant lad with the easy smile would come back. Marlene wasn’t comfortable in handling situations like these. “I’m sorry, Thomas but I don’t believe that, they are just random occurrences. There’s no such thing as a Jonah.”

“Thank you Marlene, that means a lot to me, really it does but you are in the minority. I already know that Mr. Crowley regrets taking me on. My uncle owns an engineering firm; he got me a job there just after I left school. My new boss rang him up last night.”

“What’s wrong with that? He was probably just checking your references. It’s standard procedure.”

Thomas shook his head, “He’s already done that. Mr. Crowley rang him up for a reference last week. This time he was asking him if there had been any accidents whilst I worked there.”

He thrust his heads deep into his pockets, spun around and carried on walking,

Marlene hurried to catch up with him. She was at a loss at what she could do; the lad had some serious issues that was obvious. She still believed the events at the club and the tall, silent lad next to her was unrelated. Marlene also suspected that she was the only one who believed that. Thomas would be lucky to be still working at the club tomorrow night.

The boss didn’t hang about getting rid of employers who could potentially harm his business, even if it wasn’t their fault. She expected that he’d be called into the office as soon as he arrived.

They both stopped again and stared as a convoy of military vehicles turned onto the main road and slowly rumbled past them.

“What the hell is going on?” she muttered. Her heart dropped a mile when she saw two soldiers sat in the cab of a large lorry placing gas masks over their faces. This was not good.

“Maybe we’re being invaded?” asked Thomas.

Marlene counted eight armoured cars, a couple of Lorries and five plain, white vans. She backtracked through her mind, trying to remember anything on the news that would warrant a bloody convoy going through the middle of Bradford. She watched the last one retreat into the distance; they appeared to be heading towards that rough estate. Well that figures, maybe the police have decided to call the big boys in.

Marlene turned to Thomas, “Invaded? Who the bloody hell would want to invade

Bradford?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, maybe Leeds have declared war on us.”

She grinned, “Come on, we’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on.”

Marlene took one more look behind her before she caught up with Thomas, seeing that collection of vehicles was going to play on her mind all night, something was going on. As if she didn’t have enough to think about. They were almost at the club now; she could see the building from here.

Marlene gazed up at the lad. “Look Thomas, I’ll have a word with the boss tonight, despite still thinking that this theory of yours is a load a baloney, it’s obvious that you believe it. The boss knows lot of people; maybe he can find you a job where you don’t come into contact with other folk.”

The lad grinned and hugged her, he smelled of Old Spice. Marlene’s dad used to wear that. She felt a little depressed when he let her go.

“I’m not promising anything but I’ll do my best. By the way Thomas, nothing bad is going to happen tonight, you hear me?”

He shrugged, “I hope not but I stopped tempting the three sisters of fate a long time ago.”

“Just out of interest, did anything odd happen while you were working at your uncle’s firm?”

He nodded, “On the first day, the lathe operator got his finger crushed.”

“Oh Jesus,” she muttered.

Chapter Three

Dominic Edmonton leaned around the corner of the hallway wall and peered down the stairs, the mental picture of his mother standing at the bottom with her arms crossed tight across her chest evaporated when he found it empty.

With a bit of luck and stealth, he may actually be able to escape out of the house without his blinking mother collaring him. Dominic would have to be super quiet though; her finely tuned sense of hearing would put a bat to shame.

“You’re forty two years old my friend and you’re still shit scared of mummy.”

His best friend at work, Douglas, said those words to him last week. What utter nonsense, Dominic wasn’t scared of his mother, well, not anymore he wasn’t. Those days were long gone. Back when he was a kid, she was like a tyrant, the woman terrified him. After he’d gone through his rebellious teen period and emerged on the other side, he began to realise just how hard it must have been for her. His father left an inexperienced mother with a highly strung four year old boy and a mountain of debt that she couldn’t possibly pay back.

Dominic turned around and grabbed his bedroom door handle, he supposed that under the circumstances, his mother did a sterling job and he really shouldn’t blame her for his miserable childhood. Today though was one of those rare occasions when Dominic really wished that he could work up the courage to move out and find his own place. She’d been on his back ever since he’d opened his fool mouth and told her about the explosion at work last night.

He clicked the door shut but not before blowing a kiss to his James Dean poster.

“Keep the bed warm for me sweetheart.”

Dominic chuckled to himself; his poor mum would probably have heart failure if she ever discovered that her only son was ‘one of those fairies’. It had been a good few weeks since he’d been given the tired ‘when are you going to make me a grandma’ speech. One of these days he may even pluck up the courage to tell her, she definitely would have heart failure if he ever did that. Dominic was a little surprised that she hadn’t figured it out herself by now.

Aside from his beloved James Dean poster, the rest of his bedroom walls were covered in picture of faded pop stars from the eighties, they were all male and most were wearing very little clothing. If a huge poster of Andy Bell from Erasure, wearing a skin-tight pink leotard and posing provocatively on his bedroom door wasn’t a large enough clue then he didn’t know what was.

He turned and padded over to the top of the stairs, his mother was there now, bloody hell! Where had she come from? She stood at the bottom of the stair with her signature expression already etched upon her face.

“So you’ve decided to go to work then, to leave your mum, is that why you are smiling?”

“Oh, for crying out loud mother, we had this conversation a couple of hours ago. What happened last night was just a freak accident.”

“Rubbish,” she snapped. “That boss of yours lets you work with shoddy equipment. I should ring that club up and give your boss a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t you dare. Mr. Crowley has been super good to us, if it wasn’t for my wage, the debtors would still be banging on our door.”

Her face dropped into a sulk, oh Jesus god, she was getting ready to guilt trip him again. Dominic patted his back pocket, “Sugar lumps! I’ve forgotten my wallet.”

He spun around and rushed over to his bedroom door and opened it. His tattered leather wallet was still in his back pocket. Turning his back on her signalled the end of the conversation as far as he was concerned; she hated it when he pulled this trick. With a bit of super luck, she’ll have lost her momentum and wouldn’t kick up that much fuss when he left the house.

She might even have forgotten what she was doing down there in the first place and buggered off back to watch some rubbish on the box.

“Ooh, that’s a horrible thought to have about your poor mother. Take it back.”

He looked over at the lovely James and pouted. “No, I won’t. Make me.” He grinned then shut the door again.

He silently groaned when he saw that his mother was still there, Dominic let out a loud sigh and descended the stairs, he didn’t look at her, and instead he kept his gaze fixed upon the framed pictures hanging on the wall. Everyone depicted him taken at various stages of his life. Three school photos, he didn’t look at those, school wasn’t any enjoyable time for him. His graduation picture, now that one was memorable. His lecturer was gorgeous, he spent many hours lusting after him, and it was a shame that he was married.

He reached the bottom, smiled down at his mum and kissed her on the forehead. “Now, if you are super good, I’ll bring you back some fish and chips.” He kissed her again, opened the door and stepped out into the night.

His phone vibrated at the same time that Dominic saw his ride. A huge black four wheel drive truck pulled up on the over side of the street. He grinned and waved, as per usual Douglas was as punctual as always. Douglas was in charge of security at the club, he also doubled up as cook when the place got super busy. The man’s omelettes were just exquisite, almost as tasty as Dominic’s.

Dominic giggled at the crude joke that Douglas had just sent him then climbed into the passenger seat of Douglas’s car. His friend had only had his new penis extension a couple of days, he was so proud of it. The first time that Dominic had climbed into the plush black leather seat had been yesterday. Douglas had spent the whole journey reading out all the boring statistics, he had never been so glad to see the neon blue sign hanging above the main door of the club in his whole life. He had wondered why Douglas had bothered; he knew that Dominic had no interest in cars. He couldn’t even remember what the car was called, probably something super macho and tough like The Predator or the Rabid Tiger.

He wasn’t all that surprised to see a pair of yellow fluffy dice hanging off the windscreen mirror.

“That’s a rather fine addition to your Sherman tank young man,” he said whilst chuckling, “Was it very expensive?”

“Don’t you fucking take the piss!” snapped Douglas.

Dominic recoiled as if the man had physically slapped him, where had that cutting remark appeared from? Despite his fearsome appearance and he did look very fierce, Douglas was one of the kindest men that he’d met. He risked a sly glance at his companion, whilst Douglas was concentrating on the road. With his close cropped

Mohican and that tribal tattoo covering half his face coupled with his super large body, he could give those American wrestlers a run for their money. He wondered what was wrong with his friend; he’d never heard him shout like that he was usually a playful as a super large puppy dog with Dominic.

Douglas swerved to avoid an oncoming car, “Why don’t you watch where you’re going you stupid arse.” He looked at Dominic, “Sorry about snapping at you just then, Domino.”

Dominic shrugged and tried to smile back, “No worries.” He watched him turn his attention back to the road, he wondered if it would be safe to make another passing comment, some funny quip that was bound to cheer the man up, he did look like he needed a bit of happiness in his life.

“By the way Domino, I saw you eying up that new lad yesterday.” Douglas tutted and slowly shook his head, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you’re old enough to be his father.”

He was about to return with a snappy comeback when his memory slapped him with a fragment that he’d totally forgotten about.

Just before his beloved gas range cooker had that hissy fit and like had a tantrum, that new kid had just entered his lair. Dominic had spotted him and winked. He tried to make it look like a butch wink, not the sort of gesture that could be taken the wrong way but that was beside the point. He was in his kitchen when the accident occurred. Their shift supervisor, Marlene told him that the boy had also been working in the lounge on both the stabbing occasions. Dominic wondered if he was reading too much into this.

“Motherfucker!”

Dominic jumped again.

“Sorry Domino, I didn’t mean to startle you, I’ve had this banging headache for most of the afternoon. It feels like someone is driving red-hot spikes into my brain.”

“I’ve got some painkillers in the kitchen, if you want, when we get to the club, I’ll take you down there and give you one.”

He braced himself for the familiar punch on the arm for making a suggestive remark. Douglas just sighed and nodded.

“Thanks, man.” He muttered.

Dominic got the strangest feeling that his shift tonight was going to be another super queer one.

Chapter Four

It reminded him of the mark of Zorro or perhaps a lightning bolt. Talbot pulled in next to the curb and switched off the engine. The jagged crack on his dashboard now reminded him of a smile, no it was more like a sneer. Just fucking great, even his own fucking car was mocking him.

The minor damage that he’d done to the car when he punched the dashboard concerned him more than the blood pissing out of the back of his hand. If he ever found out who that cunt who tried to cut him up a few minutes ago, Talbot would bury the fucker. He wasn’t able to catch the plate but that didn’t matter, there can’t be that many porridge brained fuckheads cruising about the town in a modified yank pickup, because of the work he was in, Talbot knew most of the local dealers. One of them must know who the pickup belonged to.

Christ on a bike, if it hadn’t been for his lightning quick reactions, he would have ploughed straight though that newsagent’s plate glass window. Talbot closed his eyes.

The silent street helped to calm him down, the only sound he could hear was the ticking of the engine cooling off. He needed to compose himself before he left the car. If he didn’t get his temper under control, he was liable to kill that greasy little fucker, it wouldn’t even matter if he had somehow managed to scrape together the cash he owed, and Talbot would pull off his limbs anyway.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, opened his eyes then pushed his door open, allowing the cool night air in. He picked up his thin, black leather gloves off the passenger seat and climbed out of his car. He watched a single drop of blood fall from his knuckle and splash into oil stained puddle just next to his polished, black shoes, Talbot brought his fist up to his mouth and licked off the remaining blood, and his own life fluid was just too precious to waste. Once he’d cleaned up the back of his hand, he donned his gloves. Talbot liked this pair; he called them his business gloves.

Mr. Greasy fucker didn’t understand the relevance of the glove wearing ritual just yet; this was Talbot’s first visit. Christine understood; he enjoyed her helpless look of terror as she watched him bring the business gloves from out of his back pocket and clothe his hands. She understood the relevance alright.

Talbot walked away from his car and turned off onto the street where the lad lived. He had a flat just above a launderette. He saw the reason why he had been asked to pay him a visit, parked under a streetlight.

“Very sensible,” he muttered.

It was tempting to run his key along the bodywork as he passed the car and then blame the lad for the heinous act. His car keys stayed in his pocket, there was little point in making up another crime, and he’d soon have plenty to think about. Talbot paused in front of the flat door. He had forgotten just how much violence his boss had told him to use. This was the lad’s first offence so it was usual to dispense with a few slaps and generally scare the shit out of them.

Talbot’s hand was stinging like a right bastard, with the foul mood that he was in; he suspected that just a few slaps would not be enough, not for Talbot anyway. There was a little more info that his boss had given him, the greasy fucker lived with a girl.

“If she’s a looker, I may hold off on the slaps altogether.”

He grabbed the door handle and gave it a turn, shocked and delighted to find it unlocked. Obviously, the idiot didn’t care much about home security, now that just smacked of twelve shades of stupidity. Greasy fucker’s flat was right in the middle of one of the city’s roughest areas, not quite as bad as the Breakspear Estate but fucking close. Not locking your door was just an open invitation; you never knew who could be calling.

Talbot chuckled to himself, “That’s funny.”

He pushed the door wide open; his action spread a pile of unopened brown envelopes across the filthy floor.

“Jesus, what a mess, no wonder he doesn’t lock his door, who the fuck would want to burgle this dump?”

That state of the place told him all he needed to know about this particular client.

Greasy fucker was one of those irritating breeds of males who grazed through life, not caring or understanding that their careless activities would have much consequence. He was probably up to his eyeballs in debt before he bought the car off of Talbot’s employer.

He stepped over the threshold, being very careful where he placed his shoes. These envelopes could conceal all manner of unpleasant substances beneath them. The place was an absolute disgrace; he saw a pile of empty pizza boxes competing for space with supermarket carrier bags full of god knows what. All the detritus have been kicked to the side, leaving a narrow gap. Talbot couldn’t get over just how many shoes were mixed up with all that crap, lots and lots of high heeled shoes. Was the greasy bastard fucking an octopus?

Talbot couldn’t understand how anyone was able to breeze through their existence, leaving a blizzard of crap in their wake. It was also clear to him that greasy fucker had been unable to domesticate his woman, he felt his libido begin to retreat, and he had second thoughts now about forcing him to watch as Talbot violated his woman. If she couldn’t even clean up a small flat, she certainly would be unable to look after herself. Who knows what diseases the mucky bitch must be harbouring, his cock would stay in his trousers where it was safe.

There was more than one way to degrade his client, Talbot was an expert on the subject, and he’d had plenty of practice. There was a closed door and the top of the stairs, some time in its past, a window graced the top half of the door but that had long gone, in its place was a badly cut piece of plywood. He stared at that door, willing one of the occupants to open it, the shock showing in their bunny eyes would be like nectar to his ego.

It was tempting to shout out but he had no intentions of losing them, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure if this dingy pit had a back entrance. Talbot kicked one of the pizza boxes off the first step and began his accent. As he climbed he became aware of a faint but familiar odour gradually creeping into his nostrils, Talbot wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Why am I not fucking surprised?” he muttered.

It was stale dope smoke. Talbot should have guessed that the greasy fucker and his dirty slag would be druggies. He hated drug users, Talbot considered them to be the dregs of society, they were all weak minded scum bags who, if he had his way would be shot in the face.

When he discovered who supplied his son then that particular dreg would definitely be eating a shotgun shell. He still had problems believing that his own kin had betrayed him. What if it wasn’t drugs, what if he was sick and needed a hospital? He shook his head. Bollocks, of course it was drugs, the lad was weak minded like his mother. Talbot traced the outline of the key to the dog cage under his shirt.

Tomorrow would be a new day for Brendan. He had decided that enough was enough; Talbot would no longer allow the lad to shame him. It was Christine’s fault of course, she had always wanted a daughter but because of the complications after Brendan was born, she couldn’t have any more children. So instead, the bitch turned his only son into some sort of pansy. Well he’d soon get all that nonsense knocked out of Brendan, with the help of a few associates; he knew he’d be able to reshape his son into a real man.

It’s what Talbot’s father did to him when he was a teenager. It shamed him to remember that he was one of those cringing little sneaks that spent his sad life cowering behind other people. Talbot nodded to himself, he should have done it a long time ago, and after all it didn’t do him any harm. He needed to think of something that would mark the occasion, something that his son would remember for the rest of his life, the lad needed to know that his old effeminate life was now over. He grinned; he’ll make him east the rest of that hamster.

Talbot managed to reach the top of the stairs without soiling his shoes and trousers on the revolting mess clogging up the stairs. This place was no doubt crawling with vermin, his son would love it here, Brendan had a thing for small furry animals, and Talbot could picture him crawling through all this crap, to find another furry animal to stroke and pet.

He remembered an incident a few years ago, he was sitting in his study, polishing his shoes when Christine blasted the wax out of his eardrums with a deafening scream, he dropped everything and belted into the kitchen, thinking that someone had broken in. He found her kneeling on the work surface, her trembling finger pointing at a tiny mouse eating a piece of bread by the corner of the fridge. He’d sensed his son just behind him. Talbot felt the last piece of compassion he had for his family dissolve away, these people didn’t deserve him. He looked down at the mouse that was still down there casually nibbling away at food that didn’t belong to him, the cheeky little fucker.

“Don’t hurt it dad, it’s…”

The boy’s remaining words dried on his lips when Talbot spun around and glared at him. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what the boy was about to say. His soft little son had been giving that thing tasty treats. No wonder it hadn’t taken fright and scampered off. Talbot then flashed his son a tight smile, turned to make sure that the unwelcome visitor was still there, then lifted up his boot and stamped on the fucker.

Thinking back, that had been the only time when his son had displayed another emotion other than fear in his presence. Seeing all that pent up hate dripping from the boy’s eyes like battery acid gave him an incredible buzz, it was almost as fulfilling as hearing the rodent’s tiny little bones snap under his boot.

That gave him an incredible idea, those two lowlife druggies in this dump acted like rodents so he ought to treat them the same way. Talbot would stamp on their hands. He pushed the door open with his toe, even with gloves on; he couldn’t bring himself to touch that grimy handle.

As he had expected, the room beyond continued with the fashion of neglect and bedlam already evident in the hallway. What Talbot didn’t expect to see in that dimly lit room was the gallons of deep, red blood covering every surface. There was enough light to see the shape of two figures on a large sofa against the dirt streaked wall.

He couldn’t be sure but he thought that the figure under the man was female, it was difficult to tell, and not much of her remained intact. The boy had his head buried deep within her stomach. He reminded Talbot of a starving dog tucking into a cow’s carcass.

“What the fuck is going on?”

The wet sound of chewing stopped; the lad brought his head out of the hole and gazed at him. He began to moan softly. Oh Christ, he had seen that look and those blank eyes before in Brendan. The lad slowly turned back to that gaping crimson maw then back to

Talbot.

He quickly dismissed the notion of this being the result of drugs. Talbot had seen many things in his life but the scene before him topped them all. For the first time in his dubious career of debt enforcer, he wished he had brought the pistol, hidden in the boot of the car.

“Are you going to talk to me you dirty, greasy fucker? I asked you a question.”

He blinked once before dipping his head back into that hole. Talbot’s raging temper took hold, he couldn’t believe it, that little bastard had just dismissed him as if he was of no consequence. No fucker ignored Talbot Field. He strode into the room, grabbed a beer bottle from the top of the TV stand and launched it at the lad. It smacked into his shoulder. He looked up once more.

“Don’t you fucking ignore me you greasy cunt!” he screamed.

The lad climbed off the dead girl and staggered towards Talbot, he saw no fear or unease in the boy’s eyes, only hunger. He instinctively stepped back when the boy reached for him. Talbot clenched both fists and hooked the left into the boy’s stomach.

He didn’t even flinch, that was not possible, and the fucker should have folded like a bloody hinge. Talbot growled, before punching him square on the nose. Yet again the lad didn’t react as he should have. This wasn’t fair, he felt like he was hitting a fucking punch bag.

Talbot pulled his fist back one more time then stopped when he heard someone else starting to moan. He gaped in horror as the girl on the sofa tried to sit up, he must be fucking dreaming, the bitch was dead, and half of her insides were outside. He didn’t notice the lad had tenderly taken hold of his other hand like a betrothed lover and was bringing it up to his open mouth.

Sharp pain abruptly lanced through Talbot as the lad bit down on his fingers. He screamed out loud in shock and agony before smashing his uninjured fist into the lad’s nose one more time. It had no effect; Talbot could feel the teeth crunching through fabric, skin and flesh.

He gritted his own teeth then grabbed the man’s ear and slammed his head into the wall, he saw the woman out of the corner of his eye slip off the sofa and onto the floor, most of her insides stayed where they were. The lad’s teeth scraped against his bones,

Talbot slammed his head into the wall again and again. After the fourth impact, the lad finally let go of his destroyed hand.

Talbot was close to bursting into tears, he watched the greasy fucker slide down the wall leaving a smear of blood and brains on the wallpaper, and he then marched over to the thing still crawling towards him and stamped on both of her hands before staggering out of the room. That cunt had mangled his beautiful hand, Talbot slowly made his way down the stairs, feeling a little dizzy and very confused, and he couldn’t understand why he no longer felt any pain in his right hand.

Chapter Five

Lester Field bent over the low brick wall and picked the discarded coke can off the grass verge. Technically, this piece of land outside the car park didn’t belong to the club and consequently, out of his jurisdiction. The council was supposed to be responsible for its upkeep, not that he’d ever seen any of those bunch of slackers and jobs worth cowboys anywhere near here. They were too busy giving out parking fines to care about picking up litter.

Mess bred chaos; anyone with half a brain knew that. Lester couldn’t abide mess, he’d always been a very tidy person and thankfully it was one quality that he was proud to say that his only son had inherited. He chuckled; compared to young Talbot, old Lester was a teenage scruff pot. He remembered the last time Lester was invited up for dinner and how Talbot reacted when that wimpy grandson spilled gravy all over the tablecloth. Brendan’s father went postal and beat the living shit out of the lad. Of course Lester had silently approved, after all it’s what he had to do to Talbot when he was younger. What he didn’t approve of though was that bloody wife of his.

He saw the fear in her eyes, which was a good thing but he also saw defiance. Young Talbot should have knocked that out of her a long time ago, it’s what he did to his Irene when they were first married and it never did her any bloody harm. Still, it wasn’t Lester’s place to say anything, not that he would anyway. Despite her major attitude problem, the woman did make a smashing cauliflower cheese. The family had invited him up again on Saturday; he hoped she’d make that again.

Lester dropped the can onto the tarmac and stamped on it until it was good and flat, he ensured that there were no sharp edges that would rip the plastic then threw it into his black bin bag. He patted his chest pocket on his orange overalls to make sure that his rollup was still in there. If would soon be time to enjoy his traditional ‘job well done’ cigarette. Lester only had the bins behind the club to check and his tools to side away and that would be another shift in the bag.

He slowly turned around, scanning the car park for any litter that he may have missed. It would be a very shameful experience if Mr. Crowley pulled up in that expensive dark green Mercedes and just happened to spot a crushed fag packet or a chip wrapper despoiling his immaculate car park.

Thank the seven lords of creation that it wasn’t windy tonight. He knew that there really was no need to double check as he’d done the job correctly the first time; even so, diligence paid a dividend, that’s what his old man used to say to him.

“You could eat your dinner off that floor.” He murmured.

Lester glanced at his watch; the employees would be arriving very soon, closely followed by the customers. Both classes of folk would treat his car park like a giant litter bin. He hoped to be round the back before the first car pulled in, he wouldn’t be able to contain his temper if he witnessed them dropping their crap all over the bloody place.

“Something else what young Talbot inherited from me.”

He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder then walked towards the club building. It was hard to believe that he was Mr. Crowley’s longest serving employee, considering none of the other staff members would even give him the time of the day, except for their in-house cook, Dominic. He treated Lester with more than a modicum of respect.

The bouncer called the lad Domino for some reason, one of these days, he’d ask him why. He was another one who treated him with a little respect. He made a good bouncer did Douglas, he fit the part very well but underneath all that muscle, the feller was a big pudding, Lester bet that his old man didn’t give him the odd slap, if he had then Douglas wouldn’t have to be such a bloody drama queen. A man needed discipline in his life; anyone with half a brain knew that. As for the lad, well Lester suspected that he was one of those fairies so he didn’t count as he wasn’t a real man.

His muse was broken by the sound of glass breaking. His head snapped up, that was a bottle. No doubt some clown was rifling through the bottle bank round the back again.

Bloody hell, Lester hated glass; it was a real pain to clear up. He placed the bag on the floor and hurried along the side of the club, no doubt a group of kids from the Breakspear Estate were round the back and up to no good. He smiled to himself; they’d chosen the wrong place to cause mischief. Lester had no compunction in giving a few kids a good hiding, as far as he was concerned, all brats were fair game to a collision with his hard hands, open or closed. Especially ones who liked to cause trouble.

He heard another bottle smash, somebody was going to get it tonight, he smacked a fist into his open palm, oh yes, and nobody messed his bloody club up. Lester reached the iron fence separating the car park from the delivery yard; he was most annoyed to discover the gate wide open. A tiny stab of unease crept into his heart when he realized that it had been him who’d forgotten to lock the bloody gate after he’d collected his tools. If Mr. Crowley did just happen to show up how the hell would he explain this one? He’d left one of the emergency exits open too. Lester had lodged the door open with a brick. Bloody hell, if those brats were inside the club, Mr. Crowley would string him up by his bollocks, he couldn’t believe he’d been so bloody careless.

“Mr. Crowley wasn’t going to find out though.”

Lester reckoned that he had about twenty more minutes before the first of the employees turned up. As he rushed through the gate, he saw the two smashed bottles straight away. Lester snorted when it dawned on him what must have happened. He looked across the top of the compound wall that surrounded the back area and saw the rest of them.

Fourteen bottles filled with sand remained on the wall, just where he’d placed them weeks ago. He couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to forget about them, Lester had placed them there to stop a fox from sneaking into the yard and ripping up his bin bags.

He couldn’t remember where he’d read that little trick but it had worked, that bloody fox hadn’t made another appearance since. Lester gazed at all that sand and broken glass and sighed.

“It must have been a bloody cat. The noise will have sent it scattering.”

That adrenalin rush Lester felt when he though he may be having a rumble just vanished leaving him feeling a little disappointed, giving a bunch of snot nosed brats a bloody could clip round the lugholes would have fair made his day so it would.

Lester strode over the mess and hurried over to the open fire door; he peaked inside and listened for a moment or two just in case. He had to make sure, after all, due diligence did pay dividends. There were no skulking shadows or any sound apart from the low humming of the walk in freezer at the back of the kitchen. Then again he didn’t expect to hear anything, it was just a cat that’s all, and he knew that a bunch of kids would have knocked more than a couple of bottles down.

Lester removed the two bricks and allowed the fire door to swing shut. It looked like he would have to wait a little longer before he could enjoy that cigarette and to make things bloody worse, he left his tools in front of the club. He imagined the look of disapproval he’d get from Mr. Crowley if he pulled into the car park and saw Lester’s gear left unattended, just begging to be stolen.

It was the bottle bank not the open gate that caught his attention when Lester turned around. Did he just see something under there move? His body may be past its prime by thirty years but the old peepers were still as sharp as they’d always been, he crouched down to get a better view. Bloody hell, there was something under there and it was no cat that was for damn sure, way too big for a cat.

It was too dark to make it out; if it was a fox it was a bloody big one. Lester glanced at his watch and found that he still had a few minutes before the boss could arrive, plenty of time to do a spot of pest control.

“Mr. Fox is going get a bit of a headache in a minute.”

He scurried back to the fire door and picked up one of the bricks, after a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the other brick too. Suitably armed he sneaked over to the bottle bin, he wasn’t sure why he was being so stealthy, it’s not like the fox wouldn’t be able to see him approach the bank. Lester mentally shrugged, he’d already passed the bank once and that hadn’t alarm the little bastard so maybe it’ll stay where it is, shaking and quivering.

Lester stopped directly in front of the bank, he liked the idea that Mr. Fox was under there, no doubt shitting himself and waiting for the scary human to piss off so he can go through the bin bags again.

“Not this time,” he murmured, rubbing the bricks together. “You’re going to get a nasty present.”

He didn’t think the fox would stay still long enough for him to smash it head between the two bricks but he was going to have a bloody good go. Lester dropped to his knees, he rested his hands on the bricks and bent his head closer to the gap, it was definitely still there, and Lester could hear it moving about.

He then heard a noise echoing out of the gap that came from no animal. It was a human moan.

“What the hell? Hello, is there someone under there?”

As Lester bent further down, a pair of small hands whipped out from under the gap, each one fastened around his ears. His own hands instinctively flew up and wrapped around those freezing cold arms, as he did so, Lester lost his balance, he found himself being dragged towards that tiny gap. All Lester could hear were the sounds of guttural groaning and crying, the crying was coming from him.

His body slapped the tarmac and Lester came face to face with his assailant. It was a little girl no older than five. She moaned again when she saw him and lunged forward, Lester tried to jerk back but was too late to stop her from fastening her teeth over his bottom lip. Pain exploded through him as she bit through the flesh, she growled and pulled her head back, and stretching his mutilated lip until finally it tore.

The girl darted forward once more, this time she bit into his neck, he could hear her chewing through his skin and tendons but the sound, like the pain had receded into the distance. He closed his eyes, the last thought he had before he died was of a giant fox picking up litter.

Chapter Six

Angela Price’s gasps exploded from her, she thrust her naked body further down the bed. The man’s head, wedged between her legs responded by pushing his snakelike tongue further inside her. This was it, oh Christ, the first orgasm that hadn’t been self induced was rushing through her body like a tsunami.

She screamed and tried to arch her back but the man had placed his arms over her thighs so he could finish her off.

After what felt like an eternity, the man looked at her, wiped his chin then grinned.

“Marks out of ten?”

“Twenty,” she replied, giggling.

“So are you ready for the main course now?”

“Oh god yes!” she replied. “Get those pants off, I want to taste what you have in there.”

He climbed off the bed and stood in front of Angela, with his eyes roaming up and down her body; she stretched like a cat and licked her lips. The man made no move the remove the rest of his clothes.

“You keep yourself on the boil for a couple of minutes sweetheart. I need to go and piss.”

She made a grab for his crotch, giggling when he jumped back. “You are such a romantic.”

Angela watched him leave the room, she pulled the crimson, silk sheet over her body and snuggled her head into the soft pillow. She still found it hard to believe that it was only yesterday when she was calling the man who’d just made her earth move, an evil old bastard, to his face as well.

He’d been on her back throughout the whole of her shift. ‘Angela that glass is still dirty, you’ve been giving out the wrong change again, and that couple is still waiting for their food’.

By midnight she’d had enough and decided there and then that it was time to find another job and that Mr. Crowley could go fuck himself.

She heard him enter the bathroom, oh god, she so hoped that he wasn’t going to take forever. If he could turn her into a mound of jelly with just his tongue what would he be able to do that that monster inside his trousers?

Angela had heard all the rumours about what her new boss was like on the first day of her shift this time last week. Even her new friend, Marlene had sworn blind that most of the rumours were true. She had winked at Angela and told her that the size of it was definitely true. She just gazed in disbelief at the slimy, auburn skinned man; prancing about in those silly Cuban heals and decided that it was all just one big wind up. They probably told the same story to all the new starters.

That warm fuzzy feeling between her legs had started to disappear, where the hell was he? Men weren’t supposed to take forever in the bathroom that was the woman’s role. She ought to be horrified that she was impatiently waiting for a man old enough to be her father to come back to screw her senseless. Bernard told her earlier how he would be forty eight next month. Bloody hell, her dad was only forty. Angela should be ashamed of herself, but she wasn’t.

Her boyfriend, Dave was supposed to be out on a stag do tonight, Angela felt a twinge of guilt about her antics but she swiftly smothered it. She knew for a fact that he’d probably end up sleeping with some pissed up tart, he’d pull at some nightclub. She’d heard from more than one of her mates that her Dave wasn’t very faithful, ironic really considering how crap in bed he was. Maybe that was a bit unfair, Bernard had over thirty years of practice to perfect his techniques. Oh where the bloody hell was he? She had started to get cold.

Angela whipped the covers back, climbed out of the bed and grabbed the man’s dressing gown. If he thought that Angela was staying in there any longer then he had another thing coming.

She opened the door and stepped into Bernard’s office. She ran her fingers across the top of his white leather sofa and smiled, it was on this where the man had successfully seduced her into bed.

It was still a bloody mystery how he’d managed to pull it off. He’d sat her down at three in the morning then smiled and actually apologised for his abrupt behaviour all night. It was surreal, Angela felt as though she was sitting next to a completely different person. That stone faced bastard who’d gone to town on her throughout her shift was nowhere to be seen, instead this utterly charming man sat beside her, regaling Angela with humorous quips about the other staff members and their regular customers. He’d begged her not to leave just yet and to give him another chance.

He’d then pressed a cold glass full of a clear but fruity liquid into her hands. She didn’t have a clue what it was but the stuff flowed down her throat like rich ambrosia. Somehow, they’d started kissing and those gentle hands of his massaged her in ways she’d never dreamt of. When he’d whispered that he’d wanted her in Angela’s ear, she knew she just had to go to bed with him.

The office door was wide open; she padded over and peered out. His office was located at the end of the corridor, directly above the club. The toilets were the next door to the left, Angela smiled and stood in front of the door and loosened the cord around the dressing gown, and she couldn’t wait to see his face light up when he opened that door.

A sharp crack emanating from downstairs caused her to snap her head around.

“What the hell was that?” she murmured.

There wasn’t anyone else in the club, not yet anyway. The only person close by was that cleaner and he would be busy sweeping up outside. Angela then sighed, when it clicked. Bernard must have gone downstairs to grab a bottle of wine for after he’d finished ravishing her; he mentioned earlier that he had no booze left up here. Angela wandered over to the stairwell; they still had nearly half an hour before her work mates showed up.

She started to go down the stairs, that was plenty of time for Bernard to roger her stupid over the bar. That would give her something to smile about the next time she was serving the customers.

It felt a little strange walking through the deserted club, clad in just the owner’s dressing gown. She paused in front of a mirror beside the fruit machine and gazed at her reflection, Angela smiled and brushed her hand across the downy zebra striped material, the pattern complemented her full figure well. She looked better in it than Barnard would and no doubt a lot better than any of the other women who’d no doubt worn this dressing gown before she had.

Angela was willing to put down her next wage that Marlene had worn this dressing gown at some point in her time at the club. The petite lass may come over all respectable and principled but Angela wasn’t a fool, she could almost smell her distinctive perfume on this gown. Just that that moment, Angela felt a stab of jealousy, thinking about her Bernard groaning as that woman rode him like a wild stallion. Yeah well, that was in the past, this is the present and pretty soon that man won’t know what’s hit him. She also intended to make sure that his wandering eyes would stay fixed on her alone.

In the mirror’s reflection, she caught sight of a dark shadow moving beneath the bar; Bernard must be searching for a couple of clean glasses. She giggled to herself, he won’t find many down there, and Angela washed them up. She may not be well up with all that cleaning malarkey, but there was one particular activity that she did excel at. She may not have the experience of Bernard, at seventeen, she’d only been having sex for three years, but Angela was a quick learner and it hadn’t taken her that long to work out what males desired.

Angela crouched down and hurried over to the bar, she unfastened the robe again, got onto her knees and crawled towards the opening then she heard a noise that almost stopped her heart. The toilet upstairs flushed followed by a door slamming and the thudding noise of heavy footsteps.

She let out an involuntary gasp. Oh Jesus, if Bernard was still up there? Who the fuck was down here? Angela heard a single low moan before hearing something scraping across the bar above her, she had no time to react before feeling a hand on the top of her head, and fingers grabbed her hair and pulled the woman up. She came face to face with a wasted looking male teenager. He brought up his other arm and anchored hid hand round her throat.

Angela was caught fast, his grip held her too tight to struggle, she looked into his wide, staring eyes, hoping to see some hint of compassion but those dead orbs may well have been made from glass. The youth tried to pull her over the bar, she saw his mouth opening wider, oh Jesus, the insane bastard wanted to bite into her!

He forced her head down onto a metal drip tray, then leaned towards her exposed cheek, moaning. Her hands reached up and attempted to push his head away. It was no use; the man just pushed them away as if they were no more worrisome than a pesky fly. Her hand brushed past a forgotten beer bottle, in desperation she snatched it up and smashed it into the side of his head. The lad loosened his grip but didn’t fully release her; in panic she jerked her head back, feeling the intense pain on her scalp as he dug his fingernails in.

She staggered back; Angela’s euphoria dampened by the sight of the youth following her. Oh Jesus! What was he on? She glanced at the smashed glass spread across the bar; the bottle’s impact should have knocked the bastard into next week.

Angela tried to shout for Bernard but could only manage a single croak. He’d already stumbled out from behind the bar, the youth blocked her way back to the stairs so she turned and bolted toward the kitchen.

She daren’t risk a glance behind but Angela didn’t have to, the sound of his labored breathing as the youth lumbered after her was enough to know that he hadn’t given up. Angela burst through the double plastic doors and stepped into Dominic’s domain. As the doors swung shut behind her, she then did look back. The lad wasn’t there. She peered through the scratched plastic and finally spotted him, he was staring into the aquarium built into the wall.

He couldn’t have forgotten about her could he? That just wasn’t possible. Angela stepped away from the door unable to believe her good luck; she looked up and silently whooped for joy, the first employees should be arriving any moment. How she would explain herself when they found her in here wouldn’t matter as long as they dealt with that bastard out there.

“Please make it Douglas to get here first,” she murmured.

Angela put her hand to her scalp, grimacing at the spots of blood sticking to her palm; there was no pain at all now, that that bloody weird. She traced a deep groove along her scalp with her index finger, still no pain.

Her finger went straight into her mouth. That overpowering sense of fear had disappeared too, the only thing she felt now was anger, Angela did feel a little hungry too but she could sort that out with a little more of her blood. She dug her finger into her head wound whilst trying to think of something she could use to dispatch mister fish lover out there. If only Dominic hadn’t locked away his utensils, he had a huge assortment of knives that would easily deal with him. She placed her dripping finger back into her mouth and sucked it dry before pushing the digit back into the wound, gouging out some more of her flesh. Angela then remembered a perfect weapon she could use on him and it was almost within reach. The walk in freezer had a dozen meat hooks hanging from the ceiling, one of them would be ideal.

Angela hurried over and pulled the handle down, she briefly wondered why her body didn’t react as the freezing air blasted out but pushed the doubt to the back of her mind when she spotted a couple of hooks at the back of the room. She rushed inside, eager to grab the first hook, not realising that the sub-zero had taken the first few layers of skin off the soles of her feet. As Angela reached up, the door began to swing shut. She turned and watched, suddenly remembering that the release mechanism on the inside had broken off last week. She shrugged to herself, she could wait for a few minutes, it’s not like it was that cold in here.

Chapter Seven

Marlene crossed over the deserted road and stepped into the empty car park. Now, that was a little odd, where was Bernard’s car? She didn’t expect to be the first ones to arrive.

Thomas tapped her on the shoulder, “I wonder where everyone is. Do you have a key?”

She shook her head, “I do but I don’t have it with me.”

She took out his mobile phone yet again. Marlene suppressed a sigh; he hadn’t left the thing alone since they’d started walking. He must be the only person she knew who’d rather check his Facebook status instead of just enjoying the silence and the cool night air. It also riled her that once the phone had his attention, he’d stopped giving her shy glances.

“Well, we’re on time.” He pointed at a window on the upper floor, “Someone must be in, there’s a light on.”

She should have guessed, that Bernard had been up to his old tricks again, either that or someone had decided to burgle the place. Marlene was willing to bet on the former. She also had a bloody who could be with their boss.

“Come on Thomas let’s go give that door a good banging.”

“What’s so funny?”

Marlene walked across the car park, trying to work out just how many girls that dirty old bastard had taken up there, thankfully, she wasn’t one of them. The girls who Bernard fancied didn’t usually last that long after he got bored with them, there was always another set of pretty eyes and breasts to distract his wandering eyes. She had wondered on more than one occasion why Bernard had never tried to get her behind his office, in a way she was glad that he hadn’t, Marlene valued her job too much to start ruining everything by jumping into bed with the boss. There was still that tiny voice at the back of her mind that occasionally popped up and calmly informed her that Barnard hadn’t even given her a chance to refuse his advances.

Thomas wandered over to a full bin bag and an old golf bag containing a couple of sweeping brushes and a shovel. “Does this lot belong to that old cleaner?”

She nodded.

His head darted from side to side, “I’m not too keen on him,” he whispered. “He’s a bit too creepy for my liking.”

“Join the club,” she replied. “Thinking about Lester gave Marlene the shivers, he’d always been pleasant enough to her but those nasty little eyes of his told her a different story, not to mention his horrible tongue, it always popped out to lick his lips whenever someone spoke to him.

Marlene brayed on the front door, eager to get inside. If Lester’s stuff was here, then he wouldn’t be that far away, he normally guarded all that mouldy old stuff in that golf bag with his life. The bag was his precious. Marlene giggled and wondered if Lester would get the gag. He did bear a remarkable resemblance to Gollum as well, only not as attractive.

She banged on the door again.

“I think that cleaner is round the back, look the gate is open. Shall we go have a look?”

It was a good idea, despite Bernard constantly telling him off; Lester had this annoying habit of propping one of the fire doors open so he could get to the water taps. They could get in that way. Marlene didn’t think the boss would mind too much. It would give him chance to finish off the girl he was doing. Marlene thought back to last night, he was in a right mood with everyone, especially Angela, she just assumed it was because of all the crap that had happened these past few nights, and then it clicked. She knew exactly who he would be finishing off. He was using his evil ogre role on that slip of a girl.

“Jesus, does he have no shame,” she muttered.

“Did you say something?”

“Come on then, let’s go round the back. I’ve started to get cold now that we’ve stopped.” Marlene banged on the door one last time. “Come on you daft old bast…”

Marlene gasped and jumped back as the door swing open.

“The main act has just fucking cancelled.” He said. Bernard stepped aside and allowed them to pass him. Marlene caught the smell of whisky on his breath. She walked into the lounge; the first thing that caught her eye was the broken glass bottle. What the hell had gone on here? She saw the table shoved to the side and the over turned chairs and wondered if there really had been a burglary. She waited for Bernard to follow them in and pointed at the mess.

“Buggered if I know,” he said, shrugging “It’ll probably be that bloody cleaner, nosing around the fucking bar again”

He looked up at Thomas who made the mistake of smiling back. “What? Do you think this is funny or something?”

“Or course not Mr. Crowley.”

“Well wipe that fucking gormless smirk off your face and make yourself useful. That means stop standing about like some fucking shop floor dummy and get this shit cleaned up.”

Bernard rubbed his forehead, “Please Lord Jesus, save me from fucking idiots.”

Marlene watched him hurry over to the bar, muttering to himself, this was not a man who’d just received his oats. Oh, this was just fantastic, just what she needed, yet another night of keeping her head down and hoping he’d have a go at another member of staff. Oh shit, Marlene really did hope that Bernard wouldn’t choose tonight to get rid of Thomas.

“Marlene, can I have a word?”

She pushed Thomas towards the cleaning cupboard then braced herself, Marlene had the feeling that he was about to offload a great big pile of shit onto her shoulders.

“What’s wrong, boss?”

He glared at her, “What part of ‘the main act has just cancelled’ did you not fucking understand? Get on the phone and start ringing round, we need someone else tonight and pronto and for crying out loud, don’t book some rock band or an alternative comedian.” Bernard pored himself a Jack Daniels. “This place is going to be full of pensioners tonight after the bingo hall shuts. The last thing I fucking need is a rowdy crowd of old fuckers complaining about the lack of entertainment.”

She’d forgotten that it was zombie night. This was their busiest night, Bernard should be happy; he usually was when faced with the opportunity to make money. Marlene couldn’t remember where the name originally came from, it wasn’t the nicest of names to label them with but after a few pints and gin and tonics down their throats they definitely acted like bloody zombies.

He downed the drink in one go, “I also want that young lad working the floor tonight. His pretty face should be able to keep those old bags pacified when they get a bit rowdy later on.”

Bernard passed her the phone and stormed over to the front door. “Right, I’m going to have a quick word with that bloody cleaner.”

He gave that special look, the one he only used when he needed a huge favour from her, “Please Marlene, do your best; find me a good act for tonight.”

She nodded, “Leave it with me boss, I’ll try to pull in a few favours.”

It sounded to Marlene that Thomas had been given a last minute reprieve. Her boss had a point there; the old dears will just pester poor Thomas to death. If he played his cards right though, he ought to make a bloody killing in tips tonight.

“Right, I’ll leave that in your capable hands. If you need me, I’ll be outside talking to Lester, which is something I should have done a long time ago.”

That old bastard was about to get both barrels. She almost felt sorry for him.

Marlene hurried over to the bar, as soon as he was out of the club, she intended to pour herself a strong drink too, and she got the feeling that tonight was going to be one of those bastard nights.

They both jumped as a shriek pierced the air. Marlene swung around and watched Thomas stagger away from the open closet.

“Jesus lad,” shouted Bernard, “You nearly gave me fucking heart failure. What’s got into you? Have you seen a mouse?”

Thomas turned, his face drained of blood, “There’s a boy hiding in the cupboard and I think he’s dead.”

Chapter Eight

His first thought when they pulled into the car park was where is everyone? Dominic rechecked the clock on the dashboard, they weren’t early so where on earth were Marlene’s and Mr. Crowley’s cars? He kept the question to himself though, as he had no wish to disturb Douglas. He took his eyes off the empty car park and watched his friend trying to park the beast in his usual spot; it pained him to see the vast amount of concentration etched upon his friend’s face as he performed a task that would normally take him just seconds.

He’d told Dominic earlier that the headache had receded into the background, at the time that had been such a super relief. As he witnessed the beads of sweat trickling down Douglas’s forehead, he received the unpleasant notion that his friend had been feeding him a line. Dominic decided to confide with Marlene, when he found her of course, maybe she could persuade the big oaf to go see a doctor.

Douglas parked up next to a late night pharmacy ten minutes ago and asked Dominic to go buy him some extra strength painkillers. Douglas had said he wouldn’t be able to go inside as all those fluorescents would make him see in colours. Dominic intended to find out exactly what that meant by that later on tonight.

Dominic pushed open the door and climbed out.

“Don’t slam my door, guy. I’ve killed people for less.”

Dominic heeded the big man’s advice and gently clicked the door shut. He discreetly watched his friend slowly ease his frame out of the vehicle, Dominic honestly felt as though he was observing a different person. His big, cuddly teddy bear had run for the hills, leaving a huge scary man in his place. Dominic found the situation a little disquieting yet it also excited him too.

His friend had always stated that he preferred the rather boring heterosexual way of living. Douglas would often describe his latest conquest to Dominic; he’d lost count of just how many pretty girls that he’d taken to his bed. It always made Dominic so jealous. According to rumour, his friend was big everywhere. He imagined this huge, scary stranger pulling him back into the off-roader and driving him somewhere dark and quiet before ripping off his clothes and bruising Dominic everywhere.

“Control yourself boy,” he muttered. He ought to be ashamed of himself, His friend could be dying and he was having erotic thoughts. “I think I need a cold shower.”

When the driver’s door clicked shut, he rushed around the beast in the hope that he could offer assistance, not that he would be much help, and he tried to imagine the mess Douglas would make of poor Dominic if he collapsed on top of him and shuddered. He watched Douglas drop the packet of painkillers on the floor.

“Please don’t tell me that you’ve swallowed them all.”

His friend nodded.

“Oh no, are you insane? That was one super big packet, are you trying to kill yourself?”

Douglas started to laugh that quickly turned into a coughing fit. Dominic gasped and slapped him on the back.

“I’m okay, Jesus, guy, stop being so brutal.”

Dominic placed his hands on his hips. “Are you going to tell me what you found to be so amusing now?”

Douglas leaned against the car door and took a deep breath. “I just wondered if you’ve ever nearly killed yourself by trying to swallow a big packet.”

Dominic tutted, “That’s rude.”

His friend grinned back at him then shrugged, “Maybe just little bit.”

He was super pleased to see the old mischievous glint back in his eyes. He hoped that his friend would be soon back to his old self.

“Come on, Domino,” he said, smiling, “You’ve got food to prepare. Don’t forget that its zombie night so make sure that blender is on standby in case any of the nearly dead forgets to put in their false teeth.”

He saluted Douglas and hurried across the car park, one person who he was glad not to see was that car park cleaner, Lester. That man made Dominic’s skin itch, which is ironic as Lester had said exactly the same to him along with a number of equally horrible comments. According the Lester, all homosexuals were blasphemers to God, any men fancying other men ought to be put against a brick wall and shot.

He’d never told anyone else what that homophobic dickhead had said to him, unlike Lester, Dominic considered himself to be a nice guy and wouldn’t want to see him get into trouble, even if he did deserve it.

The club door stood open, it took a little worry off his shoulders, knowing that somebody had got here before them. He hoped it would be Marlene, Douglas may be acting more like himself but he’d still feel better if she could persuade the big man to see a doctor.

Walking into the familiar surroundings of the club’s lobby just had to be the favourite part of his day. His co-workers never understood his why he relished the first few minutes of his shift. They repeated the same old phrases day in day out, like ‘it was back to the old grindstone’ or ‘same shit, different day’ Marlene muttered that one at least once a week.

They saw their jobs as a chore, a task to be endured, and a boring job that just paid the bills and gave them a bit of spending money at the end of the week. His view differed, he saw each day as a fresh challenge, yet another opportunity to tickle the taste-buds of another fresh customer. Dominic knew that his menus rivalled any of the big hotels in the area for variety and quality and not forgetting value for money. The exotic choices on his menus may not have been as popular as he’d hoped but Dominic had never received any bad comments from anyone so far.

His big hope was that one day; a wandering food critic would find their way to the club and gasp in pleasant surprise when Dominic’s delicious food was consumed. Deep down in his heart though, his chances of being ‘discovered’ were pretty slim, he’d been here over twenty years and it hadn’t happened yet.

Dominic traced his finger along the framed Charles and Diana portrait that had been in that position since he’d first started here. He gazed at his still clean finger, the club may be in dire need of a revamp but at least it was clean and tidy. That was another reason not the drop that queer hating little man in the shit, at least he kept the club sparkling clean.

Douglas tapped him on the shoulders, “I see you’re admiring out future king. Charlie’s changed a bit since that was taken.”

Dominic nodded, “Unlike our lobby.”

“Well, if Charlie chose tonight to make a surprise visit, he’d fit right in. I love zombie night you know, it’s the only night in the week when I don’t get much trouble from the punters.”

He wished the others wouldn’t call them that, it was so demeaning. Speaking of surprise visits; if his food critic chose tonight to be sample his wares, Dominic just knew he’d be super impressed. The older folk weren’t so keen of the exotic but that didn’t matter as he made the best steak and kidney pies in Yorkshire. He didn’t mind dampening down his creative tendencies for them, at least they gave him some appreciation, unlike a certain other older person currently sat at home and waiting for her fish and chips.

He pushed open the door leading into the lounge and all thought of food preparation flew out of his head when he saw the scene in front of him. Dominic grabbed the edge of the door to stop him from collapsing.

Dominic pressed the palm of his hand into the edge of the door and silently hummed the theme tune to the Magic Roundabout while his eyes fed him images of all that blood, the body and his workers huddled around it. Douglas pushed past him and rushed over to the boy lying on the two round tables. Dominic knew the boy was dead, he just had to be, alive people don’t look so grey and they certainly don’t have dents like that in his head, it looked as though someone had smacked a galia melon with a hammer.

He edged along the wall towards the toilet. Whilst watching Douglas search for a pulse on the body. His stomach had just decided that it didn’t want his last meal of porridge followed by strawberries and cream. He briefly wondered what it would look like when it shot out of his mouth, Douglas moved away from the boy’s damaged head and Dominic knew exactly what it was going to look like.

The sanctuary of the gents were now just a few metres away, he thought of pretty flowers and plain brown cardboard, he thought of anything that would stop the urge to vomit.

Douglas still had his hands on the boy’s skin. That was just too disgusting for words, how could he even contemplate going near it? His friend moved again and Dominic got his first clear view of the boy’s face. Oh dear lord, he’d seen him before, just a few days ago. Dominic had caught the lad going through the food bins in the compound. He’d rushed back into the kitchen to grab a piece of leftover chicken pie for him but the lad had scarpered by the time he had returned.

“Dominic? Could you join us, please?”

He jerked his head up, Dominic had been so focussed on the kid, he had no idea that the others were staring at him.

Bernard coughed loudly, “In your own time of course.”

Oh heavens, his boss actually wanted him to get close to that body. Bernard had his ‘I will not be defied’ hat on. His legs moved on their own volition. He silently chanted ‘I’m a brave soldier’ and went with his lower limbs.

“Before you query, we didn’t do it, this dirty sack of shit was found here.” he sighed,

“So now, Dominic, all of us as a group now have a little problem to resolve.”

He heard the words but struggled to make sense of them, his eyes were still on the body, due to his chosen career path, he had become rather ‘intimate’ with the qualities on dead flesh, if he leaped over his psychological repugnance to dead people, he knew that meat was meat, it didn’t matter which animal it came from. This lump of ‘meat’ just didn’t look dead to him, he couldn’t explain why.

When he looked up, Dominic saw that they were still staring at him.

Marlene was the first to look away. “We need to call the police.”

“You mean they haven’t been called yet?” asked Dominic, he licked his dry lips and stared at his boss, “Bernard, why not?”

Bernard shrugged and opened his hands, “I just want you all to dwell on the consequences first.”

“What the fucking hell are you talking about?” shouted Marlene. “Jesus, Bernard, it’s a dead body, we just have to call the cops, it’s what you do.”

Dominic had never heard Marlene swear before; tonight was turning into a series of firsts. First dead body, first time he’d heard Marlene use the ‘f’ word.

“Have you any idea of the damage it would cause to the club if it got out that a body had been found here? Christ lass, haven’t we had enough shit this week? Why should I let some stupid fucking smackhead kill off what little custom we have? It’s not our fault that he chose our club to die in is it?”

Dominic watched Marlene’s face change as the ramifications of what he was proposing sunk in.

“Have you lost your mind, Bernard?” she uttered.

Dominic noticed that Marlene already had a phone in her hand.

“If the police are called, they’ll shut us down. Come on, Marlene, you help me with the books, you know as well as I that just one night of no trade will ruin the club. We’ll all be out of a job; it’s as simple as that.”

Dominic tried to imagine what he would have done if he’d have got here first, apart from scream and probably faint. “Was he lying here when you got to the club?”

Bernard shook his head, “No, the boy found it in the cupboard.”

Thomas turned bright red as everyone directed their gaze at him. Why was Dominic not surprised that he would be the one to find the body?

“Listen to me all of you. All I’m asking is a little support, it’s not like you’ll be taking any risk, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s my club, my responsibility. All I ask is for someone to help me put the body in the boot of my car. Come on, are you honestly prepared to lose your job just because some homeless druggie chose my club to pop his clogs?”

How on earth would he be able to look after his mother if he lost the job? The chances for him to find work in another kitchen at his age were from slim to zero. There was no way that he’d be able to feed her, not with her fussy ways. They’d lose the house that was a certainty. Oh heavens, he’d have to put her in a nursing home and he’d have to find a flat or bedsit. That upheaval would probably kill them both off.

“I’m in Mr. Crowley but there’s no way that I’m going to touch that body.” He said.

Dominic turned away to avoid that look of hurt and betrayal etched upon Marlene’s face, he’d have to sit her down later on and explain a few facts to her, maybe then she wouldn’t be so quick to judge him.

Chapter Nine

Dean Middleton replaced the lid back on his blue pen; he popped it back into the colour coded stationary holder and sat back in his office chair. It had taken him just over nine minutes to compile his list of twenty-three activities he could do whilst his wife, Marie was over in Halifax visiting her mother.

She wasn’t due back until tomorrow morning; she’d even taken their two children

Having the house to himself was such a rare opportunity, it opened up so many possibilities.

Dean leaned over and looked at the top item on his things to do list; he’d underlined the title with a red felt tip pen that belonged to his daughter. Dean really shouldn’t have stolen it in the first place but he really needed an alternate colour. She wouldn’t miss it, he drew little comfort in knowing that Jasmine wouldn’t even realise that it had gone missing. His daughter, just like her mother was such a messy individual. He’d seen land fill tips that were tidier than her bedroom. Thankfully at least his son, Sebastian had inherited some of his father’s obsession with keeping an orderly life.

The top item on the list was to set up his 360 in the living room. Just the thought of playing Call of Duty on the fifty six inch television made him go weak at the knees. He could even invite Bill and Adam over. Have a few drinks, play a few games and generally have a bit of a giggle, just like they used to do before he was married.

He got up to put the kettle on; one of the disadvantages of being home alone was that, he had nobody to make him cups of tea. As he gazed out onto the manicured lawn, he thought back to before his days of domestication, he couldn’t actually remember one occasion when he was able a have a bit of a giggle with his two friends without him becoming stressed over how much mess they were creating. Those two had still to find a couple of nice girls and settle down.

He poured boiling water into his cup. Those two found girls every week but he doubted that they were very nice or wanted to settle down. Come to think of it. They’d probably be getting ready to go out on the pull even now. Somehow he thought that his offer of watching him destroy all his online friends wouldn’t really be good enough to tempt them over.

Maybe he could go out with them instead, Dean hadn’t written that option down on his list. It had been years since he’d been out with his friends, Marie wasn’t really the type to want to go clubbing, she was happy with her soaps and her knitting. It was odd how married life changed people, before he met his darling wife, she went out to the nightclubs at least twice a week.

He sighed and carried his cup of tea over to his chair; perhaps he should continue assessing his activity list. Number two on his list had plenty of promise, for nearly five years, he’d been promising himself to climb up into the loft and give the place a real good tidy out. He knew that activity would take him all night, Dean doubted that he get that much tidying done though. His vast collection of marvel comics was up there, once he’d dug them out, he just knew that he’d have to skim through at least one copy. One would inevitably lead to another, and before he knew he’d be reading the all, nothing would be able to move him.

His cup nearly slipped through his fingers when he heard the thunderous staccato banging on his front door. He carefully placed the cup down on the table and hurried through the hall, whoever it was, it sounded urgent, perhaps it was the police. His heart beat a little faster, he knew how easily distracted his wife was whilst driving, she was always turning around to shout at the kids in the back seat, one mistake would be all it took.

Pray it isn’t them, he thought.

They banged on the door once more. He could almost see the wood bouncing in the frame. Dean fumbled with the key in the lock, his racing mind kindly showed him a few more images of what his wife and kids could look like after a head on collision with another car.

When he did finally get the door unlocked and open, Dean was rather taken aback to find a large gentleman wearing a very smart suit stood on the porch and smiling at him.

“Greetings,” he said. “My name is Talbot Field and this is not your lucky night.”

“I’m sorry,” spluttered Dean, “but whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

He tried to shut the door but the big man had wrapped his hand around the handle. He couldn’t budge it an inch.

“Look, could you let go of the door please, like I just said, I don’t want to buy anything.”

The man pushed open the door and stepped into his house. “Your ordered mind drew me here, Dean, like a moth to a flame. You should thank your lucky stars that you cannot hear the others. They pollute the airwaves with all their disordered chaos.”

Dean saw the insanity in the man’s eyes, he also saw his own demise if he didn’t do something. He took his eyes off the man for one moment and looked over to the coat hooks just behind the stranger. The third hook from the left, hung Marie’s umbrella. His old army overcoat covered it but he knew that it was still there.

Dean left go of the banister and crept a little closer to his target. What the hell was the man doing? He appeared to have lost interest in Dean, like he’d zoned out or something, he just stared through the open doorway into the kitchen.

His hand brushed against the overcoat, he could feel the object through the thick material. That metal spike on the end of the umbrella would do a lot of damage. The man then jumped as if he’d just been given an electric shock. He slowly turned his head, that grinning madman began to laugh. Dean felt like a little kid with his hand caught in the biscuit jar.

Dean felt an itch at the back of his head; the itch grew in intensity until he thought the inside of his skull was on fire, then the pain abruptly vanished, leaving him feeling as sick as a dog.

The madman nodded, “I ought to stick that brolly up your fucking arse.”

His arm shot forward, the man’s palm smacked into Dean’s chest and he flew back against the stairs.

“Take a pew,” said the man.

The nausea was mild compared to the bruising that his back and arms must have sustained when he hit the sharp edges of the steps.

“There are people are dying just a mile from here yet those dead people refuse to lie down.”

He jerked his head up; the movement reminded Dean of a lizard about to catch an insect. The man barked out braying laughter, Dean shrank back against the steps; he wished he had a gun.

“Oh dear, that’s priceless, it really is. The authorities think they have the infection contained.”

He thrust his hand into Dean’s face. He saw the bite mark and the ragged, bloody hole and everything clicked. This poor bastard had been bitten, probably by a dog judging by the mess. The wound was obviously infected and he was delirious. The man needed medical attention; heaven knows what must be swimming through his blood stream.

The man leaned closer, “You’re right there Dean, I have been bitten but you’re wrong about it being a dog. I have been infected though, what I can’t work out is why am I not dead and shuffling around and craving for fresh human meat.”

What the fuck was going on? He didn’t even open his mouth yet the madman knew exactly what he was thinking, he should have twigged it earlier, how could he have known his name or about that umbrella?

The imminent chaos that threatened to overwhelm Dean’s ordered and tidy life, leapt like a starving hound onto the tiny crack of insanity that had appeared on the surface of his mind.

He closed his eyes and focussed on his list. Mind readers did not exist; it was a fiction, a fantasy, ridiculous concepts like that didn’t belong in Dean’s world. He went through each activity one by one and re-listed them in accordance to possible enjoyment levels.

Dean reached ‘checking down the back of the sofa for money’ when he realised that he could hear no sound, he plucked up the courage to open his eyes.

“There you are,” said Talbot. “I’d thought that I’d lost you there.”

“Please go away,” whimpered Dean. “I’ve done nothing to harm you and there isn’t anything valuable in the house.”

Dean felt tears welling up; he cringed back even further when the man reached across and caressed his cheek.

“Nothing valuable you say? You undersell yourself, Dean. Haven’t you worked it out yet? It’s you that I want. I’m going to end your life.”

Number seven on his list bubbled up to the surface, he had always fantasised about wearing a pair of Marie’s stockings, and he wanted to found out how they’d feel in his bare legs. He pushed every other thought out of his mind and concentrated on those denier ten black hold-ups that she kept in her top drawer for special occasions.

When Talbot leaned in a little closer, he kicked him as hard as he could between the legs, the man groaned aloud before falling back against the front door. Dean scrambled up the stairs and ran into his son’s bedroom.

His eyes automatically zeroed in on Sebastian’s bedside cabinet, he stifled a scream when Dean saw the object he craved had gone. Sebastian had promised him that he wouldn’t take his phone to grandmas. Dean wasn’t worried that he’d lose it; the boy always looked after his possessions. His sister had been pestering to borrow it ever since she had lost hers.

That mobile phone shaped black outline seemed to mock him, he rushed out of the bedroom and looked down the stairs, the man had gone. Could he have really fled the house? He jumped when he heard a kitchen cupboard slamming shut.

The man was still here, oh Christ! What was he going to do now? Dean knew that he should have leapt over his prone form after he’d kicked him in the bollocks and ran out of the door, why on earth did he have to run up the bloody stairs?

Dean rushed back upstairs and back into the boy’s bedroom, thinking that maybe he could escape through the window. He noticed that Sebastian hadn’t confined his drawing skills to the phone; he’d drawn an outline around every movable object in the bedroom with a thick black felt tip pen.

He soon discovered that the window option was no bloody good, even if he could squeeze through the tiny window, he’d break both his legs when he dropped to the concrete below.

“The black pen.” He muttered.

Sebastian must have stolen the pen from his sister’s bedroom.

“Like father like son.”

The chances were pretty high that Jasmine will have dropped her phone in there too and just couldn’t be bothered to look for it. Dean moaned when he heard heavy footsteps along the hallway. He rushed into Jasmine’s bedroom and slammed the door shut.

His daughter had asked Marie a few weeks ago for a lock on the door to stop Sebastian from barging in. At the time he’d been against the idea. Dean was so glad that he’d given in. He slammed the bolt home and slid to the floor, leaning against the door.

Dean wasn’t an idiot, he knew it wouldn’t stop that man from getting in here but it may buy him enough time to find her phone and call for help. His hopes of a quick result died like a spluttering candle when he realised just how much of a momentous task he had ahead of him.

Her bedroom really did resemble a land fill tip this evening; it looked like a tornado had ripped through the room.

The man was now coming up the stairs, Dean heard him humming to himself. Oh Christ, what was he going to do? If he moved, the man would be able to barge through this door.

Oh, this would be impossible, there was too much mess for his mind to process, and it was information overload.

The man knocked on the door twice in quick succession. “Hello, in there. I feel for you, Dean I really do. I’m sorry to put you through all this upset. I know that you won’t believe this but I’m here to help you, now open this door.”

“Leave me alone,” Dean whispered.

“That’s not going to happen, look I’m sorry for saying that I was going to kill you, I didn’t mean to say it like that, and it was just a slip of the tongue.” He laughed. “You and I are so alike.”

Dean’s fevered eyes darted from one discarded item to the next. He spotted the special edition Barbie that Jasmine had pestered him to buy for her. It had been stuffed into a shoe, the left arm was missing. All of her drawers had been pulled open and the contents thrown around the room, scattered like autumn leaves.

His heart beat quickened when he spotted a small rectangular bulge in the back pocket of one of her jeans.

“We’re on the brink of war, Dean. The dead have begun to rise, your kind don’t have a fucking chance. I’m offering you salvation, an opportunity to join the winning side. It’s either that or join their ranks.”

The man was a raving lunatic with delusions of grandeur. Dean was ready to move, he could have that phone in his hands in a matter of seconds.

“Put those naughty thoughts back inside your head, Dean. If you do go for your daughter’s phone, I’ll break through this door and snap your neck. I don’t want to do that but don’t think I won’t. Now let’s stop all this nonsense and open the door.” This man was reading him like a book, Dean felt like he’d stripped him naked.

“Are we close to making a decision yet? You have no concept about just how hard it is for me to stay so pleasant. This emotion really is alien to my nature. You see, my normal approach to situations like this is less of the calm negotiations and more of the violent threats.”

If Jasmine had left her phone on, the battery would be flat anyway. He saw himself throwing her dead phone against the wall just before the man smashed through the door.

“Allow me to demonstrate, Dean. Marie has taken Sebastian and Jasmine to see their grandma in Halifax. Would you like me to tell you where she lives? Would you like me to explain what I’ll do to your pretty blonde daughter after I’ve violated your wife?” Dean slowly got to his feet and unbolted the door. He took one last look at those jeans and turned the handle.

“You’re a brave man,” said Talbot as the door swung open, “And loyal to your family, many men would have called my bluff.”

The grinning man held out a glass full of what looked like strawberry milkshake, “I’m really excited, I hope this works, and it’ll be an honour to have you by my side.”

Dean reluctantly took the glass.

“Drink it. Don’t go soft on me now Dean, not after I’ve worked so hard to build up our relationship.”

Talbot jangled a set of car keys in front of his face. “Thirty eight Pellon Avenue.” Dean prayed for forgiveness and lifted the glass to his mouth.

“Good lad. I hope you don’t mind but I emptied that cup full of cold tea out and gave it a good wash. There’s also some red fluff half way up the stairs. I picked as much as I could up but we’ll have to give it a good vacuum before we leave.”

The man had used what was remained of that carton of skimmed milk in the fridge to disguise the other ingredient. It wasn’t a very effective disguise; Dean knew blood when he tasted it.

“You’re doing very well Dean, there’s only it bit left, it’s nearly over.”

The man abruptly rushed forward, his arm snapped out and Dean felt the back of his head pulled down. Talbot took the glass out of Dean’s hand.

“I’m really sorry but there’s a few lumpy bits at the bottom and I’m afraid that you’d spit them out.”

He tilted the glass up and Dean watched a few milk coated blood clots flowing down the side of the glass, the lumps slid down his throat like they had a life of their own. Talbot released him and he dropped to the floor.

“That wasn’t too bad, was it? Now all we do is wait. Perhaps you would …”

The man’s speech cut off in mid sentence. Dean lifted his head and watched Talbot’s mouth; it was like watching the television with the sound muted. Had he just gone deaf? His curiosity was pushed away when his whole body began to cramp up; he tried to pull his knees up into his stomach. Oh Jesus, what the hell was happening to him? The stuff in that milk wasn’t normal blood, he could feel it soaking though his body and spreading out like a cancer. The cramp had begun to ease a little, a deep numbing coldness replace the pain, seeping out from his stomach.

Dean looked up at the grinning idiot, he wanted to beg him not to hurt his family but the words failed to come out. He jerked as if he’s been shocked, the man had just answered him but he hadn’t opened his mouth.

Don’t you fret my brother, I have no interest in your family and in a few more moments, neither will you.

What’s the hell? I can hear your thoughts, Talbot.

The man helped him to get back on his feet, he felt so weak.

As I can hear yours. Is the coldness worrying you?

Yes, it is a little.

The sensation will soon pass. Your strength will also return, in fact you will be stronger, everything about you will be enhanced. You’re in the midst of a wonderful change; you may feel a little discomfort as your human body begins to shut down and die but it will be the last ache you’ll ever feel.

Dean turned around and walked back into his daughter’s messy bedroom, it felt odd that the state of the room no longer bothered him. Talbot was correct about caring for his family too; the word ‘daughter’ had lost its significance. Dean pictured Jasmine in his mind and found that he felt nothing for the girl.

He felt Talbot’s hands rest on his shoulders. “I’m your family now.”

He gently pushed Dean closer to the window. “Look at them all down there, scurrying about like lost ants, they have no clue that their dominance on this planet is about to end.”

Dean put his hand on his chest, a little shocked to discover that his heart had just stopped beating.

Am I dead?

Talbot nodded, “Does that bother you?”

Dean shrugged, “I’m curious, if I’m dead then why am I suddenly so hungry?”

Talbot leaned even closer until his lips brushed against Dean’s ear, “What do you see when you look down on there?” he whispered.

Dean smiled and licked his lips. I see food.

Then let’s go and eat.

Chapter Ten

The distressed look plastered all over Thomas’s face told Marlene just what the news would be. She watched him for a couple of seconds, weaving through the empty tables and chairs before Marlene turned away. She opened the cash register and filled the drawers with change. Not that they’d need so much, loose change was one thing that the old folk always carried. By the end of the night, they’d need a bloody wheelbarrow to take the money to the safe.

“Marlene, I can’t find him, and I’ve looked everywhere. Do you think I should go and tell Mr. Crowley?”

She shut the drawer and picked up a towel, “Only if you want him to scream at you. I’ll tell him when he comes back in.” She threw him the towel, “Go wipe all the tables again.”

“I’ve already done that Marlene.”

“Well, go do it again, look busy lad. If the boss comes back in and sees you stood about, he’ll explode, now go get gone.”

Bernard had just left the club when he heard the sound of the coach pulling in. He would no doubt play the role of the gracious host, full of winning smiles and gentle compliments. It was his belief that if he had the old folks smiling and laughing before they entered the club, they’d be more willing to spend money.

Bernard only cared about making lots of money, that and sex. The only reason that their boss would care about Douglas going missing was that he wouldn’t have to pay him a wage.

“Thomas! Does Dominic know where he is?”

“He doesn’t have a clue either, he suggested that he may have gone for a bit of a lie down, Dominic said he’d been feeling a little off.”

Marlene still remembered that guilty look in that man’s eyes when Bernard and Douglas had removed the body. Her initial anger at the man for sucking up to the boss so bloody quickly had subsided by that time. She wondered how long it would be before he approached her, feeling the desperate need to explain himself. She’d known Dominic for a long time, and Marlene knew that he must have had good reason to go along with Bernard’s plan. She just wished that she could have been stronger. It should be her who approached Dominic to explain why she had allowed Bernard to bully her into going along with it. Still, that was all water under the bridge now, what’s done is done. That’s how Bernard would see it; he wouldn’t care about the moral implications. Come morning, he’d take that body to someone he knew. Money would pass hands. Favours would be owed and that body would just disappear.

Marlene tried to put the episode behind her and focused on the here and now like the fact that they were down to three members of staff. Angela still hadn’t turned up. Goodness knows where she was. Marlene had rung her mobile three times so far. Marlene was going to be rushed off her bloody feet in a minute. She kept glancing over at the door, hoping to see that girl rushing in and apologizing for being late. Thomas wasn’t till-trained yet and Bernard wouldn’t bloody help her.

Shit, the doors did bang open but it wasn’t Angela. She forced a smile on her face and watched with resignation as Bernard led the old folks like the pied piper towards

Marlene and the bar. At least the orders would take her mind away from their grim discovery earlier.

As the first customer nodded to her, she suddenly wondered why Bernard’s car had been parked in the next street; he only did that when he was going to use the hidden bedroom. Something else had happened here tonight. Marlene was sure of it.

“Hello, darling, give us a pint of Tetley’s, please.”

She put on her best smile and set to work pouring the first of her many pints for tonight. Marlene watched them file along the bar. She couldn’t believe it when Bernard joined her. He winked at Marlene and got the next customer. Wonders will never cease. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him working behind here.

“I take it, there’s no sign of Angela?”

Marlene gave the man his pint and took the next order. “There’s no sign of the girl and Douglas has disappeared now.”

“He did seem a little subdued when he helped me put that carpet into the back of my car. I expect he’ll be in the toilet or something.”

What the bloody hell was he up to? In the space of ten minutes, he’d changed from the foul tempered ogre into Mr. Jolly. He served one more customer then abruptly left the bar when the coach driver walked into the lounge, Bernard was all smiles as he approached the man. She sighed and wondered just what shady and underhand deal he’d done now.

Marlene guessed that she wouldn’t see her surprise helper again tonight; she handed over a gin and tonic to a loud woman wearing a loud dress who hadn’t stopped sighing and tutting. Marlene deliberately overcharged the bitch.

This crowd didn’t seem to be shifting. Her hopes went up when she saw the doors opening; she just prayed that it would be Angela. Marlene couldn’t see who had come through the doors due to the crowd of grey haired people demanding her attention. Someone did come behind the bar to help out, but it wasn’t Angela, nor was it Bernard. “Thomas, what are you doing?”

He flashed a sunny smile, “I’m helping you out.”

“But we haven’t trained you up on the till yet.”

Thomas shrugged, “Have you any idea just how many bar jobs I’ve had? I could do this in my sleep.” He nodded to an impatient looking man wearing an orange baseball cap. “Yes sir, what can I get you?”

Marlene shook her head, grinning. Maybe the night would turn out okay after all.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, your act has turned up. I sent him over to the changing rooms.”

She nodded, “Thanks, Thomas.”

That was a bloody relief; Marlene felt some of the weight piled on her shoulders lift. Apparently, the act was a well known country and western singer from London. She ought to be safe with country and western; old people loved stuff like that. He’d explained to her on the phone that his voice had been compared to the great man in black himself. Marlene didn’t have a clue what he was talking about; she just hoped that he wasn’t going to start doing a Darth Vader impression in the middle of his act.

Marlene saw Bernard calling her over, “Will you be okay here for a minute?”

“Sure, no problem.”

She served another customer then squeezed past him. She was impressed. He wasn’t lying when he said he could do bar work in his sleep. “Why didn’t you tell us that you’d served behind a bar before?”

He winked at her, “I was saving that piece of news for a day like this,”

Marlene grinned to herself, the sly little monkey. The lad wasn’t as green as he was cabbage looking after all.

As she approached Bernard’s table, the coach driver stood up and shook her boss’s hand. He looked her up and down, pausing when he got to chest level. He winked then made his way over to the bar. Jesus, Marlene felt like he’d just mentally raped her. She took an instant dislike to the man, what a creep. Was he really the coach driver? He must be, she couldn’t think of any other reason why he’d wear that silly hat. The man looked like an old fashioned milk man or a bus conductor, he looked like a prat.

Marlene watched him push through the crowd to get to the front of the bar. She hoped that Thomas would ignore him. She shook her head and placed both hands on the wooden table; suddenly realising that they hadn’t put out the beer mats.

“Can this not wait boss? We’re swamped at the bar.”

She knew that she was pushing her luck by giving him the attitude but after what he’d put her through tonight, Marlene couldn’t really give a shit. It’s not like he could sack her and even if he did try that one on, one anonymous phone call to the police would soon clip his wings.

Bernard actually smiled at her. “Don’t you worry about the bar, sweetheart. It looks to me that Thomas has everything covered. Now please, take a seat.”

Marlene sat down, more in shock than anything else. Bernard had never referred to her as sweetheart in all the years she’d worked for him. She wondered if he’s just been given a personality transplant, more than likely, he was up to something.

“I want your honest opinion, what do you think of that coach driver?”

She hadn’t expected to be asked that question. “Well my first impression is that he’s a bit of a dickhead, he reminds me of Lester but just not as creepy. That stupid hat makes him look like a milkman.”

Bernard laughed, “I can see him running down the street holding a broken milk bottle in each hand and shouting for Mr. Grimsdale.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing, forget it. It’s from a film from before your time. I agree, the man is a complete arse but I still want you to keep him sweet for me tonight.”

Marlene turned and watched the man give Thomas a hard time.

“Look Marlene, it’s not like I’m asking you to sleep with him, just keep him happy that’s all.”

He reached across the table and grabbed both her hands, “Congratulations by the way,”

She whipped her head back round, wanting to slide her hands out of his grip.

“I’ve just made you up to club manager, you’ll receive a nice pay rise and we’ll be taking on a few more staff.”

“What are you talking about? The club is going broke remember or have you forgotten your little speech earlier on? You know the one that almost gave poor Dominic a heart attack.”

He giggled, “Yeah, I remember his frightened bunny look well. Well that milkman over there has just had his contract changed from one day to five days. See if you can guess where he’s going to bring the crumblies when the bingo shuts.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Of course I don’t bloody trust him, but that doesn’t matter, the percentage he receives from the takings will ensure that he keeps bringing them here. Come on Marlene, look happy for fuck’s sake. Pretty soon you won’t be able to move in here for zombies.

Chapter Eleven

With his index finger, Dean drew a smiley face in the condensation on the passenger car window.

Very artistic Dean, a portrait to rival Da Vinci himself.

He turned his head and grinned at Talbot, “Thank you, does it not bother you though that we’ll probably be the last generation who knows who Da Vinci was?” Talbot slowed down and stopped behind a white transit van when the traffic light changed to red. “No, of course it doesn’t bother me, why should it? Are you still getting twinges from your past life?”

Dean shook his head.

“Then why are you even asking?”

“I’m still trying to get to grips with these new urges. One moment, I’m flying through the clouds on a wave of ecstasy and the next thing I know, I feel like the whole world has just fallen on me.”

Talbot followed the flow of traffic then smiled to himself before turning off onto a side road. He pulled in beside a late night supermarket and stopped the car.

“You’ve just been re-born Dean. Birth is always painful. Remember, we are the first of a new race, just look at it as a learning experience. Just go with the flow.”

Just having you beside me helps, Talbot.

Likewise, now, speaking a new experiences, how hungry are you?

Dean looked over at the supermarket. “Not for anything they have in there.” He grinned, “Well, apart from that young man stacking the shelves with jars of coffee.”

Talbot sighed, “Is that a yes or a no?”

I’m ravenous, you know I am. Dean skimmed across the surface of his companion’s mind, he watched himself tear into the teenage boy who just chose that moment to wander past Dean’s house. It had been his first kill, his teeth had ripped though the veins and tendons in his neck before the boy could utter a single shriek Dean had turned into a monster.

Not a monster, you’re a predator.

Dean pulled out and sat back, “You’re hungry too, Talbot. I could feel your deep gnawing ache. You watched me as I sated myself so I can understand you being ravenous but why do I still feel it too?”

“It’s the only characteristic that we share with the risen; the only difference is that we are able to control our urges.”

Dean found his gaze drawn back to the shop assistant, he had begun to salivate, and his hand reached for the door handle, “I don’t think I can control it.”

Talbot slapped his hand away. Focus on my thoughts brother. That bag of meat isn’t going anywhere. I’ve brought you here for another reason.

What other reason could there be? Dean pushed Talbot away and threw his body at the car door. He just had to get to that man. He could feel his teeth crunching through flesh and bone, the man would probably try to fight him off, oh God, he fucking hoped so, just hearing him squeal like a piglet would ignite his already inflamed desires.

The car door flew open but the seat belt still held him captive. He didn’t bother going for the release button, his hands were shaking too much, and he’d rip it in two instead. Dean grabbed the belt with both hands. Oh fuck, he could actually feel that shelf stacker’s blood running down his chin.

The other man put his big hands on Dean’s shoulders; he could hear him screaming into his ear. Dean growled, and told him to back off; nobody was going to stop him from taking his meal, not even Talbot.

The man pulled him back into his seat and before Dean could react, Talbot thrust his bare arm against Dean’s snarling mouth. Dean sank his teeth into the flesh. His bite didn’t release crimson life fluid, the taste of mud and rotting cabbage filled his mouth instead.

Dean’s blood lust cut off like a running bath tap.

“What the bloody hell just happened?”

Talbot removed his arm, they both watched as the bite marks filled up with a black gelatinous fluid, the stuff solidified in an instant then changed colour to match his skin tone.

“Here endeth the first lesson, for both of us.”

“Are you going to tell me or what?”

Talbot pointed at the windscreen. “We just made first contact with our enemy.”

He leaned forward and gazed into the black alleyway, he saw nothing aside from a couple of trade bins and a pile of black bags stacked up beside them, the shadows consumed everything else.

Close your eyes Dean and reach out with your mind.

He did as instructed, he found it difficult to focus ahead, Talbot’s own mind acted like a lodestone. Dean then felt Talbot take a deep breath and Dean’s mind flew towards that alleyway like a racehorse released from its cage. He gasped and recoiled back in revulsion but he just wasn’t quick enough. Dean gagged when he felt as though his mouth had just been filled with maggot-infested meat.

His eyes shot open and he slammed his back into the car seat. “Oh Jesus, I need a hot bath.”

“They are not pleasant creatures.”

“Those things somehow amplified my blood lust didn’t they?”

Talbot nodded, “There’s only three of them down there. Can you imagine what a room full of those disgusting creatures could do to our minds?”

Dean shivered, “Wait a minute, why were you not affected?”

“I was affected. Jesus Dean, their ice-cold tendrils wrapped around my mind as soon as I opened up. The only reason that I had better control was because I knew that they were down there in the first place”

Dean could still sense them trying to find a way in.

“The humans pose no real threat to us, Dean. They are just a huge flock of stupid sheep. Our danger lies in that alley. Those things are a disease, a fucking plague.”

He watched the three of them shamble out of the alley, he blinked and shook his head in confusion, there were four of them now, he saw a middle aged woman wearing a ripped and dishevelled business suit emerge from behind one of the bins. She hurried to join the others.

“They followed her in there a few minutes before we got here. Three has now become four, if we don’t stop them, those four will soon become a multitude.” He stared at Dean. “Even if we do stop them, it’s already too late; the outbreak is in full swing. Come morning, there’ll be hardly any sheep left in Bradford.”

Dean could see fear in his companion’s slate grey eyes.

You are right, my brother. I’m fucking terrified.

“Well let’s make sure that at least these four won’t be able to recruit anymore for their army.”

I wonder how they’ll react when they see us.

“Does it matter, Talbot? We’re stronger and faster than those dirty creatures. They have no defence against us; their bites won’t turn us into them.”

Talbot opened his door, “Then let us experience lesson two together.”

Dean grinned at him, “Oh yes, let’s.”

As Dean opened his car door, Talbot tapped him on the shoulder.

Don’t forget your seat belt, brother.

The annoying scratching at the back of Dean’s mind, increased in intensity when he stepped out of the car. The sensation now felt like a million fleas trying to bite their way through his scalp, it made concentration almost impossible. The group of four split in two, business suit and a ragged youth, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt lurched towards him. The mental attack eased a little.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Talbot stagger. All four must have concentrated on Dean when he stepped out of the car; it seemed that at least two of them had focused their attack on Talbot. He shook his head, trying to clear away the mental fog. There was only one way to clear the entropy. Dean launched himself at the woman, instinct and blind hatred guided him, he snapped his fist back and then let it fly. Like a steel piston, his arm shot forward and smashed into the dead woman’s forehead. The bone shattered like a broken egg shell, the impact drove splinters of her skull deep into the woman’s brain. She dropped to the floor.

The fog choking his mental capacity now transformed into a light morning mist. He felt the youth’s torn finger nails clawing off strips of flesh off his neck. He turned and grabbed the offending limb and twisted it back. He heard the boy’s clavicle crack. He let it go then formed a club with both hands then brought it down on the boy’s head. He dropped like a stone.

Dean fell back against the car and took a deep breath. Talbot had dispatched the other two with equal ease. He could not help notice the look of worry on the man’s face. Why the worry? They didn’t stand a chance.

“I agree brother but that was only four against two. What will we do when they multiply?”

He looked across to the supermarket, that man now had his horror struck face pressed against the window. “Let us discuss our problems over a meal.”

Talbot turned around and gave the man a little wave. “That sounds like a most excellent idea.”

Dean hurried round the front of the car. The man saw where he was heading and darted away from the window. “Talbot,” he shouted, “He’s getting away.”

The other man just shrugged, “Where exactly is he going to go? I’ll tell you, he’ll hide in the toilets and try to call the police.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

Talbot stepped over the two bodies and joined Dean at the entrance. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Because, brother, I took it from his mind just before he buggered off. I think that the police will be swamped with phone calls tonight, so his bleating will go unheard. We can dine at our leisure.”

Dean entered the shop, “That’s good because I can’t believe just how hungry I am.” He waited for Talbot to join him before he burst out laughing.

Would you care to share?

I hope he does get through to the cops, that way we won’t have to share the shopkeeper.

Talbot sighed, “Forget what I said earlier, you are a fucking monster.” He rushed down the centre aisle and stopped beside a stack of sliced loaves. Can you not sense the man’s terrified thoughts yet?

Dean joined him, he closed his eyes and opened his mind, and he felt the man only through Talbot. His eyes snapped open.

“Fuck this,” he snapped, his frustration built up like steam in a pressure cooker. “It means nothing, it’s not like I won’t be able to find the bastard.”

Dean pushed past the man and ran over to a solid looking door with the words ‘Staff only’ stencilled above the wire reinforced window.

“Wait up Dean,” said Talbot, running after him. “Look, maybe the ability is just dormant inside you; we’re both still unsure about just what we can do.”

Dean spun around and glared at him. “Well, we’d better find out and pronto. According to you, the city will be overrun with risen by dawn.”

Talbot placed his arms on Dean’s shoulders. I feel your frustration brother but please let’s eat first.

“We talk now.”

Dean watched the man bite back his temper and he felt bad for pushing him.

“Well, we could try to emulate the risen and bite them or we could try the procreation method.”

“You mean sex?”

Talbot grinned, “Why not? It’s another form in injection and I know just where to go. Dean nodded. “Okay brother, it’s a start. I’m sorry for snapping at you. It must be the bloodlust talking.”

“No harm done, now get that door open, he’s trying to climb through the toilet window.”

Dean pushed against the door, the frame on the other side splintered. He then heard a quiet gasp coming from the next closed door in the corridor. Talbot tried to push past him, Dean shook his head, no way, and this kill was his. He formed his hands into claws and kicked the door open. He allowed the man one glance of his fate before he leaped on him.

Chapter Twelve

The final batch of pies would be ready to leave the oven in another three minutes. Of course, in an ideal world, Dominic would then be getting ready to serve them out to his eager customers but that wasn’t going to happen. The old folks wouldn’t be tucking into his delicious treats for at least another hour. His beautiful pies would be degraded by having the humiliating experience of being microwaved. Dominic made the devil’s horns at the bank of five, white microwave ovens stood on the far table. If he had his way, those things would be screened off so the rest of his kitchen equipment wouldn’t be able to see the horrible, nasty things. Real chefs shouldn’t have to use those. Then again, real chefs didn’t have to work with Bernard.

Dominic switched the oven off and placed the pies on the wire trays to cool down with the ones he cooked earlier.

“May the great pie king forgive me for what I’ll have to do to you in just over one hour.”

The pie king would have an absolute fit if he found out about the pie crust as well. Mr. Crowley had bit of a pop at him last week regarding the mess the old folk were making with his pie crust. He ordered Dominic to ‘efing’ sort it.

He made the mistake of trying to tell the philistine that the only other option would be use short crust pastry but that would be like trying to boil lettuce. Bernard had unleashed that nasty little tongue of his. He’d told him to get off his high horse and to watch his lip. The man has also informed Dominic that he could have filled the pies with dog shit and the old bastards wouldn’t notice. He’d scurried away like a whipped hound while that nasty man telling him that he was seriously thinking of re-evaluating his kitchen budget.

He picked up his favourite knife and pricked one of the pies; the meaty odour that escaped really did smell divine.

“That beastly Bernard wouldn’t know a good pie if it hit him in the face.” he giggled, imagining the look of rage upon his face if that ever happened. “Of course the pie would just have to be filled with doggy poop first.”

If his old cookery teacher could see what he’d done to her secret recipe, the poor woman would no doubt spin in her grave. He shivered. Dominic didn’t want to think about dead people tonight or the fact that he was an accessory to concealing a major crime from the police.

His mother’s head would literally pop off if she ever found out. He pricked a couple more pies. “I’ll cut you a deal, if you keep quiet about my crime, I promise to use puff pastry in the next batch.”

“Are you talking to your food, Dominic?”

He looked up, startled and saw Marlene leaning against the door, smiling at him. He didn’t even hear the woman come into his kitchen. Had she heard him calling their boss a beast? Oh lord, he’d better learn to keep his wits about him. Bernard would not have seen the funny side.

“Hi, Marlene, is the place busy?”

She laughed, “Do you know something? The picture of Bernard wearing a pie made of shit is going to keep me amused for a long time.”

“Please, tell me you won’t say anything to him. He’d be super cross if he found out.”

“Don’t worry Dominic; your secret is safe with me. I’m just wondering if Douglas has made an appearance yet.”

He shook his head, “You mean he’s still missing, have you looked outside?”

“Not yet, this is the first chance I’ve had to get away, I thought that I’d check in here first.”

Dominic shook his head, “I haven’t seen him since the incident.”

Marlene sighed, “There’s something else I want to say to you as well,” she said, looking at the floor. “And that’s I’m sorry.”

“What on earth have you got to say sorry for? You haven’t done anything.” He remembered the evil look she gave him when Bernard forced him to make that horrible choice, he decided not to mention that.

“This business with the body is still playing on my mind. Were we right to go with what Bernard said?”

“I don’t think that we were given much of a choice. I mean, imagine if we did go to the police, sure, our consciences would be super clear but we would be looking for alternative employment.”

Dominic battled to keep his tears in check “I mean, who the hell would give an old queer like me a job?”

Marlene ran over and put her hands on his cheeks, she lifted his head up. He could smell beer mixed with imperial leather soap on her fingers.

“Don’t you dare start feeling sorry for yourself. You are a brilliant cook you and everyone who works here knows it. The only reason people come to this shit hole in the first place is to eat your food.”

Dominic took a deep breath, “I’m sorry Marlene, and it’s been a rather trying night.”

“You can say that again. Look Dominic, you shouldn’t let Bernard walk all over you. I know he’s a bastard but he’s not an idiot. He’d be insane to let you go and he knows it.”

That was easy for her to say, nothing scared Marlene, not even Bernard. He kissed her sweet smelling hands, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Are you going to cheer up and stop talking to your food now?”

“Well, I promise not to utter a word to the pies but I’m not sure I’m ready to cheer up just yet?”

“Are you worried about Douglas?”

He nodded, “That and the boy we found.” He paused and licked his lips, unsure of whether he should continue. “I don’t think he was dead.”

She sighed, “Jesus, Dominic, that boy had definitely left the building. He had no heart beat or a pulse for crying out loud.”

Marlene grabbed his hand, “I’ll prove it.” She pulled him towards the door. “I need a bit of fresh air anyway, the odours from those pies is making me drool.”

He’d rather have his fingernails pulled out than look at that boy again, she was right of course, he had to be dead. Marlene pulled him out of his sanctuary and into the lounge.

Dominic’s sense of urgency left him when a sombre but melodic voice reached his ears. He stopped and leaned back against the empty bar and watched a young, dark haired man, sat on a metal stool on the stage. God, Dominic was in love. The boy was simply gorgeous. His fingers danced across the strings on an acoustic guitar whilst singing to the spellbound audience about The Man comes to Town. Even Thomas has his head resting in his hands behind the bar, entranced by the young man’s voice.

Marline marched back to him. “I thought you were right behind me.”

“You’ve got a great act there,” he replied. “I’ve never seen them so quiet.”

“So he should be too, he cost enough.” She reached over the bar and punched Thomas’s arm. “Where’s the boss?”

He shrugged, “I think he went upstairs.”

“Well, if he asks where I am, tell him I’m in the kitchen.”

Thomas absently nodded, his eyes drifted back to the singer.

“Come on, Dominic. Let’s get this over and done with.”

With reluctance, he allowed Marlene to drag him through the lounge and into the vestibule. He half-hoped that Bernard would choose that moment to walk into the lounge and demand to know where they were going. He was torn between going back to his kitchen where he felt safe or staying here and drooling over that singer. He certainly had no desire to go look at a body in the car boot that may or may not be dead.

Marlene pulled him through the club doors and into the car park. “I can’t believe how stiff you are.” she said.

“You’re the only woman who’s ever said that to me.” Oh good lord! Did he really say those words? Dominic wanted a large hole to appear under his feet and swallow him up. Marlene hadn’t shown any indication that she’d heard his vulgar little remark. He must be nervous; he needed to calm the heck down. He’ll be placing his hands on his hips and talking like Alan Carr if he wasn’t careful..

Dominic couldn’t take his eyes off Bernard’s car. He’d parked the horrible thing, with its horrible, nasty secret on the other side of the car park, a couple of spaces away from his friend’s beast.

“You’re right, Marlene. Of course you are.” He pulled his hand out of her grip and attempted to smile without feeling like a painted clown. Oh gosh, he could actually feel his own heart trying to escape out of his rib cage. “That boy is dead, he must be. Look, let’s just forget about it. I wonder where Douglas has gotten to.” He gazed from left to right. “He must be somewhere.”

Marlene let out a short bark of laughter, grabbed his wrist and pulled Dominic closer to her. “Nice try buggerlugs, but I wasn’t born yesterday. You ain’t getting out of it that easily, Mister. Douglas will probably sleeping off those tablets in his van or something. We’ll check after I show you the body.”

The car seemed to be grinning as if it mocked his apprehension. He imagined the car laughing at him and telling the beast and the coach that the woman had larger balls than he did.

Oh heavens, he really ought to pull himself together, it was bad enough talking to his pies without thinking that cars could talk too.

“Do you know what we should do, Dominic?”

“Go back inside where it’s warm?” he asked hopefully.

They’d reached their boss’s car; Dominic could almost hear that boy’s fingernails scratching against the inside of the boot.

“I meant after this.”

She took his other hand then gazed into his eyes, Marlene smiled, he tried to smile back and keep his eyes locked on hers. Was she coming onto him? At that precise moment, Dominic didn’t really care. All he wanted to do was to get away from this fucking car.

“I think we should to leave Bernard and his dodgy double dealings and have a go at setting up our own café.”

Dominic didn’t expect that one. “Are you serious?”

She nodded. “Bernard promoted me to club manager earlier.” She pointed over to the coach. “Apparently, he’s done a deal to ensure it will be zombie night every night.” Dominic imagined an endless supply of microwaved pies coming past him on a conveyor belt. He physically shuddered. “Give me a little time go wrap my head around the idea, Marlene. I mean, don’t get me wrong here, I really is a super fantastic idea but it’s such a massive undertaking.”

“If it’s Bernard you’re afraid of, don’t worry. He’ll help us out.”

“I thought he’d be the last person who’d be happy about us abandoning him.”

She laughed, “Oh no, the bastard will bounce off the fucking walls when he finds out but to our faces, he’ll be all smiles and wish us lots of luck.” She tapped the side of her nose twice. “He’s a businessman. Hell, he’s probably wondering why we haven’t already thought of this before now. If the business takes off and I know it will. He’ll ride the wave of our success and tell everyone that he taught us everything we know. Imagine the damage we could cause to the club if he slagged us off right at the beginning”

Dominic’s heart sank when she produced a set of car keys from her pocket.

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“Thinking ahead is what I’m good at. Bernard isn’t the only one who has a good business head on his shoulders.”

She unlocked the driver’s door and climbed in. “I’ve been running the club more or less for a couple of years already.”

Dominic heard the catch to the boot unlock.

“I could probably run a small café with my eyes shut.”

He took a step back but he still wasn’t quick enough to be engulfed in the stench of wet decay that burst from the interior when the boot swung up. Dominic caught snippets of Marlene’s continuing conversation but couldn’t take any of it in.

His eyes were fixed on that body stuffed into the tiny space and the fact that it was moving. Douglas must have broken the boy’s arms and forced them behind his head so he could shut the boot.

Oh Jesus, and now the boy was trying to put them back.

Dominic’s bladder almost lost its contents when the boy lifted its head. He tried to shout Marlene’s name but only managed a single croak, as if his mouth had filled with desert sand. The boy climbed out of the boot space, without the aid of his arms, they flapped by his side like a pair of broken bird wings.

He moved his lead-filled legs back one more step as the body flopped onto the tarmac. Marlene hadn’t heard anything; the woman was still wrapped up in her fantasy. He could still hear the woman banging on about employing a waitress for this imaginary, blinking, flipping café they were going to set up.

“Get out of there!” he shouted.

Marlene looked around and so did the boy. Oh heavens, the boy couldn’t have noticed Dominic until he’d opened his big mouth. The boy changed direction and staggered toward him; it changed direction again when Marlene climbed out of the car.

“Marlene does not have bigger balls then me,” he murmured. Dominic charged the boy and slammed him into the side of the car. He looked at Marlene and then down at the boy flopping about on the floor like a just caught fish on a ship’s deck.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Marlene.”

“Oh crap, he’s still alive. I’ll apologise later.” She rushed over to the boy, Dominic grabbed her and pulled Marlene away.

“He needs our help, what are you doing?”

Dominic just gazed at her with an open mouth, was she having a joke with him?

“He’s dead,” he whispered. “He’s dead but he’s still moving about.” The boy inched across the tarmac like caterpillar, toward their feet, groaning.

“He’s a zombie,” said Dominic, “A real zombie. Forget what I said, Marlene. Ring the blinking ambulance, then the police and while you’re at it, get the army too.”

Dominic pulled her back when his snapping teeth got a little too close for comfort. She looked down in frustration at her phone display, “Ain’t going to happen, there’s no bastard signal.”

The boy used the side of the car to get back on his feet. Dominic tried to catch Marlene’s attention. He wanted to kick it back down but daren’t go anywhere near it.

“Oh, Jesus,” she gasped. “Look at that.”

He thought Marlene was talking about the boy until Dominic followed her gaze. An old man lay on the floor on the other side of the road. A woman of similar age had straddled him, from where he stood; it looked as if the old woman was kissing the man.

“Oh, my God! Are my eyes lying to me?”

“No, Dominic. That old bag is munching down on the man’s face. I think we’d better go find Bernard. He’ll know what to do.”

Dominic rushed forward and kicked the boy’s feet out from under him. He responded by groaning before rolling under the car.

Dominic reached over and grabbed Marlene’s hand. “How’s he going to respond when we tell him that it really is zombie night?”

Chapter Thirteen

That last song almost brought tears to Edward Heart’s eyes. What an incredible singing voice. That boy on the stage was wasted in this dump. Now there was a lad who’d go far. In a few years time, he’ll be playing in packed out stadiums. With that magnificent voice coupled his rugged, film star looks, Edward guessed that he’d spend most of his time off stage, wading through a sea of adoring young girls throwing themselves at his feet.

Looking around the club at the numerous faces filled with rapture, Edward also guessed that more than a few of the ladies here wouldn’t turn down a chance to give the boy a grandmotherly hug and a bit more besides no doubt.

He casually took a sip of his bitter, perhaps now would be the opportune time to make his move. Edward couldn’t help but smile when he observed Edith Proctor leave her seat and make her way over to the ladies.

“Great minds think alike and all that.” he murmured.

Not that she had a great mind, but that didn’t matter, it wasn’t her mind that Edward lusted after. After taking a couple more sips and double checking to ensure that the others were still watching the singer, he left his own table and followed her into the toilet.

It would be nine months tomorrow since he started to have a relationship with Edith.

Edward had trouble believing that it had lasted for so long. He really should have move on months ago. Folk grew careless in long affairs, one slip of the tongue or hasty look was all that was needed for that bunch of nearly dead in the lounge to start yapping. His poor wife would have heart failure if she ever found out.

Edward entered the toilets and watched that boy launch into another song through the closing gap between the door and the frame, the guilt of constantly betraying the woman he’d married over fifty years ago had vanished after just one week of seeing Edith, so why did the fear of getting caught still linger?

He stayed with his wife because it’s what you were supposed to do. These young ones who got married and then divorced a couple of years later just didn’t get it.

Edward’s love for his wife may have fizzled out decades ago but he wouldn’t dream of leaving her. He wondered if she’d want to leave him if she did find out that her dutiful husband was the biggest over the hill love rat in the city.

Edward slowly turned and watched Edith acting out her sexy Marilyn Monroe and licked his lips. Where was the fun in turning himself into a pariah? Besides, after two score and ten years of doing this, he was pretty sure his wife must have an inkling that Edward wasn’t exactly whiter than white.

He opened his arms and allowed his latest bit on the side to embrace him. At fifty eight, Ethel was two decades his junior, that age gap didn’t really bother Edward but he knew that she dwelled upon it. She’d casually mentioned Edward trading her in for a younger model a couple of times, she’d tried to make it sound like a joke, an offhand quip but Edward wasn’t fooled, the poor woman meant it.

Of course, he’d just kissed the tip of his nose, smiled whilst stroking her hair and explained that there wasn’t anyone else and he’d never see any other woman. Some of that had been true. He’d already gone through all the other available regulars who went to their bingo, Ethel was the last one.

She snuggled into the side of his neck and sighed, and then she gently nibbled on his ear lobe.

“I think you’ve entered the wrong toilets, young man.”

Ethel struggled out of his embrace and traced a line down the front of his shirt and with painted nail.

“I’ll show you where they are, if you like.”

Her finger rested on his crotch. Edward caught his breath when Ethel cupped his groin and squeezed.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he growled. Edward grabbed her shoulders and pulled the woman back into his embrace. “Let’s go back on the coach; nobody will disturb us on there.”

She frowned, “But it’s locked.”

Edward shrugged and patted his trouser pocket.

“Are the keys in there, Edward or are you playing with something else?”

“You have a dirty mind, woman. I bribed our driver to look the other way.”

She giggled, “I’m going to stuff my knickers down the side of Harold’s seat, how much money are you willing to bet that he finds them and puts my underwear in his jacket pocket?”

He kissed her on the nose then hurried over to the door and placed his ear against the wood. The captive audience were clapping; the young man must have finished another number. “I’ll meet you on the coach.” he whispered. “Give it a couple of minutes before you follow me out.”

He opened the door and slipped back into the room, just as he expected, his coach party hadn’t noticed. Then he glanced toward the bar and noticed the barman staring directly at him. The man smiled and nodded.

Edward returned the greeting and casually padded over to the main doors. He wasn’t worried about the lad suspecting, in Edward’s experience, the younger generation didn’t think that anyone over the age of forty still had carnal desires. He walked through the vestibule, opened the main doors and stepped out into the night air.

“He probably thinks that my genitals fell off decades ago.” Edward chuckled to himself and took out the keys.

That young man probably had a few girls chasing after him too. He must have a girlfriend; Edward wondered if she was pretty. The young girls were wasted on lads his age, the prospect of Edward finding a teenager to share his bed were very slim, which was a shame, One night with Edward and no teen boys would satisfy them ever again. What Edward would have given to swap bodies with that barman. He chuckled to himself again. Oh lord, what a combination that would be. With his experience and charm combined with the boy’s good lucks and stamina, no girl within a five mile radius would be safe.

Edward unlocked the door and climbed onto the coach, “My dick really would fall off after a few weeks,” he muttered, “but what a way to go.” He walked down the aisle, toward the back.

He watched his latest squeeze left the club. The way she just stood there, looking all forlorn and pathetic, doused the fire in his loins.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “That’s what happens when you drool over imaginary teenagers, Edward.”

He opened the door and helped Ethel up, she may not have a firm strong body anymore but she certainly knew how to please her man. Deep down, he knew that even if the impossible did happen and somehow Edward did manage to hook up with a randy teen girl, she’d probably just lay there like a sack of potatoes.

Ethel brushed her hand against his crotch and frowned, “There doesn’t appear to be much life down there, Edward. Isn’t your soldier happy to see me?”

Could he see a hint of mockery in her pale blue eyes? Oh yes, it was there alright, laughing at the annoying fact that he couldn’t get it up. He silently sighed and realized that he had but one option left.

Edward closed his eyes and tuned Ethel’s whining voice out. He took his mind back to 1964 and to Margret Brown.

That demure secretary had been his first extra-marital entanglement and by far the best. The packing firm where Edward had worked at the time employed their office staff on a temporary basis. Margret was just one of many faceless individuals who passed through the company. She always kept her mousey, brown hair tied back in a tight bun, with little make-up and wearing loose fitting dull coloured clothing, the woman effectively faded into the background. She wasn’t much to look at. It fact, she wasn’t anything to look at, those clothes covered all her feminine curves. The woman was plainer than blank paper.

Edward soon discovered how wrong he’d been to judge dowdy Margret by appearance alone. He also discovered that the woman had plans for him. What started out as a drink after work, turned into a torrid affair that lasted nearly two months. It only ended when Margret had to move away due to her husband getting a job abroad. She’d taught him a lot in those seven weeks they’d been together and he vowed never to forget her.

“Let’s see if I can suck some life into him.”

It wasn’t Ethel getting down on her knees but Margret. Edward whimpered when she pulled down his zipper and unfastened his trouser button. Margret’s supple tongue could bring him to the verge of climax several times before eventually allowing him to explode into her mouth. No other girl had come close to matching her skill, least of all, Ethel. Her idea of a blowjob involved sucking on his root as hard as possible as if she was trying to extract honey, using a thin straw.

He felt her pushing his cock into her mouth, Edward then made the mistake of opening his eyes. His mental image of Margret bringing joy to his manhood retreated back into his dusty archives. Harsh reality slapped him in the face. That haggard woman working hard to revive his softening penis was the best he would ever get.

Ethel still had her eyes closed. In between the slurps, the occasional dramatic moan escaped her lips. She have thought that it turned him on but in truth, Edward just thought that it made her sound like she was on the toilet. The woman had put on way too much make-up again, the cracks around her mouth looked like sun-baked mud, oh God, this wasn’t fucking fair, and why couldn’t he have another woman with a firm body and smooth skin? Fucking Ethel was like doing the dirty with sharpei dog.

He sighed, he may as well throw in the towel and go back into the club and finished his drink, God, and this was embarrassing. It had been years since he’d last experienced a failure to perform.

“Ethel, stop.”

Now he would have to go through all the rigmarole of comforting the woman and explaining to her that none of this was her fault, despite the fact that it was. He put both hands on her head and moved his hips back.

“I’m sorry sweetheart but I’m just not in the mood.”

The tears in her eyes had already begun to flow. Edward gently lifted her up and put his arms around her shoulders.

“Please don’t cry it’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing…”

He stopped in mid sentence and stared at the front of the coach. A large black man had his face and hands pressed against the windscreen.

“Who the hell is that?”

Ethel spun around and stifled a scream. Edward pulled her back along the aisle when the man edged along the outside of the window toward the open door.

“Get behind me,” whispered Edward.

She shook her head and breathed deeply, “Calm down, Edward. It’s just the club’s doorman. Nothing to worry about, love, he’s probably just doing his rounds.” She looked at Edward’s crotch and giggled. “You make yourself decent while I deal with him, I’ll tell him we’re just getting my purse or something.”

The man had already reached the door; Edward knew immediately that something wasn’t right when he heard the man moaning. Ethel appeared to be oblivious to the danger.

When she was close enough, the man lunged at her. His body fell on hers, forcing the scream out of her lungs. She twisted to the side then raked his face with her nails, he responded by grabbing her index finger and pushing it into his mouth. Edward growled and launched himself at the man when he heard her bone crunching between his teeth.

Edward’s left boot connected with the man’s shoulder, he didn’t even flinch. “Get off her, you bastard!”

Thick, crimson fluid from Ethel’s mutilated hand sprayed across the floor. Edward rushed forward, intending to grab the man’s hair but slipped in her blood. He crashed down, his knee smashing into the woman’s face. The man’s clawed hands darted forward and fastened over Edward’s ears; the man effortlessly lifted him off her body and dragged his head closer to the man’s gaping mouth. Edward clawed four furrows down his cheek then pushed his other hand between his head and those teeth.

The excruciating pain shooting through his system when the man squeezed his hands into fists caused him to black out for a second, when he came to, the last thing he saw before the man’s teeth clamped around his jugular, was Ethel slowly crawling toward his outstretched hand, moaning very softly.

Chapter Fourteen

Mark Thomson squeezed his wife’s hand tight when the killer showed his next victim his knife, his special blade with exactly twelve notches cut into the razor-sharp steel.

“Bloody hell, Mark,” said Cheryl angrily, “leave it out will you? You’re cutting my circulation off.”

“Sorry,” he replied, grinning. “I got a little carried away with myself. This is the good part, you see. The part I told you about.”

Cheryl sighed, “Well quit your yapping and let me watch it.”

He sat back on the sofa, smiling. He’d done it, after all these years he’d finally managed to persuade his wife to watch a horror film with him and by the sound of it, she was getting into it too. Channel four were currently halfway through showing a selection of seventies horror nasties. After the movie ended, they were showing an interview with the remaining cast members. He doubted that Cheryl would wish to sit through that as well so he intended to download the programme in the morning.

He’d already mentally picked a few of his favourite movies from his extensive DVD collection that he intended to share with her in the coming weeks. Mark had been tempted to add a couple of extreme horror movies from Korea onto that pile too but decided to leave them for another day. He had no wish to traumatise the poor woman.

The killer thrust his blade deep into the woman’s stomach, predictably, the last two buttons on her blouse magically fell off, exposing a rather generous helping of booby goodness. Mark watched Cheryl’s reaction and waited for the snide remark about this being nothing more than soft-core porn for hormonal teenage boys. She didn’t even make one sound. How fantastic was this?

The killer looked up when a door slammed shut downstairs. He stopped sawing off the dead woman’s head, padded into the hallway and looked down the stairs. He shrugged and re-entered the bedroom. Of course, the audience never saw him actually doing the deed with his knife, which, in Mark’s opinion was a real shame. A scene like that could have elevated this movie into the ‘A’ list of horror cult classics.

“Who’s downstairs, Mark?”

“Hush up,” he said. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Cheryl punched his arm. Oh boy, was his wife going to be surprised in a moment, he couldn’t wait.

The television picture abruptly disappeared and was replaced with static. Mark jumped up, “What the fuck?”

Cheryl dug her hand down the side of the sofa and pulled out the remote. She methodically searched through all the channels. Everyone showed the same picture.

“Well, this is bloody annoying. “

“Is the telly bust?”

“For your sake, Mark, you’d better tell me that you have that film on DVD.”

He kneeled down in front of the television and pressed play on the DVD player. The opening title of his latest purchase appeared on the screen. He pressed stop and turned around. “Sorry, love but that film didn’t even make it to video; I’ve got the sequel upstairs though.”

Cheryl sighed and went through the channels once more. “I was really getting into that too. Now what do we do?”

They both looked toward the ceiling when something crashed into the floor above their head.

“Is our Trevor upstairs?”

His wife nodded whilst absently pressing random buttons on the remote, he watched her frustration mount at her failed attempts to remove the static. He ought to ring the company up, the problem would be at their end, and Mark could guarantee that.

He jumped as something crashed else to the floor in Trevor’s bedroom, shaking dust off the light fitting.

“What the bloody hell is he doing up there?” he said, looking at the ceiling whilst walking toward the phone, hung up by the kitchen door.

“Helen’s with him.”

“They sound as if they’re having a bloody wrestling match.”

“I’ll go have a word with them,” said Cheryl, smiling. “While I’m gone, find out what those idiots are playing at.”

Mark nodded back, knowing it was pointless to inform her that he had already got that covered. She’d just given him one of her rare smiles, which meant trouble.

“Then you can make us both a nice cup of tea.”

He watched her storm out of the room before picking up the remote and having a go himself before ringing them up. Mark couldn’t decide whether her pissed off mood stemmed from the TV dying on them or that Mark didn’t have that movie on DVD. Not that the reason really mattered, it didn’t take that much to ignite Cheryl’s volatile temper anyway.

Mark’s eyes drifted back toward the ceiling, “You’d better have a good reason for the noise, laddo,” he muttered. “Otherwise, she’ll blast the wax out of your ears.”

He threw the remote on the sofa and picked up the phone. The ceiling shook once more, it really did sound like they were wrestling. Mark fully expected to hear even more noise any minute now.

Trevor had inherited his father’s looks and love for horror but he’d got his temper from his mother. Since reaching seventeen, those two locked horns daily. Their continuous verbal clashing ceased to be amusing several months ago.

A panic shrieking blasting through the floor froze Mark’s blood. Oh crap, that came from Cheryl. Mark rushed out of the room, the phone dropping through his fingers. He skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and gazed up; he saw nothing out of place.

“Cheryl? Are you okay, love?”

He raced up the stairs when she failed to reply, Mark feared the worse, what if he’d had an accident? That would explain the scream, Cheryl wasn’t good with any sort of injury, and she even had a fit at the sight of a cut finger. His mind conjured up graphic images of his son lying in a pool of blood after falling out of bed or Helen slicing through an artery after messing with one of Trevor’s craft knives.”

“Jesus, Mark. Give it up,” he muttered.

He reached the top of the stairs and hurried toward his son’s open door. His brain could not process the information his eyes showed Mark when he looked into his son’s bedroom.

This could not be happening.

Mark’s rational mind slipped down a gear as he watched his own son, bite out chunks of meat out of a ragged crater in the side of Cheryl’s neck. Helen lay slumped in the middle of the bedroom floor. Judging from the multiple holes bitten into her neck and shoulders, Trevor must have practised on her first.

His mind re-appeared and calmly informed Mark that Helen falling off Trevor’s top bunk was the noise they first heard.

She had to be dead. Nobody could possibly survive those horrendous wounds.

“Trevor?”

He forced his foot across the threshold. His son lifted up his crimson-coated chin, regarded him with dead fish eyes before dipping his head back into the hole.

Mark’s rational mind flew once more, when Helen opened her eyes and crawled toward his foot. He screamed and stumbled back onto the landing then ran down the stairs. He spun around when he reached the bottom and whimpered at the sight of the three of them wobbling about on the landing like newborn foals. They gazed down at Mark and moaned.

When Helen took a single tentative step toward the top step, he darted through the living room, noting that the TV still showed static. Mark burst into tears at the sight of the empty phone cradle then remembered that it had slipped through his fingers when his wife first screamed.

Oh fuck, he had no idea where he stood when he dropped it. Mark panicked when the sound of moaning reached his ears, they were coming after him! He turned and ran through the kitchen.

“I need help,” he panted.

Mark pulled open the door and rushed out into the dark street. All the streetlights on his side of the road were off. He grabbed the side of the bus stop outside his garden gate and groaned when he spotted Mrs. Edmonton, his neighbour from across the street.

The old woman had paid Mark £30 for replacing several broken roof tiles last Wednesday. She had explained that her son, Dominic had an intense fear of heights. Now, Mrs. Edmonton sat under the only working streetlight, against her garden gate, chewing on a child’s foot.

Mark’s dire situation sunk in fast, this was happening everywhere. His legs collapsed from under him. He dropped to the floor and crawled back into his garden. There was no point in continuing, there would be no help for him. Mark curled up into a ball and waited for the inevitable. It shouldn’t take long for his darling wife to find him, he knew there would be some pain when Cheryl bit him but it would be over in seconds, at least then he’d be with her.

He jerked when he heard running feet across the road. The sound got louder. Two men ran into Mark’s garden and pulled him onto his feet. The largest man who looked to Mark like a steroid addicted bodybuilder placed his huge hands on either side of his cheeks and stared into Mark’s terrified eyes. He felt as though the man’s intense stare was stripping his soul away layer by layer.

“Well, ain’t you a sad waste of skin. Your mum should have saved us the bother and strangled you with your own umbilical cord.” The big man threw Mark into the arms of the other one.

“Hold that for me, Dean.” He said.

“Jesus, Talbot. There are three of them in there, are you sure about this?”

The big man slowly nodded then headed to the open door. “Don’t worry, my theory will work. While I’m upstairs, take that snivelling lump into his living room and get him prepared, I’ll probably be starving when I finish this.”

The two men laughed.

“What’s going on?” asked Mark once the man mountain had left them.

“Shut up,” replied Dean.

He pulled Mark through the doorway and into the kitchen, he attempted to struggle but quickly gave up, it was like being dragged behind a slow moving car. Dean threw Mark onto the sofa. His head snapped back and smacked against the back of the chair, making his see stars.

“There’s too much polish on this window, Mark.”

Through blurred vision, he saw the man standing next to one of his bookcases, dragging his index finger down the glass.

“Look at those unsightly streaks. You ought to just use warm water with a dash of vinegar.”

“I’m going mad,” muttered Mark.

He turned his head at the sound of someone clomping down the stairs. Mark’s eyes bulged in their sockets when the man mountain, painted in vivid scarlet, wet lumps came into view.

“Why is he still breathing?” asked Talbot.

Dean traced his finger along the surface of his bookcase; he pulled a sour face then sighed. “Did your theory work then?”

The man mountain grinned. Mark felt his stomach turn over at the sight of tiny, stringy pieces of red flesh stuck between the man’s teeth.

“Like a dream. There’s none of that distracting mental miasma this time, it looks like working alone is the way to go. I dispatched them in seconds.”

Mark gasped, he’d just figured out what he meant by that sentence. The fucker had just slaughtered his family.

Dean grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “I reckon that we ought to have a go at converting this one.”

The man mountain burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious. Have you seen the state of his kitchen? I doubt he’s washed up since yesterday.”

Dean shrugged, “Face facts, Talbot. This plague is spreading faster than you even predicted. We have to work with the material we have on hand.”

“Fair enough, it’s worth a try, I suppose.”

Dean pulled him off the sofa and sat on Mark’s chest.

“Oh, god, please don’t kill me,” pleaded Mark. He gazed into the blond man’s eyes, searching for any sign of compassion.”

“He’s a whiney little bitch.”

“Just hold his head still, Talbot.”

Man Mountains upside down head appeared above Mark’s face. The man’s hands locked his head still, Mark felt like he’d just been placed in a vice.

“You were willing to let your dead family convert you into one of those filthy things a few moments ago, why the sudden change of mind?”

The man wedged Mark’s head between his knees then forced his mouth open. Mark watched in horror and revulsion as the other guy sliced through his own forearm with one of his fingernails and held the dripping arm directly over Mark’s mouth.

Several drops of glutinous, black syrup fell onto his tongue and flowed down Mark’s throat. He gagged and attempted to cough the stuff out. The vile stuff tasted like rotting shellfish.

Both men climbed off him but he couldn’t move. His muscle locked him rigid as a board. Volcano heat spread through his body, Mark screamed his throat raw. Abruptly as it started, the pain just vanished.

Mark grinned, he couldn’t help it. The euphoric sensation sweeping his body made the pain seem like a very bad dream.

Welcome, brother. The two voices said inside his head.

Mark slowly sat up and looked at the two smiling men in adoration.

He returned their smile. “Thank you for the gift.” He whispered.

Mark then noticed a slight frown flow across Dean’s face.

“What’s the matter?”

Tears rolled down Dean’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, he said. “It isn’t working.”

Mark didn’t understand what he meant. He felt fine, better then fine. Then, without warning, the intense pain returned, Mark folded over in excruciating stomach cramps. Before his eyes, Mark’s fingers began to rot and liquefy. The last words he heard before the rest of his body turned to wet mush was Dean sobbing out the words ‘photocopy of a photocopy’.

Chapter Fifteen

Dominic followed Marlene up the dimly lit staircase. He just couldn’t come to terms with how scared he was. Even the faint tones coming from the mouth of that good looking singer failed to ease his anxiety. The thought of having to help Marlene explain the situation to Bernard just exacerbated his feelings.

His mother had a medicine cabinet full of tablets, within those countless bottles,

Dominic was sure that they’d be something to calm him down. He then remembered his friend throwing all those painkillers down his throat and choked back a sob.

“Dominic, are you okay?” asked, Marlene, turning her head.

He nodded, “Yes thanks. I just got a bit of dust caught in the back of my throat.”

His on the spot lie seemed to satisfy the woman. Where in the blazes had Douglas gone? Marlene’s suggestion of him sleeping off his illness inside his beast seemed like a reasonable idea. He just wished they’d followed it through before rushing back into the club. Dominic took a deep breath and breathed in a little more of that dusty air, imagining that he stood atop a desolate mountain. Maybe not that desolate, he’d have to have someone to keep him company.

He allowed the fantasy to play out in the back of his mind and concentrated on

Marlene’s back. It had been a while since he’d been this close to her before. The woman had put on a bit more weight, no doubt gorging on his yummy pies. That bum had definitely expanded. Perhaps now would not be the best time to announce his breaking news.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, woman,” he snapped. “Quit the fretting. You’re beginning to sound like my mum.”

“Don’t you worry about Bernard,” she said, obviously not believing him, “I can explain everything.” She paused, “And if you call me woman again. I’ll push you down the stairs.”

So that was that, his role in this drama had just been finalised. She was the heroine while his diminutive part consisted of just being Marlene’s sidekick, her faithful manservant, just there for comic relief.

She reached the top of the stairs and disappeared around the corner, bugger it, he would tell her that she had a big bum after all.

Despite working at the club for all these years, he’d never had the need to come up here. In fact, this would be only the second time that Dominic had climbed these stairs. He felt like a burglar, breaking into someone’s house. The place hadn’t changed a bit, well apart from becoming a bit shabbier. It must have been almost twenty years since that horrible ogre had taken Dominic upstairs to give him his super-scary pep talk.

Even though the man turned his bowels to water, he couldn’t help but admire his taste in décor. Looking back, it was pretty blinking obvious that Bernard had inherited the place already decorated from the club’s previous owner.

He followed Marlene into the first room. This was where Bernard had taken that eager young twenty year old trainee chef and told him just how lucky he was to work at his club. Apparently, there had been dozens of applicants just clamouring for this prestigious position. After he’d shook Dominic’s hand, he then explained in graphic detail, just what he would do to him if Dominic ever stole from his club.

From behind his back, Bernard pulled out a wooden walking stick and twisted the handle. Dominic’s jaw dropped as Bernard grabbed the shaft and pulled, revealing a long, thin metal blade.

Dominic padded over to a long, white leather sofa, pushed against the back wall. That wasn’t here all those years ago. He shuddered, remembering that week of nightmares he had of Bernard pushing that blade into his guts.

He ran his hand along the cool, leather whilst thinking back to what little he knew about zombie people. The only movie he’d ever seen as a child involved a group of survivors holed up in some shopping centre. It was just horrible, that movie frightened the pants off him and put Dominic off those types of films forever. Give him a good tear jerker anytime.

From what he could recall, zombie people are basically dead people shuffling about and drinking lots of blood. Or was that what vampires did?

Dominic did a double take when he spotted a bright red telephone sat on Bernard’s writing desk. He rushed over and grabbed the receiver and felt his karma evaporate when he heard no dial tone.

“Oh, that is super bad news.” He muttered.

It can’t be a coincidence, both phones can’t be broken. He decided there and then that looking for Bernard can go whistle. Hiding in Dominic’s loft never looked so appealing.

“Marlene, I’m sorry but I’ve changed my mind. Can you give me a lift home?”

Dominic replaced the receiver and turned in a complete circle. “Marlene?” he hissed.

“Where are you?”

He hurried to the door and looked both ways but saw no sign of her. What was he going to do now, how would he explain his presence if Bernard caught him rooting round his private room? He took one look behind him; just to be sure she wasn’t hiding behind that desk. Dominic slowly walked to the door shaking. The woman had just run off and left him here.

“Guess what I’ve found!”

Dominic jumped a foot and swivelled round. Marlene grinned at him whilst leaning against a bookcase. She swung the bookcase back to reveal an entrance to another room.

“Oh my goodness!” he exclaimed. “He really does have a secret room behind his office. This is so Scooby Doo.”

She reached across the desk and took Dominic’s hand. “Come and see what I’ve found.”

He followed her, mouth agape into his boss’s private seduction chamber. The room was beyond surreal. Marlene grabbed the edge of the bookcase and swung it back into position.

Had Dominic just travelled back in time and landed in the middle of a Roman whorehouse? No blinking wonder his boss had been able to charm so many starry eyed barmaids over the years. These lavish decorations would blindside any impressionable teenage girl.

It must have cost a fortune to design and install, he sniffed; now he knew why

Dominic hadn’t received a pay rise in the last three years. He pushed through the deep, purple gauze material, hanging down from black poles fastened to the ceiling. Dominic gazed in longing at the huge four poster bed dominating the room. Dominic sat on it and squealed in delight. Why he was not surprised that Bernard had a waterbed?

This scarlet, silk sheet under his bum probably cost more than what Dominic earned in a week. He wondered whether Thomas would be blindsided if he managed to get him in here. Stuff it; this was his fantasy, why stop at just him? Dominic would bring that super, good-looking singer up here as well, the thought of him being sandwiched between two gorgeous, naked men, made him drool.

He felt a sharp prod on his shoulders and jerked his head up to see Marlene glaring down at him.

“Earth to Dominic, do I even want to know where your mind had just been?”

Dominic blushed redder than the sheets he sat on. She held up a low cut, purple blouse. “Does this look familiar to you?” Marlene then threw a black bra at his head. “That was next to the blouse. Both pieces were hung over that chair. I can only assume that they both belonged to the same girl.” He knew exactly who that blouse belonged to. “Oh no, it’s our missing barmaid’s. Wait a minute, are you suggesting that she’s still in the club?”

She shrugged, and then pointed to a pair of crumpled trousers lying beside the chair.

“Did you happen to notice a naked teenager running past you?”

He shook his head, “I think I would have mentioned something like that.”

“Well, Bernard isn’t here, let’s check out the other rooms.”

She wandered back to the back of the bookcase and placed her ear against the wood.

“What’s wrong?”

Marlene ran back over to him and pulled Dominic around the bed and dropped down.

“There’s somebody in that other room,” she whispered, “and I think it’s Bernard.”

“Good, let’s get this over with.” He said, standing up.

She pulled Dominic back down. “No, you don’t understand.”

Then he heard the low moans through the thin wooden panels. “Oh my god!” he hissed. “He’s turned into one of those things.”

“He helped Douglas carry that boy’s body over to the car.”

“Are you suggesting that it infected Bernard?”

She nodded, “I’m suggesting that it infected them both, we still haven’t found Douglas yet, have we?”

Dominic figured that events would have been rather different if he and Marlene had decided to check out the beast first. Could he really be in there, just waiting for some poor sap to open the car door and ask him if he was okay? Oh good lord, he squeezed his legs together to stop his shakes. It could have been Dominic out there moaning away.

“Marlene? I don’t want to be here anymore. What say you and me just go?”

She shook her head, “We can’t leave.”

“Why not? Come home with me, Marlene. I cook you anything you want. We can sit and watch a film and gorge ourselves on junk food and wait for all this to blow over.”

She was silent for a moment, “Okay, Dominic, it’s a deal, but we take Thomas as well. We can’t leave him here.”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied.

The noise outside the room gradually subsided. “Do you think he’s gone?” Marlene shrugged, “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

She crept back over to the bookcase. Dominic stayed behind the bed; he’d follow her as soon as he’d tooled up. His initial search proved fruitless, this was so unfair. How could he possibly find anything suitable in a room full of soft furnishings? Why could their boss have done the reasonable thing and seduced his girls in an armoury? Dominic saw the closed wardrobe, he stood up and ran to it, he hoped to get lucky; maybe Bernard added a slight kink to his sexual exploits and dressed up as a soldier, complete with a big gun.

“Not a nurse, please not a nurse.” He whispered. Dominic opened the door and sighed when he saw the row of seductive, frilly nighties that left little to the imagination. Oh, lord, this was so, super not funny. What was he supposed to do now, dispatch those horrible creatures with a plastic coat hanger?

A very familiar object propped up in the corner then caught his eye. Dominic grinned like a Cheshire cat, reached in and pulled out Bernard’s walking stick. He twisted the handle and pulled the outer shell down.

“Marlene? Look at the size of my big weapon.”

“It suit’s you, sweetheart. You look like Errol Flynn.” She swung the bookcase open and peered into the room. “It’s empty.”

Marlene gazed at Dominic, “Do you feel confident enough to use that?”

He wanted to dismiss her patronising question with a deep manly laugh; he’d dissected more flesh than she’d had hot dinners, dinners he might add that Dominic had made for her.

Dominic handed her the blade and turned away so she wouldn’t see his tears.

“Come on, Dominic,” whispered Marlene.

He kept his eyes fixed to the floor and followed her out into the other room. Marlene stiffened; Dominic looked up and saw Bernard in the hall, staring out of the window. Marlene raised the sword and padded across the carpet.

Before she had time to deliver the blow, he spun around and jumped to the side. “Jesus, fucking Christ, Marlene, what the fuck are you two clowns playing at?”

Dominic wanted to weep with relief, he wasn’t one of those things after all, and that meant, maybe his friend would be fine too.

“You won’t believe what we’ve just seen outside,” replied, Marlene, unfazed by his outburst.

“You two as well? Thank fuck for that. I thought I was going fucking potty.”

Dominic then noticed just how red his eyes were. Had his boss been crying? He found that blinking hard to believe. He approached the window and looked down onto the car park, thinking that their boss must have seen the dead boy come back to life as well.

He gasped and felt his legs turn to water at the monstrous scene below. Douglas and some middle aged woman sat in one of the parking spaces, both biting out chunks of meat from the mutilated body of an older man.

Dominic turned around and slid down the wall; he closed his eyes and began to cry. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and presumed Marlene was about to offer him comfort. Dominic’s body was forced back upright. He jerked open his eyes and stared into the livid face of his boss. He watched him snatch the blade out of Marlene’s startled hands.

“Quit your fucking snivelling. We are all in serious shit here. I aim to survive this and to do that, I need people around me who are strong and can pull their weight. Am I making myself clear?”

Dominic managed to nod.

“Good. Marlene, pop back into my room, the wardrobe has a false bottom. Bring me what you find in there.”

When she left them alone, he turned back to Dominic. “If you don’t pull yourself together, you fucking homo, I’ll use this to put you out of the picture.” Dominic stared into the crazed man’s eyes, wishing Marlene had chopped this horrible bastard’s head off.

Chapter Sixteen

The wallet hidden away in Aiden O’Neil’s dark blue bomber jacket now had its desire come true. He’d made £120 so far tonight and Aiden didn’t think that the Goddess of cash had finished with him just yet.

Events were still afoot in the Stockholm club tonight. He knew from experience that where there’s drama, there’s opportunity for the acquisition of the old folding stuff.

He’d watched those two oldies sneak out of the club about ten minutes ago, the pair of dirty dogs. Not that it was his place to judge their antics, why should he? Edward’s abnormal levels of hormones had made Aiden £20 richer tonight. Granted, it wasn’t a king’s ransom but money was money. The old man would no doubt supply his dealer with yet more notes from his pension in the weeks to come. Aiden allowed a slight grin to play upon his lips, wondering if it was possible to make even more cash out of that oversexed pensioner.

The oldie actually thought the other men who frequented the bingo hall wasn’t aware of his exploits; even Aiden hadn’t heard some of those nasty names they called that more man. Edward was blind to it all, talk about not seeing the woods for the trees. Yes, that cash cow could definitely be milked some more. Aiden knew that the old fucker’s wife still had no clue to what her husband got up to; there could be potential leverage there. He’d have sleep on that one though, to come up with some sort of scheme.

Aiden’s main concern tonight was how he’d managed to acquire the rest of his wallet comforter. He feared that he’d just made a pact with the devil. Bernard had just snared poor old Aiden and popped him into the dark eyed man’s pocket with the rest of his lackey’s

“Thou shall not yield to temptation.” He mouthed.

Oh, but how could he not take him up on his offer? Talk about easy money but oh so risky. He’d heard what happened to those who crossed Bernard.

Aiden shivered. Those terrible tales were best served up to other less fortunate villains, the ones whose brains need to be warmed up before use.

He turned back to the bar and drained the last of his Guinness. The distracted barman hadn’t noticed the empty glass, his attention was elsewhere. That suited Aiden just fine; it allowed him to earn his Brucie bonus of another fifty notes.

Aiden slipped through the doors beside him and into the club’s kitchen, confident that the place would be devoid of employees. Aiden watched that puff and the cute bit of fluff rushing around like headless chickens a little earlier. He had no idea what had ruffled their feathers but he intended to find out after he’d finished in here.

As predicted, the puff had left no soul to guard his precious pies. He bent over and inhaled. The aroma drifting up from these pastry delights bordered on the sublime. Aiden had earlier promised himself that he’d be in and out of here like a ninja, leaving no trace of his presence, but that idea went out of the window when he picked up the first pie and took a huge bite.

“Just perfection,” he mumbled.

That facsimile man sure knew how to cook. Ironic really, considering his wife was less feminine than Dominic but couldn’t cook for her life.

The Two Spoons café a couple of miles from here was about to see their customer intake treble, thanks to Aiden. He’d been tasked with acquiring the essential pie filling ingredients. Considering it was worth fifty quid, he’d be a fool to turn it down. The café owner told him that although the quantities would be helpful it wasn’t necessary as with some experimenting he should be able to replicate the recipe.

It may seem like such a small task but he knew that it was these types of jobs that had the ability to enhance his reputation tenfold. Aiden and the café owner both knew that Aiden could supply him with any old ingredient list and that fool would be none the wiser.

With reluctance, he put the remains of the pie in the bin and made his way through the kitchen, toward where he hoped, Dominic would keep his files. From what he had observed, the puff didn’t appear to be the secretive type, which suited Aiden just fine.

An old writing desk pushed into the corner seemed the likeliest place to commence his search. Apart from a stained tea cup, the surface gave no joy, not that Aiden had expected his task to be so easy. He rifled through his inside pocket and pulled out a flat ended screwdriver then sat in the chair. The desk had six drawers, three on either side, no doubt locked, hence the screwdriver.

Aiden looked behind him, went through his rehearsed ‘I’m sorry, I got lost’ speech one more time before turning attention to the drawers. Before he set to work with his tool of choice, he allowed his optimism get the better of him and pulled the drawer handle. Aiden almost fell off the chair when the damn drawer opened.

“Good lord ain’t you the trustworthy type.” Aiden’s eyes bugged out at the tatty sheet of light blue notepaper, sitting right at the top of the drawer.

“He’s even titled it for me too,” he said, grinning, “Ain’t that so sweet.”

Aiden picked the paper out of the drawer and stuffed it into his pocket. He’d hit on a potential goldmine here. That café owner would make a bloody fortune out of this recipe, certainly more than a poxy fifty pounds. He’d give the money back to the man then start a bidding war. This tatty scrap of paper could net him a couple of grand, easily.

His wallet inflating scheme jumped to the back on his mind when the room plunged into darkness. The fans above him stopped and the fridges ceased to buzz. The low murmurings, rapidly turning into panicked shouts reached him from the lounge. He stood up and felt his way toward the wall,

“It’s just a power failure,” he murmured, “nothing to worry about.”

The sound of his own voice gave him little comfort. Aiden has never been wholly secure with the idea of being unable to see. This new development was not welcome. Aiden decided to cut short the wrinkly Romeo’s jolly time and retrieve his keys. He’d sit in his coach until the lights came back on.

He listened to the barman attempting to calm the rest of the wrinklies down, without having much success, Aiden then heard him announcing that he’d go check the fuse box. He realised with fear that the damn thing was probably in here. Oh shit, Aiden couldn’t be found; there was no way he’d be able to talk his way out of this one. He saw a powerful torch beam shining through the plastic curtains. What the bloody hell could he do? He then noticed a faint green glow behind him and smiled. There’s a fire exit over there. He could nip through it and sneak round the front, it was a brilliant plan.

Aiden hurried over to where the door should be, his stomach bumped into the bar. He told Mr. Panic to get behind him and grasped the bar with both hands then pushed down. Streetlight greeted his appreciative eyes through the widening gap but it wasn’t alone. The night wind brought the stench of rotting flesh to batter his nostrils. If the urge to leave the darkness hadn’t been so overwhelming, his addled wits may have seen that withered hand reaching for him. Aiden screamed as it clamped over his wrist. He tried to pull the door shut but was too late to stop the owner of the hand biting out a sizable piece of flesh from his thick wrist.

As the thing reared back, he slammed the door shut; his world plunged into darkness once more. Aiden shut his eyes, trying not to think about the agonising pain shooting though his arm. He whimpered; this would be his final few breaths. His days of ducking and diving had come to an abrupt end thanks to some diseased old tramp with a fetish for biting people. Aiden sighed then wondered why a light from a motorbike headlamp had just blinded him.

“Are you alright? What the bloody hell happened to you? Hang on a second.”

The lights came back on; Aiden opened his eyes to see the barman reaching for a first aid box, fastened to the wall above the aluminium preparation tables.

“I thought one of the oldies from my party wandered in here, some of them do have a tendency to get lost. They’re more like sheep than humans, you see. It’s their age.” Aiden wasn’t sure why he gave the worried looking barman his prepared speech, it’s not like he asked for it.

“Oh, Jesus, this hurts.” Aiden held out his damaged arm, so the lad could bandage it up, it surprised him just how little blood there was. He ought to be swimming in the stuff.

“How did you do that?”

“Call an ambulance, then the police.”

“Did a dog do this?”

Aiden shook his head then wished he hadn’t. A huge wave of nausea caused by the movement almost blacked him out. “A guy did it, some crazy person outside that fire door. Will you hurry up and ring for that bloody ambulance?”

Chapter Seventeen

Talbot stopped next to a fast food shop and waited for Dean to catch up. He peered through the window, into the dark interior, trying to read the menu above the counter. Talbot used to look forward to his twelve-inch pepperoni pizza with a double helping of mushrooms, every Wednesday night.

He allowed himself to peer back to what used to be his normal existence just for a few moments. No pizza would be complete without his wife’s finishing touch. She would place exactly thirty two slices of jalapeños in six neat rows across the surface and grilled it for three minutes. He could have just asked for the shop to have put the chillies on the pizza before he delivered it but that would have meant his wife would have played no part in the preparation of food for one day. That was just pointless. It was like getting paid without having to work for the money.

It seemed a little strange to him that he had no other fond memories of his wife or that he hadn’t even considered her until now. The woman was probably dead, either that or changed, shuffling about, feasting on the flesh of others. That role would suit the bitch down to the ground.

How ironic that his own son was one of the first to undergo the change and yet Talbot hadn’t even noticed.

Talbot dismissed them; he put his wife, son as well as freshly baked pizza on the list of items that Talbot would never need again.

Dean had finally caught up. His deteriorating appearance and his obvious weakening state worried him.

“Are you okay, Dean?”

The man nodded and attempted to give Talbot a reassuring smile.

“Of course I am,” he replied. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

Talbot studied Dean’s reflection. He scratched the side of his neck like a flea ridden dog, he wasn’t aware that he was doing it. When Dean did remove his hands, Talbot finally saw the extensive damage. The bite that he’d sustained whilst fighting in that alley had not healed.

“Dean? I think you should…”

Talbot caught movement in the newsagent’s doorway next to the fast food shop. A well built teenage lad, dressed in black emerged and shuffled toward Dean. Where the fuck hadn’t Talbot sensed the lad earlier? This new development alarmed the hell out of him.

“I’ll deal with it,” said Dean. “You carry on looking for a set of wheels.”

He nodded absently and left Dean to his fun.

Acquiring more transport had been Talbot’s obsession ever since their last failure. He needed to get Dean fresh meat as soon as he could. He’d broken into half a dozen homes so far, searching for live bodies but found nothing but walking dead. He had to get him to the club; it was the only place where he knew for certain that warm meat would be waiting for them.

Talbot feared the decay he witnessed with Mark had also become entrenched in Dean’s system. His deterioration was happening at a snail’s pace compared to Mark’s light speed disintegration but, even so, the signs were there.

How different would their situation be if they had just killed Mark and dined on his flesh? Even better, if that fucking bus hadn’t overturned across the road, they’d be at their destination by now, instead of having to complete their journey on foot.

Talbot spotted an old Land Rover parked on the other side of the road and jogged toward it. What if the problem lay deeper than just getting more food for Dean? Maybe his decay was inevitable and no amount of fresh meat will stop the rot?

No, no way. Talbot refused to listen to the voice of apprehension. Dean was his responsibility and he refused to let him crumble before his eyes. Talbot reached the 4x4, his hopes of moving out died when he saw the flat tyres on the other side of the car.

“Shit.” He muttered, “Now what?”

Talbot turned around; the teenager’s head was not longer attached to his body.

Talbot’s grin fell off his face when he saw his companion limp toward him. He’d sustained a few more bites. Oh this was so not good. Dean should have dispatched that thing with ease.

“Won’t the car start?”

The notion of putting Dean out of his misery unexpectedly rose to the surface of his mind. “Just a couple of head punches would do it.” He muttered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said, the tyres on the other side have been let down.”

Dean stumbled. Talbot ran to him and caught his body before he hit the floor.

“What’s happening to me?” cried Dean.

The multiple bite marks over his arms and legs were not knitting up.

“I’ll get you to the club, Dean. There’s plenty of fresh food there. We’ll dine like kings, mate.”

“I’m going the same way as Mark aren’t I?”

Talbot glanced around this unfamiliar part of the city, trying to get his bearings. They couldn’t be that far away. He looked up and caught sight of the top of a church steeple. He nodded to himself, that looked familiar, he was sure that there was a church just behind the club.

“Look, just try to stay focussed. We’re only about half a mile from the club. We’ll be there in ten minutes, easy.”

He wished there was a way that Talbot could give Dean some of his strength, just to boost Dean’s immune system.

“Come on, man. Let’s get you on your feet and enough with the talk of doom. You’ve just been bitten a few times, that’s all. Your body just needs food to repair itself and to flush out poison.”

Talbot dragged Dean away from the Land Rover and back onto the pavement. They hurried past the newsagents and turned onto the main road. Talbot sighed with relief, he knew this area of the town, and they were almost there. Bernard’s club was at the end of this street, he could almost taste that warm blood running down his throat.

“I think we’re in the shit,” murmured Dean. “Look at that.”

There were five of them clambered around the chewed up body of an old woman, in a pub beer garden across the road. They looked all stopped tearing into the opened guts of the body and turned their heads.

“They aren’t a threat,” said Talbot. “I can handle them.”

The body had been forgotten in their eagerness to eradicate their enemy.

“Come on,” pleaded Dean. “I’m starving. I need some sustenance. Forget about them. If another one of those things bites me, it could spell my end.”

Talbot sat him down on the bonnet of a white convertible. “This will only take a couple of minutes. They won’t bite you, Dean. I’ll make sure of that.”

He turned around, “Besides, I’ve never run away from a fight in my whole life and I don’t intend to start now.” Talbot growled and ran up to the closest one, a man in his early forties, wearing only his pyjamas. All his fingers were missing. Talbot wondered how that had happened. Had his wife done that to him? Talbot sighed, like it really mattered. He put his hands together, raised them above his head and smashed them into the side of the man’s head. The fingerless man folded up and quietly died.

A pair of hands reached out and pawed at the back of his jacket. Talbot jerked the top half of his body forward then turned and swept a middle aged woman down to the ground with his outstretched leg. He crawled up to the groaning creature and grabbed its filthy, grey hair then lifted its head before slamming it back down. The back of the head cracked open like an egg, spilling its foul contents across the tarmac.

“That’s two gone,” he muttered.

The three remaining showed no sign of slowing down, despite killing two of their comrades in a matter of seconds. It was as if they welcomed death.

“That’s fine by me,”

Talbot ran up to a young dark haired girl, she must have only been about thirteen or fourteen. Judging by the amount of makeup and what little provocative clothing she had on, Talbot guessed that the girl had spent the night trying to get past the bouncers guarding the nightclubs. He placed one hand under her jaw, narrowly missing the thing biting a couple of his fingers off and lifted her off the ground, and then he squeezed his fingers together.

Talbot then ran at the remaining two, using the girl’s body as a battering ram. He pushed them back; against a plate glass window displaying a selection of kitchen equipment, then pushed the three of them through the glass. Talbot reached down and picked a long shard of glass, intending to finish off the remaining two when he heard Dean screaming out Talbot’s name.

He spun around and saw his companion being dragged under the car. Talbot left them and sprinted to the car. The only visible parts of Dean were his hands. He dropped the glass shard then bent down and grabbed them. Talbot roared then pulled him out from under the car. Two dead kids came with him, one fastened on the inside of Dean’s thigh whilst the other one had managed to bite off two of his toes.

Talbot stamped down hard on both their heads then picked the groaning man off the floor. He weighed next to nothing.

“Oh fuck,” he said. “What a mess you are.”

Dean opened one eye and gazed at Talbot. “My clothes are totally ruined,” he whispered. “I’ve lost one of shoes as well.” Dean coughed “I’m sorry for letting you down.”

The two he hadn’t yet killed were struggling out of the shattered window display. Talbot then saw that they had yet more company. A dozen of the things had left through the pub’s open door and were making their way toward their location. “You didn’t let me down, mate. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left you. Look, you just fucking hang on. We’re nearly there.”

“Don’t, Talbot. Don’t you lie. I’m dying and we both know it. I’m going the same way as Mark. I can feel my body falling apart. Just drop me and go before the other’s get you.”

“Fuck no! I’m not leaving you.”

Dean screamed. His body deflated and liquefied. Foul smelling, dark green sludge dripped through Talbot’s outstretched arms. Dean’s clothes stuck to both of Talbot’s arms. He pulled them off him and threw the wet material to the floor then jumped back and watched in mute horror as Dean’s remains flowed down the gutter.

Talbot waited for the last of his friend to slip into the drain before gazing up at the gathering crowd of foul smelling monstrosities. The only way more of Talbot’s kind could be created was by a bite from one of those fuckers and they were the only ones who knew which human would make the grade. Talbot said a silent prayer for Dean and vowed to avenge Dean’s death but first, he needed to eat. He growled and ran away from that crowd.

Chapter Eighteen

Ten minutes had passed since Dominic’s encounter with his boss. His emotional state now settled into a comforting rut of apprehension tinged with a dollop of relief. His relief stemmed from the fact that Bernard had left him alone for the moment.

Dominic suspected that his boss didn’t really mean what he said when he threatened him one more time with that blade. Bernard was just showing off in front of Marlene by exerting his manliness, either that or it was Bernard’s way of boosting Dominic’s moral, bolstering his troops like an army sergeant. Deep down though, Dominic knew that Bernard was probably just being really horrible to him, as per usual.

If his boss did think he was the general, then thankfully Dominic hadn’t been ordered to the frontline.

“It appears my job is to hold Bernard’s weapon.”

Dominic choked back a hysterical sob when he realised what he’d just said.

Looking through the oblong section of reinforced glass set in the door, he watched Bernard weave through the tables heading for the stage. The singer had done a magnificent job in calming down the old folk when the lights failed earlier. He got them to return to their tables and continued to sing. Even without the aid of a microphone, the lad still managed to be heard throughout the club.

He wondered what Bernard was up to. He wouldn’t tell Dominic. All he told Dominic to do was hold the guns and don’t mess with them. That made sense, if he marched across the lounge all tooled up like Dirty Harry, the club would have a stampede on their hands.

Dominic leaned Bernard’s shotgun against the wall and picked up one of the two pistols lying side by side on the step above where he sat. He marvelled at how the weapon fitted so snugly in the palm of his hand, he wrapped his fingers around the handle, it really did feel good to hold it. Without thinking, Dominic grabbed the top bit and pulled it back just like he’d seen in the movies the noise it made sent a pleasant shiver down Dominic’s spine, it was almost erotic.

He shook himself and threw the pistol back down. What the blinking flip was he playing at? The object was an instrument of Satan. It only had one purpose and that was to kill things.

Dominic had to get out of here; he was going to leave whether Marlene came with him or not. He returned to gazing through the door window. Marlene had now joined her boss on that stage; he wished he could hear what they were saying to the old people. Bernard’s smiley, happy features did not sit well on that ogre’s face. Looking around the room, none of the people seemed to see the ugliness beneath. Marlene climbed down and made her way toward the door.

Dominic intended to ask the woman if she still wanted to join him when she opened that door. He’d beg if he needed to. He looked back at those pistols, feeling a little queasy knowing that he’d have to take one of them in case he ran into Douglas.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“I feel like a half cooked meringue.” He replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed. “I’m ready to collapse at any time. Look, I’ve got something I need to ask you.”

She reached past him and scooped up the two pistols. “We’ll talk on the way to the kitchen.”

She grabbed his wrist and pulled Dominic into the lounge.

“I’m sorry, what’s going on?”

“Bernard wants us two to start putting your pies in doggy bags.”

She let go of Dominic and passed a little lady a bright blue coat, hung over a chair then rushed over to the doors leading into the kitchen.

He hurried to catch up with her. “Did I just hear that correctly?”

“Bernard’s getting them out of the club. He’s using your yummy pies to sweeten their grumpiness.”

“But where are they going to go? It’s dangerous out there. You saw what was happening on the street.”

She opened a cupboard door above her head and pulled out a roll of freezer bags.

“These will do. Look Dominic, the driver will take them back to their homes, they’ll be safe there.”

She threw the roll at Dominic. “Come on, get packing. As soon as they’re gone we can start to batten down the hatches and ride this thing out. There’s enough food stocked up to last us for months.”

Dominic dropped the roll on the surface. “But I don’t want to stay here.” His voice was barely a whisper.

There would be no doubt that Bernard would make his existence intolerable from day one. His boss and his new sex toy would wipe away the hours exploring each other’s bodies in that chamber of shame above Dominic’s head. His role in this would be to serve them food and clean. He would be their Cinderella. Unlike that fairy tale, Dominic would not be rescued by a handsome prince.

“Come on Dominic; quit it with the trembling top lip. In your heart, you know that

Bernard has the right idea.”

He slowly nodded, thinking how long it would be before he threatened to throw, Dominic out to the dead people if he ever started getting bitchy.

His eyes then darted to Marlene. “Oh crumbs! We’ve forgotten about Douglas. He’s still out there in the car park. He’ll tear those poor people to pieces. Where’s Thomas? Don’t tell me that he’s out there too.”

Marlene grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the doors. “Will you calm down? Bernard said that he saw Douglas stumble off, heading into town.” She started to put the pies into the freezer bags. “Now come on, Dominic, just stop and think about our situation, you saw what happened on that street, how long do you think you’d last? At least in here we’re safe.”

He silently placed the last of the pies in the bags and followed her back into the lounge; he gathered that Thomas would be staying at the club too. Dominic tried to work out how he would fit into their ménage a trois.

“Is Thomas outside then?”

She nodded. “Yeah, Bernard’s given the driver some money to take them back home earlier than normal.”

Marlene smiled at a gentleman wearing a pork pie hat then looked at Dominic. “They don’t know what’s happening.”

The old people took the plastic bags out of their hands as they trooped past them. Bernard had made his way to the front door and said goodbye to each pensioner with a smile and a promise that he’d see them tomorrow night.

That horrible man didn’t have an honest bone in his body. Dominic came to the decision that staying here, with Bernard, could very well be detrimental to his health and well being, “Marlene, I’m going to go with the pensioners.”

He handed over the last pie to the little lady in the blue coat.

“Thank you so much,” she said, smiling.

Marlene stared at him in astonishment, he found her gaze very uncomfortable. Then she discreetly passed him one of the guns.

“Take it,” she said, “and good luck.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, “You take care of yourself.”

Dominic kissed her cheek, “You too. Take care of Thomas and please, watch out for Bernard.”

She nodded and smiled.

He took a deep breath and got in line behind the old woman. As he reached the door, Bernard eyed him up and down and then, rather unexpectedly, he grinned at Dominic.

That, he didn’t expect. He thought the man would sneer, call him a few horrible names then shout at him for abandoning them. Dominic gently squeezed past the woman and hurried out of the club before Bernard could change his mind.

Dominic rushed past the coach and stared at the dark street beyond the club’s car park, looking for any sign of movement but he saw nothing, the streets were deserted. He shrugged to himself, maybe they’ve all gone home to bed.

He turned and watched Thomas helping the woman up the steps into the coach; he retraced his steps and climbed onto the coach.

“Dominic?” said Thomas, spinning around, “What are you doing here?”

He smiled at the lad, “I’m making sure that they all get back safely.”

Thomas moved out of the way so he could squeeze past him. Dominic wanted to hug the lad until he remembered that Thomas didn’t have a clue what was happening.

“You look after yourself, lad.”

Thomas shot him a quizzical look before climbing off the coach, “You too.” He shouted back.

Dominic watched the lad hurry back into the club before turning to the driver. “Do you go past Lexington Road?”

“The closest I go to that street is Cambridge Avenue, if that’s any good for you?”

Dominic nodded; his house was just ten minutes walk from there. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

The driver nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m coming down with something. Now, go find a seat and strap yourself in.”

Dominic made his way to the back on the coach, he saw the old woman clutching the pie he’d gave her earlier and sat down next to her.

“You don’t mind if I sit here do you?” She smiled and patted his knee. “Of course I don’t mind, I could do with the company, I can’t seem to find the lady who sat with me on the way here.”

As the coach set off, Dominic looked down and saw just how prominent the pistol bulge was, heaven knows what the old lady must be thinking about him. He turned in his seat and watched the club’s neon blue sign recede as the coach pulled out of the car park, he wondered if he’d ever see the place again.

Dominic felt the woman tap him on the knees again; this little old lady was getting a bit too familiar for his liking.

“Are you the young man responsible for creating these wonderful pies?”

He nodded but didn’t look at the woman; Dominic’s gaze was locked at the seats directly opposite him. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He was sure that something had just moved under the couple’s seat, he leaned forward; it was difficult to tell as they must have placed all their luggage under there.

“Well, young man. If you don’t mind me saying, I think your recipe could do with a pinch of paprika, not too much, mind.”

He wasn’t sure if it was luggage, it looked more like a huge bundle of black clothes. Dominic’s curiosity slipped away when he felt the coach slowing down. Then without warning, the vehicle shuddered to an abrupt halt, his head was thrown forward, luckily he had taken the driver’s advice and strapped himself in. The woman next to him groaned. She’d strapped herself in too. She sat back and rubbed her forehead.

Two women at the front of the coach screamed. He unbuckled his belt and stood up. “What’s going on, what can you see?” said the panicked woman beside him.

Oh heavens, this was so not super good. That driver had just ploughed his coach into the side of an abandoned delivery van.

One of the old ladies hadn’t buckled herself in. When the coach collided with the van, she must have been thrown out of her seat and judging by the web-like crack in the windscreen, hit the glass with some force.

The injured woman lay slumped against the window, not moving. Dominic grabbed the back of the seat, intending to go and help when he saw that he wasn’t needed. The driver was already reaching out for her.

“Oh, my God!” he gasped.

The driver placed both hands in her hair and pulled the woman toward his mouth.

When she was close enough, the man bent down and bit into her neck. The whole coach erupted with screams and shouting. Dominic assumed it was because of what the driver had just done until he saw a woman further down the coach getting pulled out of her seat and onto the floor.

That bundle of clothes was Douglas.

Dominic felt the woman next to him grab his shirt and try to pull him down; she said something but couldn’t make it out due to the deluge of voices.

The driver pushed the injured woman out of the way and fastened his hand around the ankle of a weeping man who wasn’t quick enough to get out of the driver’s way.

Dominic glanced down; the woman’s terrified eyes were glued on Douglas. He’d pulled another victim to the floor. She tried to crawl into the aisle; a man jumped out of his seat and grabbed her hand. Douglas responded by pushing his thumb into her left eye socket then jerking her back under the seat, the man lost his grip and fell forward; he turned and screamed as the driver dived on his back.

Dominic grabbed the old woman’s hand; he turned around and saw that the fire escape was only two seats back.

“Come on,” he hissed, Dominic tried to pull her out of the seat. He glanced down and suppressed a scream as he saw Douglas crawling toward him. Dominic heard the woman cry out in pain, oh crumbs. The daft old thing still had the seat belt on. He reached across and fumbled with the buckle fastener, whimpering as he heard his old friend moaning with desire. He daren’t look behind him; he jumped onto his seat and strode over the gab onto the next one. Douglas got onto his knees and growled at the crying woman.

“Oh, god, Douglas, I’m so sorry about this.”

He pulled the gun out of his pocket, grabbed the barrel and smacked the handle into the side of Douglas’s head. His ex friend fell to the floor. He reached over and grabbed the terrified woman’s hand then pulled her toward the fire exit. The driver hadn’t yet seen them trying to escape.

“We can’t leave the others here,” gasped the old woman.

He ignored her and pushed the door open, he turned to grab the woman, and she shook her head.

“I’m not leaving without my friends.”

Dominic could help but notice that she forsaken her coat but still had the pie clutched tightly in her other hand. He looked behind her and saw two of her friends were heading toward them, both were moaning like Douglas had. He got the feeling that they didn’t wish to be rescued. He grabbed the woman’s blouse with both hands then swung her around before dropping her out of the open door. One of the old men reached for him. Dominic stumbled back and fell from the coach.

Hot pain shot up his leg as he fell onto the cold tarmac. Through tear, blurred eyes, he watched the woman staring at the still open fire exit. Two of those things were almost at the open door.

“Don’t just stand there, you silly woman. Shut the blinking door!”

She jumped and pushed it shut. He watched the windows of the coach stain crimson as the rest of the people on that coach were caught and killed. He looked away, ashamed of himself. The woman was right, he could have stopped them, and Dominic looked in disbelief at the pistol in his hand. Oh heavens, he could have stopped them in a second.

“We’d better get back to the club,” he said.

The woman acted as if she hadn’t heard him, she had her back to Dominic, shaking like a leaf. He managed to get up on his feet, wincing in pain when he put weight on his left foot.

“It’s okay, we’re safe now,” he said.

She turned her head and looked him in the eyes, “Safe?” she cried. The woman pointed toward the dark road, at the thousands of people shuffling toward the club. “We should have stayed on the coach; it would have been over by now.”

Dominic stared in horror at that vast crowd heading their way. Then he saw a man desperately trying to outrun them. Dominic limped past the woman and raised the pistol.

“Do you know how to use that?” she asked.

He ignored her. Holding the pistol felt so natural, he felt a thrill course through his body as he placed his index finger on the trigger. He pointed the gun at a young man in a dark hoodie; he was just inches away from the running man. Dominic squeezed the trigger and hoodie just fell to the ground. He fired off two more shots and couple more of them disappeared under the approaching horde. Dominic limped forward and fired again, wondering just how many bullets these guns held. The chased man changed direction and jogged toward Dominic. A teenage boy struggled to catch up, Dominic took him down.

The man reached Dominic, “Unreal,” he said as he ran past him, “You’re actually helping me.”

They had to get back to the safety of the club; those people would be on top of them any moment. Dominic fired one more shot, he then stepped back. He turned his head and screamed.

The man had tore his way through the woman’s chest cavity, he pulled his head out of her shattered body and grinned at Dominic, lumps of wet, flesh dripped off his chin. “I’m Talbot by the way. Don’t bother introducing yourself. Bernard’s told me all about you.” He glanced past the terror-struck man then stood up. He wiped the mess off his face and grabbed Dominic’s arm. “You saved me, so you I think I allow you to live.” Talbot dragged him across the car park toward two main doors, “I can’t wait to get inside the club and say hello to your friends.”

Chapter Nineteen

Marlene downed the double vodka in one. She quickly glanced around the lounge, ensuring Bernard hadn’t crept in then poured herself another double. She chuckled bitterly to herself, what would he do, take it out of her fucking wages?

“You can go stuff yourself, Bernard if you think I’m paying for this,” she murmured.

“I think I’ve earned it.”

She had no clue where the man buggered off to. She’d only been gone for a couple of minutes. Marlene had gone into the vestibule to lock and bolt the main doors, when she came back in; Bernard had disappeared.

Marlene turned and leaned back against the bar, she swirled the clear liquid around the bottom of the glass. She may as well be sipping water for all the effect the stuff had on her. It appeared that her sobriety wasn’t going to do the honourable thing and fuck off to the next town for a few hours and leave her alone.

She lifted the glass to her lips and drained it in one go. God, how tempting was it to just throw the glass against the wall. Marlene chuckled to herself, imagining the look of sheer astonishment that would appear on Thomas’s face if she did throw it. She watched him diligently clean the tables. He’d no doubt scamper off to find a sweeping brush.

Why the bloody hell didn’t she leave with Dominic? All night long, she’d been spouting off to him about she didn’t need Bernard yet as soon as the man had told her his plans, she’d dropped everything and scampered to his side like an obedient fucking Labrador. She’d betrayed the poor man.

Marlene leaned over the bar and placed her glass under the optic again, this time, she filled the glass to the brim. If Bernard did get all shirty about her drinking his vodka, then she’d pay him with her thirty pieces of silver.

She placed the glass on the bar and marched over to Thomas. “Look lad, just leave the bloody cleaning for one minute and come and join me for a drink.”

He shook his head, “I can’t, Marlene, my shift isn’t over yet.”

Marlene grabbed his cloth and threw it over her shoulder, “Have you any idea what’s going on?” she cried.

He shrugged, “I’m just keeping my head down, Marlene. I do know that Bernard lied to those old people about the beer running out.”

He picked up a couple of empty glasses and carried them to the bar. “I think it’s about that body I found. Somebody has grassed us up, they’ll shut the club down and I’ll end up in prison.”

Marlene gave the lad a reassuring smile; she didn’t have the heart to tell him that the situation was far worse.

“Why did Dominic get on that coach?” he asked. “Is he going to heat up the pies for them when they get home?”

She pulled back a chair, “I think you’d better sit down. Oh, wait, grab my drink before you do, I think you’re going to need it.”

How was she going to explain to him that they stood on the edge of Armageddon?

Something in the kitchen crashed to the floor, it sounded like a pile of plates. Her eyes darted over to the doors, “Please tell me that you saw Bernard going in there.”

He shook his head, “No, he went upstairs.”

His face changed to the colour of sour milk. “Oh shit, I think the fire door is still open.”

Thomas ran to the bar and ducked under the serving lid. He emerged holding Bernard’s baseball bat. “Some guy attacked the driver a bit back.”

Marlene jumped up and hurried to the doors, she heard Thomas gasp then realised that she had the pistol in her hand.

“Where the bloody hell did you get that?”

“What do you mean by attacked?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“He bit him.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“It was a right mess as well. I told him he needed to go to the hospital to get it looked at.”

Marlene tried to imagine her gentle cook trying to defend himself and a coach full of pensioners from some rampaging zombie, the picture just wouldn’t surface. She wanted to throw up; he was going to die because of her.

Another loud crash exploded from the kitchen.

“What the fuck is happening?”

Marlene then heard gunfire outside. Could that be Dominic? She had to help him. She rushed to the door then turned around, intending to tell Thomas to follow her but he wasn’t there. The idiot must have gone into the kitchen.

Marlene groaned and doubled back; she pushed through the doors and collided into Thomas’s back.

“This had got to be a fucking dream,” she heard him say.

She stood to the side and gasped in absolute horror at what was slowly shuffling toward them.

That corpse must have been dead for months. At each ponderous step, ragged pieces of wet flesh fell to the floor; it raised one skeletal arm and pointed at the woman as if accusing her of being responsible for its unwanted reanimation.

“Shoot the bloody thing,” cried Thomas.

It took one more step; the stench from it made her eyes water. She pointed the business end at the corpse and pulled the trigger, nothing happened.

“The safety catch, Marlene!”

Her mistake almost cost the woman her life, the thing literally threw its body at

Marlene. It wrapped both its foul arms around her neck in an obscene embrace. In a blind panic, she dropped her gun. Marlene lashed out, desperate to get this disgusting monstrosity off her.

She yelped in horror and revulsion as both her hands sank through the cadaver’s ice-cold jelly like flesh. Marlene groaned in revulsion as she pulled her hands out of the thing’s chest.

“Thomas!” she shouted. “Oh, god, get it off me.”

Marlene jerked her head backwards to avoid the thing’s snapping teeth.

Thomas’s baseball bat came flying down, narrowly missing her own head. The bat smacked into the top of its skull, but it still didn’t relinquish its grip. He hit the thing again; the corpse’s hand’s loosened. Marlene grabbed its arms and pulled them off her shoulders.

It dropped to the floor; she jumped away, hitting her hip on the table behind her.

“Kill the bloody thing, Thomas. Jesus Christ.”

He stood over it, watching the corpse struggling to get up like a floundered turtle.

Thomas growled and brought the bat down hard upon its head. Thick, black fluid pooled across the white floor tiles. Marlene looked away, desperately trying to keep her stomach contents inside her. Then she noticed how much of the things remains were still stuck to her fingers. She stumbled over to the sink and vomited out vodka and pie.

“Here you go.”

She smiled in appreciation as Thomas passed her a clean towel. Marlene wiped her mouth and cleaned her hands as best she could before throwing the towel at the creature’s head.

“That’s a zombie, isn’t it?” He said, shakily. “A fucking zombie.”

She nodded, unable to speak. Marlene spotted the pistol lying under Dominic’s desk and bent down to retrieve it. Fat lot of use she had been, if it wasn’t for Thomas, bony boy would have been munching its way through her face by now.

“Oh shit! Marlene, look out!”

She spun around and saw another one shambling through the open fire door, “Oh my God, no, not you as well, Ernest.”

The cleaner responded by rushing the woman, she whimpered and staggered back; Marlene brought the gun up, remembering to flick the safety catch and squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked violently in her hand. Ernest spun around as the shell caught him in the shoulder and erupted from his back, spraying the wall with pieces of crimson coated bone fragments.

She aimed again, trying to aim for the thing’s head. Ernest discarded the injury as if it was of no consequence and continued approaching her. Marlene fired again, this time the round only nicked the top of his left ear.

Her attacker launched himself at Marlene, knocking in to her with the force of a raging bull. They both fell back against Dominic’s desk. The back of her head bounced off the tiles, dazing her. Ernest crawled across the woman’s prone body up toward her neck.

Oh god, this was it, she was done for.

“Lift its fucking head as high as you can.”

Marlene jumped; Bernard’s commanding voice helped her regain her clarity. She put both hands around the throat of the slobbering, groaning monster and used the last of her strength to push the thing up.

Ernest’s head disappeared in a wet, welter of scarlet and grey confetti; she moved her head away to avoid the rain of flesh hitting her face. Marlene pushed the decapitated body off her and used the table to help get her back on her feet.

She slowly turned to face her saviour, Marlene’s words of gratitude died on her lips at the sight of Bernard pointing a huge, black pistol at the side of Thomas’s head.

“Be a dear, Marlene and get that fire door shut now.” He chuckled, “We don’t want any more of those things getting in now do we.”

Marlene couldn’t move her legs.

“Do it!” he roared.

She looked into her boss’s eyes and saw madness staring back at her. Oh Jesus, he meant to shoot that kid.

Marlene ran to the door, grabbed the metal bar and slammed it shut.

“I’ve never touched you, Marlene, despite how many times over the years, I’ve wanted to.”

Bernard’s arm fell to his side, she wished she’d picked up that gun now, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him to save Thomas.

“Each envious glare you directed at my girls, cut deep into my heart.” He said smiling. That comment frightened the hell out of her. The deluded old fucker actually believed that as well.

“You see, even though I’ve always desired to take you upstairs and into my bed,

Marlene. I just couldn’t do it. You know how I operate; it’s got to be business before pleasure and you, my sweet, are the best accountant who’s ever worked for me.”

She took one step forward then stopped as Bernard put the gun back against the side of the boy’s head. Thomas let out a tiny moan; she saw tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Please, Bernard, let him go. What’s he ever done wrong to you? Look, I’ll let you do anything you want to me. If you want sex then I’ll be happy to oblige.” She attempted to smile whilst resisting the urge to vomit again. Marlene couldn’t believe she had just offered herself to that vile bastard. “Those other girls are nothing compared to me.”

He nodded whilst running his tongue along his top lip. “I knew it! You really are a true raver under that no nonsense attitude, a real dark horse. We are going to have so much fun.”

With her trembling fingers, she attempted to undo the top button on her blouse, if she wanted to seduce him then that’s what she’d do and as soon as he closed his eyes, Marlene would drive a knife through his heart.

“Now, please, let him go.”

Bernard shook his head, “I’m sorry, it’s too late for plea bargaining. I’ve been watching the carnage from upstairs. We are seriously fucked. By the way, Dominic is dead.”

Marlene felt as though she’d just driven that knife through her own heart.

“We’re going to be here for a long time and there’s not enough food to last three of us throughout the siege. No hard feelings, Thomas. I’ve got nothing against you. I just don’t want you to be a drain on our resources.”

Marlene screamed when Bernard pulled the trigger.

Chapter Twenty

As Talbot moved past the front of the coach, Dominic made a startling discovery. All those dead people now packed into the car park were only interested in the scary man. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He figured that he’d probably be able to get away from this nightmare if he didn’t have a vice like grip on Dominic’s arm.

Talbot dragged Dominic over to the front of the club and pushed him into the doors.

“Knock please and hurry up about it.”

Dominic pulled his cheek away from the cold glass and quickly nodded, but the gesture was wasted, Talbot now had his back to him, staring at the slowly approaching horde. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry now to catch them, perhaps they knew they’d cornered their prey. Dominic raised his hand to knock, surprised to still discover that he still clutched the gun.

He pointed the pistol at the big man’s head, how easy would it be to pull the trigger? If the scary man was no more then maybe the dead people would lose interest and disperse. Dominic got the shakes; he just couldn’t blinking well do it. He lowered the gun then banged his fist on the glass.

“I don’t get it, you were given the opportunity and yet you threw it away. Why the fuck didn’t you take it?”

Talbot snatched the gun out of Dominic’s hand, a youth wearing a dark red baseball cap lumbered out of the crowd, Talbot brought the gun up and put a bullet between the boy’s eyes.

“I couldn’t do it,” whispered, Dominic. “It’s cowardly.” He gave Dominic the gun back and burst out laughing, “Oh that is just priceless. You know, for that I may not feed on everyone in the club.”

The door flew open; Dominic spun around and fell into the arms of Marlene. “Oh, thank God. Bernard told me that you were dead.”

“We’ll all be dead if you don’t move out of the fucking way,” growled Talbot as he pushed past the woman.

Dominic grabbed the front of the woman’s blouse and swung her into the vestibule just as an old woman lunged forward. Dominic screamed and shot the woman at point blank range.

Marlene pulled him over the threshold and slammed the doors shut. They pushed the top and bottom bolts home.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright.” She said. “I’m sorry for letting you go, we should have stayed together. You won’t believe what plans, Bernard had for me.”

“Knowing him, I could take a good guess.”

“He tried to kill Thomas but his gun jammed, the man is a monster.”

Dominic spun around with his gun held high at the sound of the door into the lounge shutting. Talbot had gone.

“Thomas? Where did the other one go?”

The boy shrugged, “I don’t know, he just pushed past me.”

“Oh crumbs, I’m so sorry, Marlene but Bernard is a child compared to this man. He really is a monster.”

He turned back round and gazed through the doors. They’d closed the gap; a dozen hungry faces were now pressed up against the glass.

“I’ve seen him before at the club, he works for Bernard. Our boss sends him to people who owe Bernard money. He’s a real creepy son of a bitch.”

“Those things outside followed him, he’s worse than creepy now, Marlene. I don’t think he’s even human.” Dominic shuddered when he thought of what he did to that old woman. He watched their faces drain of blood as he recounted how Talbot had eaten into the woman.

“We need to get out of here,” said Marlene.

“How?” asked Thomas, “Just look at them, there’s hundreds of them out there.”

Dominic sighed and moved away from the doors, “Where is Bernard, is he dead?”

The boy shook his head, “We tied him up, and he’s still in the kitchen.”

“And in the kitchen he can stay,” replied Dominic, “He sent me and all those poor people out there to our deaths, he must have known that Douglas was hiding in that coach.”

“Thomas is right, look at them all, how do you propose we leave?”

Dominic smiled, “Through the kitchen fire exit, of course. We get into the yard, over the bins and into the street. If half the town are in our car park then the roads should be empty.”

Marlene nodded, “Sounds like a good plan,” she said, walking toward the door. “Come on.”

Dominic took one last look at that horde before turning around. He stiffened, when he saw a large shadow behind the woman. “Marlene!” he shouted.

Talbot’s arm snaked through the open doorway and grabbed her hair then pulled the shrieking woman away.

Thomas and Dominic both rushed out of the vestibule but found the lounge deserted.

“Talbot? Please don’t hide, let’s work this out,” shouted Dominic. “We can come to some arrangement. We need to work together, we’ll all die otherwise.”

“Do we split up?” whispered Thomas.

Dominic shook his head, “No way, if he catches you, he’ll rip your body apart.”

He stopped and put a finger to his lips and pointed to the kitchen, Dominic had heard movement in there, that where he’d taken her, he was sure of it. He raised his gun and pushed open the kitchen flaps with Thomas a couple of paces behind.

Bernard lifted his head and glanced around the kitchen. “When I took over the running of the Stockholm club, this kitchen had been shut down by environment health. I spent a bastard fortune turning it into the best equipped kitchen in the city.” Finally, he looked at Dominic. “Once, I’d got the kitchen I wanted, I then hunted down the best god damned chef in Bradford. I did all this for you, Dominic and you know it.”

He choked back the torrent of emotions that threatened to overpower his already battered psyche. Oh Jesus, in his own way, Bernard was pleading to Dominic. He wanted him to untie the horrible man.

Bernard sighed, “I know what you must be thinking, I heard what he told you and I won’t lie. Yes, I did put a gun to his head but only to kick him into action.”

“Like you did to me upstairs?” spat Dominic.

“Yes!” he cried. “Just like that, for crying out loud, Dominic, you haven’t got an aggressive bone in your body. If I hadn’t kicked you up the fucking arse, you’d be dead by now.”

“You sent me out there to blinking die!” he screamed. “You knew Douglas was on that coach.”

“If sent you to die, why did I allow you to keep the gun? I told you that I needed people around me who are strong.” He smiled, “And you are strong, you’ve proved that.”

“Don’t listen to him, Dominic.”

“Talbot’s been here. Untie me and I’ll tell you what he wants with us.”

Dominic shook his head, “I don’t believe any of your words, you are only saying what you think I want to hear.” He walked past the man, heading for the fire exit. “I don’t think you know anything, Bernard.”

The door behind Thomas opened and Marlene fell in, she looked into Dominic’s eyes, “He’s letting us go,” she said. “If we stay here, Talbot will eat us.”

“Untie me!” shouted Bernard, “Get me the fuck out of here.”

“You ain’t going anywhere,” snarled Talbot, following Marlene through the door. “I need more of my kind and you are my next candidate.”

Talbot grabbed Thomas and threw him over Bernard’s head. “Open that freezer door and stand back, lad. It’s time to reunite the lovers.”

Thomas did as he was commanded. He fell back as the door was pushed wide open when he pulled the lever. Dominic watched in horror as a naked girl dived on the screaming club owner. Talbot laughed aloud when she sunk her teeth into his cheek.

“That should do it, let’s not get too carried away.”

He grabbed her hair and pulled the groaning woman off Bernard, Talbot then pressed the side of her head against the wall, the man giggled like a child when the palm of his hand broke through her skull.

“It feels like I’ve just pushed my hand into a bowl of non drip paint, how weird.”

Dominic silently wept for the poor girl.

“Amazing,” breathed Talbot, “did you see how she went ignored all of you and went straight for him?” He licked his fingers then looked down at Bernard, he wasn’t moving.

“You’d best go now. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

Thomas skirted past the two men and grabbed Marlene’s hands. Dominic saw Bernard begin to stir.

“It’s working!” Talbot fell to his knees and stroked the man’s cheeks, “I can already hear his thoughts.”

Dominic walked toward his companions; he sighed then pushed them through the door before raising his gun and shooting Bernard in the face. Talbot’s head spun around, “You fucker!” he snarled, “I’m going to eat your fucking heart for that.”

Dominic jumped back as the man climbed off the shattered body. He fired again, the bullet took Talbot in the throat, and the big man kept on coming. He whimpered and pressed the trigger again, this time nothing happened. He threw the empty gun at Talbot followed his friends into the lounge.

“What did you do that for?” cried Thomas, “He said we could go.”

Dominic looked back, the man was crawling out of the kitchen, “Marlene, take him upstairs, you know where to go.”

“Why did you shoot him?”

“He was making another monster, Marlene. I’m sorry, I couldn’t let him.” Dominic pushed them over to the stairs.

Dominic turned to see Talbot standing up; the hole in the man’s throat had already healed.

“Now, what are you going to do, little man?” he rasped. “You’re out of ammo and luck. I’m going to tear you into little pieces. You’ll be screaming for me to kill you quickly.”

To his relief, he saw that those two had heeded his advice, perhaps he should have gone with them, Bernard was bound to have another weapon stashed away somewhere, then he looked at the unmarked man, he’d need a blinking cannon to take him down. Talbot advanced. Dominic turned and ran into the vestibule, he had one chance left, his life was over but his sacrifice may allow his friends to live. Talbot was right behind him and closing fast, he must have realised what he was about to do.

Dominic threw both bolts back, Talbot roared and ran at him, and he grabbed the handle and opened the door. Dozens of the things spilled into the vestibule, they climbed other each other to get to Talbot, the big man spun around and ran for the door but it was too late, a young boy and a blonde woman climbed onto his back, biting him like mad dogs.

Talbot fell to the floor as more and more piled on top of him, he then saw one of the things look directly at him, it moaned then shuffled toward him, Dominic sobbed as more of them took an interest in him, he realised that he didn’t want to die. The man ran into the lounge, he looked back and saw half a dozen had followed him in. They were already by the stairs, he couldn’t escape. He was doomed. Dominic closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

A pair of hands fell upon his shoulders and dragged him back. Dominic smelt disinfectant and the subtle odour of male pee. He opened his eyes to see the singer smiling at him.

“That man was saving me for later.” He leaned against the toilet door and shivered, “I heard him inside my head, and he told me that he planned to share me with your boss. I’m so glad they are dead.”

Dominic took the singer’s hand and gently squeezed, he felt a delicious thrill when the man squeezed back.

“My name is Andrew and so I’m happy you’re here with me.”

Dominic gazed into the man’s eyes, he smiled. “So am I.”

The End

Zombie Dead

By Ian Woodhead

Prologue

James Darwin watched in exasperation as his two best friends scurried up that rusty metal ladder, bolted to the sewer wall. The comparison to their frantic movements to that huge rat that landed on Adam’s shoulder wasn’t lost on him. It wouldn’t be all that surprised if they started to squeak like that fucker as well.

“You’re both a set of cowards!” he shouted. “It’s gone now; your pathetic bleating scared it away.”

The curved sewer wall amplified his shouts, making his voice sound twice as loud. Adam and Oliver both paused on the ladder but they didn’t turn back. James tutted in disgust as they climbed out onto the surface, leaving him alone.

Were they still up there? Hanging around to see if he’d follow them up? Well, if the yellow twats were intending to wait then they’d be hanging around for a long fucking time, James had no intention of joining them.

He pulled out a crushed packet of cigarettes from his inside jacket pocket and dug around, looking for one still unbroken. He gave that disk of blue sky one final look before turning away. This was just like Adam, exploring the sewers under the school had been his fucking idea. Trust that gobby little shit to chicken out.

He lit the cig and filled his lungs with hot smoke; he nodded, that was so much better. The fumes helped to block out the eye-watering stench drifting up from the brackish water by his boots.

“Fucking cowards,” he muttered.

James switched on his torch and played the beam along the crumbling brickwork, smiling when the light illuminated the small furry body of a rat, it squealed before leaping onto the top of a large ceramic pipe. Those things were more scared of him than visa versa. The horrible animal shot away. He couldn’t wait to tell the rest of the class that Adam had shat his pants at the sight of a rat. James giggled. Bugger it, he’d tell them that it was a mouse or a hamster or something. He’d make sure that Adam would remember this day forever.

He walked along the narrow ledge, being careful not to brush his blazer against the green slime coating the bricks. Rats, he could deal with but his mum was another matter. She’d tear him a new fucking arsehole if he buggered up his school uniform. James glanced at the sleeve; there were a couple of stains but nothing the new washing machine that his mum’s last boyfriend had bought couldn’t deal with.

James chucked the tab end into the water and checked the pack for another unbroken cig. He grinned when he discovered just one more left; it was a bit crumpled up but no splits, which was the main thing.

This pack had come from his mum’s latest shag-piece. Some scrote called Dave; apparently his mum had gone to school with him. He’d just been released from prison, not that James held that against him. He may be as rough as a badger’s arse and a bit shouty when pissed but at least he wasn’t one of those cunts who spoke with his fists once they’d had a skinful, unlike that twat his mum had been seeing a few months back. James shuddered, reliving the painful night alone with evil bastard. He was so glad that he was out of their life.

Dave didn’t mind James smoking, which was a bonus. He’d thrown this pack at him this morning, told him he’d sat on it whilst in the pub last night.

James gazed up towards the open sewer cover, just daring them to show their faces. He lit his cig and waved it from side to side. “Well, fuck the pair of you!” he shouted, “I did say I’d crash my fags but as you two have lost your spines, you can both suck my knob.”

That would well piss them off. Getting their hands on the old cancer sticks had been proving well hard since the pigs had cracked down on the local offies and corner shops. James found it a little ironic that it was far easier to buy weed nowadays than a packet of fags.

He continued on his way along the ledge. The idea had been to walk to the next exit; apparently that one came out directly under the girl’s changing rooms in the sports block. Oliver had told Adam that he was full of shit but somehow, James thought there may be a grain of truth in the rumour. Adam may be yellower than a wagon full of dead chinks but he wasn’t known for his bullshitting skills. Whatever the truth, James intended to find out.

He shone his torch across the far wall, wondering just how far the next exit was, he attempted to go through the surface journey in his mind but gave up when he realised the idea was bollocks, he wouldn’t be able to do that unless he could walk through walls. Still, it couldn’t be that far.

Something further down the sewer fell into the water with a huge splash. James spun around and pointed the beam in front of him.

“Who the fuck is there?” he shouted. James looked up toward the open grate. It dawned on him what was going on; those turds up there were lobbing bricks down. “Just you two fucking wait,” he growled. “You’re both gonna get a total bitch slap, see if I don’t.”

He turned back and hurried along the ledge, eager to get to the next set of ladders, he began to feel a little uneasy, James couldn’t put his finger on as to why; he just felt spooked, as if someone was down here with him. Of course, the idea was just plain stupid, he was getting as queer as those two useless fucks.

He laughed out loud, startled when his voice cracked. James skidded to a halt when something else splashed into the water not far behind him. The opening was almost out of sight, that couldn’t have come from the surface.

Could it have been a rat? He shook his head, no way, not unless it was the size of a fucking dog. He flattened his back against the damp wall. Well, fuck the blazer, James shone the beam directly into the black water. The frightened features of his own face stared back at him.

It was time to get the fuck out of here, something here wasn’t right. He ran along the ledge, keeping his eyes fixed on the water. He heard something else, it sounded like moaning he stopped and burst out laughing.

“Oh bloody hell, you stupid pair of tossers. It’s you two ain’t it, trying to shit me up. You set of fuckers; you nearly had me going too.”

He swung the torch around, trying to locate them. James then heard another moan coming from the other direction. “How the fuck are they doing that?” he whispered.

He looked up and saw two faces staring down at him.

“Who are you talking to?” Adam’s voice sounded tiny.

James shrieked and jumped back when a blast of fetid air hit him in the face, followed be the sound of a phlegm-filled cough. He made out the shape of a huge body beside him. James brought up the torch and screamed again as the harsh white light illuminated a tattered dark jacket, barely covering a set of slimy rib bones. James staggered back, not believing this was happening. The dead thing shambled towards him, its moaning increased in volume.

His feet strayed close to the edge as James backed away from the approaching monster, a blackened arm shot out of the water and fastened around his ankle. Before he could react, a flesh-shrunken head followed the arm. The jaw opened and ragged chisel like teeth bit through his school trousers and into his flesh.

The intense pain shot through him like fire. He felt his mind close to locking up, James was vaguely aware of the other one reaching out towards him; its excitable groans were the only sound that he could hear. Suddenly, the one in the water pulled, James slipped, his head cracked against the concrete. The dead thing slowly dragged him into the freezing water; it lunged once more and bit into his inner thigh. The sewer water filled his open mouth before he could cry out.

Chapter One

It resembled morning dew. His droplet of thrown sweat had managed to land on the single green spiky leaf. George Kasnovski decided against calculating the chances of his brow wipe finding the only remaining nettle left alive in his garden.

He straightened his back, listening to his bones creak and those overused muscles complain, he’d need a good soak tonight, the last thing he needed was to be as stiff as a board in the morning. George had done way too much in his garden today; it surprised him that he hadn’t already seized up.

A terrible thought crept up and pushed aside that need to jump in the bath. What if that leaf wasn’t alone, what if the bloody thing had a friend or even a few dozen? This could be the onset of yet another bloody invasion. That was the last thing he needed right now. George placed his red handled trowel next to the offending plant and carefully walked across his large back garden toward the open back door. He stopped and glared at the nettle leaf.

“This garden isn’t big enough for the both of us. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, if you leave of your own accord; then we’ll forget all about it. You’ve got two minutes to make yourself scarce, there won’t be anymore warnings.”

As he stepped over his two rows of King Edward potatoes, he gazed up into the hot afternoon July sky. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen, three days without rain was having a huge toll on his plants; there was only so much a hosepipe could do.

“You lot need a bloody good soak.”

George shuddered; a downpour would also bring up the rest of the weeds. The thought of having to dig all those buggers out brought fresh pains to his poor back. Back when Madison was still with him, she’d get him to lie on his front and massage the pain away.

“I do miss those hands,” he muttered.

George wondered what his darling wife would have said about him talking to the garden. He suspected that she’d be more upset about him digging up her manicured lawn, tearing up her flowerbeds and transforming it into a vegetable plot.

“She’d probably have my guts garters.” He said whilst shaking his head.

It had been two years this month since he lost the light of his life. Her loss had left a gaping chasm in his heart. A hole, he knew that would never be filled. George let out a heavy sigh. He gazed down at the row of cabbages underneath the kitchen window.

Converting the garden had helped a great deal, but that ache, although wasn’t so intense, still ate into him like the vile cancer that took away his beloved Madison. He had his friends of course; they had all been supportive and helped him get through the darker patches. Anne, in particular had been so helpful, perhaps because she lost her partner in similar circumstances.

He padded over to the treble row of pea pods, next to the cabbages and pinched off two large pods. He couldn’t believe how well these had grown; these peas grew faster than the nettles. After a moment’s hesitation, he collected a large handful. Anne would love these as a gift.

George entered his kitchen, the cool air made him shiver; he threw the pods into the sink. Would Madison have had his guts if she knew that George and her best friend were getting on rather too well, or would Madison be happy for him? He sighed again, crouched down and opened the cupboard door under the draining board.

After a few seconds of pushing past a bottle of bleach, some washing up liquid and a bottle of detergent, he finally grasped an old spray bottle, half-full of industrial weed-killer. When he came to the historic decision of growing his own produce, he’d been told by all the self-proclaimed experts in the village that organic were the way to go. Use nature itself to fight the pests and the weeds, they’d told him. He had, of course listened and taken their advice, with disastrous results. He had lost most of his crops to slug and other horrible pests and invasive plants had covered the garden and choked the rest.

George placed the bottle on his work surface and pushed everything back into the cupboard. Reminding himself to set aside a good hour tomorrow afternoon to clean this cupboard out

He decided to use chemicals this year; he just didn’t tell any of his new gardening friends. It satisfied everybody, except for the weeds. He grinned, picked up the spray bottle and pointed it towards his trowel, gunslinger style.

“If you ain’t gone, when I get back out there, Mr. Nettle, you and any other of your chums will get dead.”

Tom Maryland, the young lad who owned the local butchers shop, would have a seizure if he saw George with weed killer. He’d spent over half an hour chatting about the benefits of nettle soup last August and how industrial chemicals were wrecking the countryside. George had been happy to listen to him at the time, besides; the man had given him a nice piece of skirt beef for half price plus a big bone for his dog.

Before George could return to the garden, to dispense death to that offending plant, he heard his doorbell ring twice. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Could it be yet another one of those annoying salespeople trying to convince him to part with his money? He padded into the hall, if it was; he intended to set Gruff on them. George glanced around and located the dog, the Alsatian was fast asleep under the table.

“Some guard dog you are.”

Gruff only barked when someone knocked, George could never work that out. He looked through the spy hole and his heart almost jumped up into his mouth. He couldn’t believe it, Anne stood on his porch. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d come to the door, certainly not since Madison had passed away.

She pressed the bell one more time. George turned the key, he was about to open the door when he felt something brush against his leg. George yelped when he saw Gruff gazing up at him.

“Wait a minute!” he shouted, “Let me just move the dog.”

Gruff knew Anne; he even tolerated her stroking his back, but only when he was out on his walks. He was a different animal in the house. The dog was very territorial; he shuddered at the thought of the huge Alsatian pouncing on the poor woman.

“Come here, you pain in the bum. I thought you were still fast on. You’re getting sneaky in your old age.” He grabbed his collar and pulled him into the kitchen, a difficult feat as it was obvious that Gruff didn’t want to go. Before he shut the door, he popped the spray bottle back in the cupboard. If Anne found out he was using chemicals then he may as well kiss his blossoming relationship goodbye.

Anne’s belief in organic food bordered on the fanatic, the woman’s own vegetable garden looked like an Eden compared to his, he had no idea how she managed it.

George opened the door and gave the woman a huge smile, “Hello there, Anne. This is rather unexpected.” He quickly looked behind him, making sure that he had closed that kitchen door. “I’m so sorry for not answering the door quicker; I had to make sure that Gruff was locked away.”

Was he blabbering? George felt like a nervous schoolboy on a first date. This was just ridiculous. He’d just entered his sixth decade for crying out loud. Come on man, he thought, get a bloody grip.

The woman returned his smile, unlike him; she didn’t seem in the least bit nervous. “Don’t worry about it, George. I only popped round to see if you were coming over to the pub later on.”

A blue van sped past the house, as Anne followed its progress; George stole a subtle appraising glance. He couldn’t be sure about this, but was the woman wearing fewer clothes today? He grinned, not that he was complaining; he was getting a right eyeful of her full cleavage. Considering the woman had just had her fiftieth birthday, Anne could easily pass for someone half her age, well, maybe thirty-five, forty at the most.

“What are you grinning at?”

“Sorry, I was just wondering how much dye you use to cover up all that grey hair.”

She laughed out loud, looked into the man’s eyes before winking, yeah, sure you were. Even so, I ought to give you a bloody good slap for that remark, George Kasnovski. This colour is all natural, I’ll have you know.”

George nervously licked his lips, wondering if he ought to make the first move. He then paused, bloody hell, he must be getting senile in his old age. She’d already done that, Anne knew for a fact that he’d be at the Rose and Crown tonight, where else would he be?

“Do you want to come in?” he asked, surprised that there wasn’t a quiver in his voice. “I was just about to make myself a cup of tea.”

She slowly nodded, “There had better be no more smart remarks about my hair, that’s all I can say.”

He stepped back to allow her inside. As Anne brushed past him, he caught the strong scent of wild flowers. For the first time, he tried to imagine what she looked like naked. George coughed, a little shocked that his libido had tentatively made a brief appearance. He thought that had disappeared months ago.

“Thanks for the offer, George.” She padded over to the fireplace and looked at the framed photograph of his son, Dean. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just have a glass of water,” she turned. “Unless you have herbal tea.”

George shook his head. “Sorry, no.”

He stayed where he was, watching Anne trace her finger down the side of the picture. George hadn’t seen Dean since the funeral. Come to think of it, he had no contact with his son for over eight months now. The last time they’d spoke, the uneasy stilted conversation soon turned into a combination of guilt tripping each other followed by swearing, in the end, Dean had slammed the phone down, saying that he never intended to speak to George again. He had trouble remembering why his son had rung him up in the first place, something about getting a new job working for the government.

He’d thought that Madison passing away would have brought them back together, Those two never really got on with each other once Dean had hit puberty. His relationship with their only child hadn’t been all that brilliant either. The lad had received his mother’s good looks, her intelligence and her raging temper. The only thing George had appeared to have contributed to the lad’s genetic make-up was his height. George always got the impression that his son regarded his own father as a bit of a meek simpleton and treated him as such until Dean left home.

George may not have been the sharpest tool in the box but he wasn’t the idiot that Dean made him out to be. As for being meek, well, there was nothing wrong with wanting a quiet life.

“I still remember Dean running about in short trousers. He grew up into a very handsome young man, almost as handsome as his father.” Anne turned and the smile slipped off her face. “Oh, I’m sorry; I take it you two still aren’t talking?”

He shrugged. “Not for a while. Look, would you care for something stronger than water? I have a rather nice unopened bottle of red wine in the cupboard.”

“I hope you aren’t thinking of getting me drunk and taking advantage.” She said batting her eyelids.

He had to do a double take, was he reading the signs correctly here? Was this woman making a pass at him? Oh. Lord. George wasn’t sure what to do. He swallowed, whilst nervously twiddling his thumbs. “It would take more that a single bottle to get you drunk, I’ve seen you sink those pints in the pub.”

She nodded, then slowly unbuttoned her coat. Anne allowed it to fall to the floor then she walked up to him. What little clothes she had on underneath left no doubt that the signs were full on green. George even felt the beginnings of an erection.

“So, you’ve been keeping a close eye on my exploits have you?” she purred. Anne placed her arms around his neck and nibbled his ear. “Do you think we could drink that wine later tonight?”

George felt his head nod. “Okay,” he whispered.

Anne took hold of his hand, kissed his lips then pulled George towards the stairs.

Chapter Two

Alison Winwood felt a shiver go through her cold body; she leaned back against the brick wall and attempted not to cry. She took a deep breath and wiped rainwater out of her eyes before looking back into the dark alley. Just past the two overflowing wheelie bins, an overturned pram and several black bin-liners, Alison could make out the crumpled shape of the dealer, lying where she’d left him. After what seemed like an eternity but in reality, only a couple of minutes, he had yet to move.

The man was dead, he had to be. Alison would never forget that sickening crunch, the back of his head made when it slammed into the concrete. Besides, she watched all that weird looking grey stuff leak out and pool around his ears as Alison had gone through all his pockets.

“That guy is like totally dead, girl.” She whispered. “And you’re the one that’s done it.”

Alison looked at the dark sky, trying to work out what time it was, she remembered avoiding all the pissed up revellers when the nightclubs had finally shut their doors so it must be around four, maybe five.

It wouldn’t take too long before somebody discovered his corpse. The area may be deserted now, but in a few hours, the shoppers would descend upon Birmingham’s shopping malls like fucking locusts. By ten at the least, hundreds of people would have passed this alley on their way to the arcades. It would only take one person to look the wrong way, to be more than a little nosey. It may be even earlier, what if some late drunk decides to take a piss up there? Or what about the council clean up team, they have yet to make an appearance. What about the dog walkers? The owners may not notice but their animals sure as fuck would notice.

It mystified her as to why she’d yet to feel any sort of remorse for what she’d done, it may not be her fault, but even so, it was still manslaughter.

“At least I think it is,” she whispered. Fuck him, the bastard deserved it.”

Alison couldn’t care less about the police reining her in, Glen had a form sheet as long as his track-marked arm. He was just another drug dealing scum-bag; the coppers would see it as one more parasite out of the way, not worth even filing a report. They’d assume that Glen had encroached on a rival’s territory and paid for it. Even if the death was investigated; no finger would be pointed in her direction. Alison was an unknown in Birmingham, a young girl of no fixed abode, living on the streets. Only one other girl even knew her real name.

She slid down to the floor and put her head in her hands. It was Glen’s associates whom she feared; even Glen had been scared of them and with good reason. They acted as if they were above the law and they did know where Alison hung out; they’d have no trouble tracking her down. Those evil bastards wouldn’t listen to her story, what was she to them?

She sighed. Alison was a nobody, that’s what. She wasn’t even one of their customers, she had never touched drugs. Alison just made a few pounds by befriending the strays, who, like her had found their way into the city. She was supposed to point them in the direction of Glen but only if they fitted into the lad’s profile. Glen had preferred his girls to be young and innocent, the younger the better.

His associates didn’t know about his rather dubious taste in girls, then again, maybe they did and just didn’t care. What did matter was that the dealer had a modicum of respect; he was good at his job. In their eyes, Alison had just denied them a valuable asset.

Her choice was painfully simple, she had to find a way out of the city, before those clowns came looking for her. She dare not think of what they’d do if they did catch her.

She jerked her head up as a light coloured sports car slowly drove past her. Alison’s heart hammered against her ribcage. Oh Christ! It was too late; the fuckers had already found her. She got ready to bolt, then she stopped.

What was she playing at? How the hell would they have found it? Besides, those fuckers preferred big, black land cruisers to coast through the dark streets. The car stopped and the side window slid down. Alison knew exactly what this particular driver was after. She forced herself to relax Alison was now in familiar territory.

On any other occasion, she would have thanked her lucky stars for providing her with some extra cash and possibly a soft bed for the night.

A nervous looking man leaned out of the window. Alison guessed that he was about forty-five, a little overweight with not much hair left, she also guessed, judging by his behaviour that this was his first time.

“Are you okay, lady? I mean, with all this rain and what have you, would you not like to be somewhere warm and dry?” the man licked his lips.

She pushed her long brown hair out of her face and politely waited for him to finish off his proposal.

“I’ve got a spare bed at my apartment, little lady,” his tongue flicked out, danced across his lips then slid back in his mouth. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

How unlucky was she? The perfect mark had just fallen into her lap. He looked stuffed with cash, not that bad looking, aside from the lack of hair and to top it all; he was greener than a sick frog. It would have taken her weeks to use this one up.

He gazed at her like a love-sick puppy. Tempting as it was, Alison just couldn’t risk it, the man was probably a local. No, she had to turn this one down. If she didn’t get as far from here as possible, she’d be dead in a week, besides, it’s not like she needed any extra cash, not now.

Alison dug into her inside pocket and pulled out a black wallet that she’d lifted from a passing man a couple of weeks ago. He was too busy arguing with an ugly woman with a huge nose to notice that he’d just been robbed. She almost threw the wallet away after emptying out the notes. She was so glad she hadn’t now.

She flashed him a laminated badge. “I’ll give you two seconds to bugger off before I call my friends at vice.” It was only the bloke’s water board ID but it was too dark to see clearly. The man’s head disappeared back into the car’s interior and within moments he was gone.

She sighed and wished that she could go back in time to an hour ago before all this had started. She hadn’t meant to kill him. She didn’t really want to hurt anyone, this was all his fault.

The guilt of sending those two girls to Glen had been eating into her for days. Alison shouldn’t have sent him the first girl, never mind the second but at the time she was so desperate. Alison hadn’t eaten any proper food in over a week when he’d offered her a deal she couldn’t refuse.

“You don’t look so good. I don’t normally stop and talk to people like you but I think you may be just what I’m looking for. Would you like to earn some real money?” he had asked whilst smiling down at her.

At the time, Alison was slumped against the side of a dustbin, trying not to think about the excruciating cramps ripping through her body. This had been the first time since she’d run away that Alison had been ill. She hoped the worst of it was over; all she wanted now was a bit of comfort and perhaps a bit of hot food in her belly. Her mind was two years in the past, in her old life, in the sleepy village of Seeton. She sat at the table waiting for one of her mum’s yummy homemade steak and kidney pies with plenty of mash and peas.

Her fantasy evaporated when the man gently booted the soul of her torn trainer. She gave the handsome stranger the once over and decided that he wasn’t going to beat her up. The man crouched beside her and the smell of hot food made her eyes snap fully open. He placed a McDonald’s burger in her hand and sat down, cross-legged on the pavement next to her. It wasn’t one of her mum’s pies but she didn’t let that stop her from ripping open the packaging.

“I’m looking for a young girl.”

She almost choked on her first mouthful.

“Sorry, that came out all weird and creepy, didn’t it? Look I won’t lie to you, I’m no angel and I’m involved with a lot of shady characters.”

Alison had finished the burger and proceeded to pick the cold cheese off the wrapper. She had been sleeping rough for the better part of a year now and she knew a creepy weirdo when she saw one. Even so, she stayed where she was. He obviously wanted something from her. Besides; he might even buy Alison another burger.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking but I ain’t no pervert. I just need a young lass to help me run a couple of errands.” The man brushed a non-existent speck of dust off his black jacket.

“Nice clothes,” she murmured. Now that she’d had a good look at him, it was obvious now, that he was a dealer. She was unsure on how to treat this piece of news. He’d have plenty of cash, no doubt about that but did she really want to be associated with this piece of slime? Alison hated the druggies and especially hated their keepers. Alison’s stomach rumbled it appeared that she didn’t have a choice.

“I think you’ve already guessed that I’m in the pharmaceutical business.”

Alison nodded. The man ran his fingers through her filthy hair; she tried not to shrink away.

“You are probably very pretty under all that grime and shit. I suppose I could just use you but I think by now, you’ve been around the block a few times already.” He smiled, showing off his gleaming white teeth. “No offence.”

She sighed, “None taken.” Although there was, Alison gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to punch the arrogant bastard in the balls. “What do you want me to do?”

The task of finding the creep a girl young enough to fit his specifications only took Alison a few days. All she had to do was hang around the bus station after dark. Those girls running from their past stood out like a sore thumb. She found a fourteen year old girl on the second night.

Her name was Diane. Alison had no idea whether it was her real name, nor did she really care. By the time they’d reached the designated spot, Alison had had enough of her anyway. She hadn’t shut up about her old life about how her mother was always going on at her to clean up her room and how nobody at school understood her. What little empathy Alison had disappeared within the first ten minutes of meeting her.

She’d explained to Diane that the man they were going to meet would find her somewhere to stay and a good job, the naïve little thing accepted all this with a casual shrug of her shoulders.

Alison remembered watching him take Diane back to his big, black car, after he’d given Alison £300. Despite the fact that the girl really was a whiny little bitch, Alison’s conscience still informed her that she just sold that girl to Satan.

She never saw the girl again and despite vowing never to help the handsome but creepy man, three weeks later she repeated her shameful actions. This time it was a terrified twelve year old girl whom she’d found hiding behind in bus station toilets.

He’d made contact again, two nights ago. Alison’s mind changed when he gave her over £500 and promised another of the same after the delivery. It was only after he’d climbed back into his flash car when she’d broke down in tears, knowing that if she didn’t end this now, she may as well take her own life.

They’d agreed to meet here tonight, she had watched him walk into the alley; gingerly stepping over discarded takeaway wrappers and dog shit, no doubt desperately trying not to get his ultra expensive shoes dirty. The smile on his face slipped off when he saw that Alison was alone.

She could still picture that horrible sneer, telling Alison that if she didn’t have the guts to bring him anymore fresh bait then he’s just have her instead. He then pulled down the zip on his trousers.

Glen’s leer turned into a snarl when she shook her head, he told her that it wasn’t a fucking request but an order. When he lunged for her, trying to grab Alison’s hair, she just snapped. Alison growled and pushed him back.

Alison watched the car’s headlights disappear; knowing that she’d just made a huge mistake. She still could have used him and bedded down for the night. Nobody’s going to be looking for her until tomorrow, anyway. It’s not like she could get out of town at this time in the morning. A few rough grunts and a bit of mess would have more than compensated for a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed.

“Oh, bloody hell. What did I go do that for?”

Maybe she could get a room at a bed and breakfast? It’s not like she couldn’t afford one. Alison glanced around, making sure that she was still alone then pulled out a large wad of notes from her back pocket. She had no idea how much was here but she knew that it was more than enough to allow her to make a new life somewhere else, somewhere clean and quiet and away from all this urban sickness. She quickly stuffed the money back, knowing that there was more than enough there to get her killed if somebody else saw it.

The downpour and now turned into a light shower and the traffic and increased, it was time for her to depart before anyone else saw her.

“But I don’t know where to go.”

Alison hurried across the road, heading for nowhere in particular, it was best to just keep moving. It was best to get as far away from that body as possible.

She passed a baker’s shop and her stomach growled when the enticing scent of baking bread reached her nostrils. When was the last time she had anything substantial to eat? It wasn’t open yet anyway; she passed the shop, telling herself that it was still too close to the body.

Alison then saw a sign to the railway station. A grin slowly formed. “Oh, god ain’t you a dizzy mare. There’s everything you need in there. One of the station kiosks is bound to be open.”

She ducked into a shop’s alcove as a patrol car drove past; Alison didn’t think they saw her. After getting some food down her, she decided to board the next train out of this shit hole, she decided it was time to go back home and confront her demons.

Chapter Three

He thrust his hand up to block his nostrils when a scruffy young girl, stuffing her face with a chocolate muffin passed his seat. Dean Kasnovski could almost taste the stench rolling off that girl. This was just unbelievable, who the bloody hell had let that dirty tramp on the train? Chances were that the conductor didn’t even know she was on. More than likely, she sneaked on at the last stop and been hiding in the toilets.

The middle-aged woman on the opposite seat casually slid her hand over her green hand-bag and placed it between her legs. The scruffy girl abruptly stopped in mid pace and turned to look at Dean, he wasn’t quick enough to remove his hand.

“What’s wrong with your face, mate?” she snapped. “Don’t you like my perfume or something?” her voice increased in volume with each sentence. She leaned closer and grinned at him she then wiped her chin, noticing the chocolate crumbs she licked them off.

“Are you trying to suggest that I fucking smell bad?”

Oh, this was so not good. Dean’s eyes flicked past the loud girl and to his horror, the other passengers were staring at him instead of the foul smelling girl.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “I’ve got an itchy nose.”

He turned and stared out of the window. The last thing he needed right now was a load of unwanted attention. Dean watched the girl give him the single digit via her reflection. He breathed a sigh of relief when she must have realised that he wasn’t going to rise to her aggravation. She muttered something under her breath. He didn’t catch the word but he guessed that they weren’t going to be flattering. She passed into the next carriage. A few moments later, her body odour followed her.

Dean closed his eyes. He pushed the obnoxious girl’s antics to the back of his mind and attempted to calm down.

For the moment, Dean was safe. Even if they discovered that he was missing, they’d be too tied up in dealing with the accident to be concerned about one missing researcher. His eyes snapped open, Dean bolted upright. Oh, bloody hell! What if they did find him missing and assumed that he was infected just like all his other colleagues?

He stole a glance at the grey haired woman opposite him. She had wrapped her thin fingers into the threads of her multicoloured bag. She probably figured that the girl would have spun around and make off with all her possessions once she had finished chewing Dean out. Her eyes were shut tight; she must have decided that now the immediate threat was over, it was safe to have a little snooze. Dean placed his hand on top of the headrest and stood up. He saw nobody else. Dean sat back down and sighed.

Even if they did think the worst, they were hardly likely to look outside the city, never mind think that he’d boarded a fucking train. A freezing chill shot along the length of his spine at the thought of just how close he’d been to joining the fate of his other colleagues in his laboratory.

It all started with him noticing that Gertrude’s cage hadn’t been shut correctly. This oversight had happened a few times in the last few weeks, it had never been that much of a big deal. For a laboratory rat, she was rather placid and quite friendly. Dean had forgotten which of his colleagues had come up with Gertrude, not that it mattered, the name just stuck.

Dean dragged a hand across his face, a little startled to find tears had collected in the creases.

“It’s all my fault.” He whispered. “I should have noticed it earlier.”

The new batch had completed preliminary tests a couple of days ago. This time, they really believed the enzyme molecules would stay bonded. After three years and countless failures, this time his team thought they’d cracked it.

Their group leader and head researcher, Graham, had even ordered in a dozen bottles of champagne. For when the final test results showed the team what everybody already knew. Confidence was that high.

For the last few years, He’d been part of a select group involved in trying to crack the human longevity problem. Although government backed, only a few officials knew of their existence. The group’s research and experiments in banned genetic science would have caused uproar if any of it became known. Although he knew for a fact that the U.S. and a few of the more advanced European countries were involved in the same field, their governments would have immediately labelled the U.K. as a pariah state if their work got out into the open.

Dean also knew that no other country had achieved positive results. They were on the verge of cracking the code, only the live animal testing remained.

They’d chosen several rats, including Gertrude because of their advanced age; they only had months at the most to live. A few week s to study the side effects sounded ideal. Graham believed that the rodents would now live for at least another eighty years. Of course, the team had no plans to wait for that long. Human testing was due to begin in under two year’s time.

Gertrude was the first rat to start showing signs of abnormal behaviour. Dean watched Graham rush over to the cage whilst the rat was squealing in agony and attempting to gnaw her way through the bars. As soon as the man got closer to the cage, the rat threw herself at the door. Before anyone knew what was happening, Graham lay on the floor, his agonizing screams muffled by the rat’s body stretched across his face.

The bio-containment procedures activated automatically. The room sealed but nobody thought to check on the other infected animals. Dean watched in horror as Gertrude chewed through the man’s cheek. He almost passed out when Graham then got off the floor, pulled the rat off him and threw it across the room. He then shambled towards the glass partition.

Alarm after alarm went off throughout the complex; he took one last look at Graham’s mutilated face before running towards the exit. Watching his normally placid colleagues behaving like a herd of stampeding cattle brought out his own helpless panic, exacerbated when a young girl fell to the floor screaming and shrieking as another white rat scurried over her body and bit into the poor girl’s neck. Dean pushed passed several people, not caring about anything else but getting out of here. He looked towards the main exit, he saw the steel shutters getting ready to drop down and ran faster then he’d ever ran in his life to reach that door before the shutter dropped.

Dean jumped at the sound of the uniformed guard requesting to see the woman’s ticket; he fumbled through his trouser pockets while watching the old woman return from wherever the sandman had taken her. He could guarantee that it would be certainly a lot better place from where he’d come from.

The inspector exchanged pleasantries with the woman while punching her ticket. The woman may have been old enough to be the inspector’s mother but it didn’t stop her from flirting with him. Dean felt a strange pang of jealousy; she hadn’t even looked at him. He pushed the odd thought to the back of his mind as the inspector punched his own ticket before exiting the carriage. He wondered if he was emitting some sort of pheromone that caused women to either ignore him or try to pick a fight. Speaking of which, he vaguely wondered how long it would be before that inspector came back this way with that homeless girl trapped in a headlock. He shook his head, she’d be too streetwise to get caught; she was probably already hiding in the toilets, waiting for him to go past.

The older woman had already fallen back to sleep. Dean envied her, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to sleep again. He waited for a couple of minutes, watching a globule of drool try to escape from the corner of the woman’s mouth. If that inspector did come back this way and saw her saliva laying along the seat like a narrow slug trail, that woman would have scuppered her chance of getting off with him.

As soon as the first muffled snore escaped, Dean judged it would be safe enough to get out his laptop; Dean just had to find out what the current situation was. He gave the carriage one more glance before he unzipped his black leather case and placed the computer on the table before him. He’d placed the bag beside his leg as soon as he’s boarded the train; this was one piece of equipment that he couldn’t afford to lose. Dean shuddered to think what the consequences would have been if that girl had seen the bag and ran off with it.

He logged in and waited impatiently while a connection was established. He should still be able to patch into the building’s security cameras without tripping any alarms. The authorities shouldn’t have cut the servers just yet. Thankfully, they’d housed the main computer systems in another institute somewhere on the south coast.

A soft beep informed Dean that his connection to the institute was now secure, that took a huge weight off his shoulders. Christ knows what he could have accomplished if he hadn’t been granted access. He typed in Graham’s old user ID and password. He now had access to every camera in the building. Dean tapped in a random number on the virtual keypad on his monitor screen and within moments the view of a deserted corridor greeted him. He didn’t have the facility to zoom or pan, which was a bloody annoyance. Hopefully he wouldn’t need it.

Dean stared at the grainy black and white image for a couple of seconds, it didn’t make sense; nothing appeared to be out of place. Then he looked closer. Spread across the floor tiles at the far end of the corridor, next to an open door, Dean noticed what looked like a lake of fluid. It looked too dark to be water.

“Could it be blood?” he whispered.

Why the hell had they installed these archaic devices in the first place? It beggared belief that they spent more than some third world countries in their research but they could even install a few colour cameras.

The more he stared, the more reluctant he became to view the rest of the cameras. He took a deep breath then tapped in the camera number for the main lab. Dean gasped in shock and almost dropped the laptop on the floor when the cameras switched view. Dean spun his head away from the bloody carnage and looked at the woman sleeping like a fucking baby.

If he had witnessed that in glorious Technicolor, Dean knew that he’d have lost his breakfast. He forced himself back to the screen, despite every cell in his body ordering him to turn this bloody thing off; he knew he had to finish this.

Dark liquid covered the tiled floor, severed body parts were piled up in one corner, next to an overturned computer chair. Despite the devastation, Dean noticed a couple of his colleagues still in the room, seemingly unharmed. Oh, this was a welcome break, there were survivors; maybe this wasn’t as bad as he initially feared. Dean wished that there was a way to communicate with them. If there were two in the main labs, then there were bound to be others scattered around the building.

He watched an older man approach the armoured window and gaze into the testing area. His body blocked Dean’s view so he couldn’t see if Graham was still inside. There was something not quite right about that man, he moved as though he was still asleep, like an automaton. Dean watched him press both his hands against the glass; it was as if he needed something in that room.

One more figure caught Dean’s attention, he saw sat, cross legged in the middle of the floor, oblivious of the lake of blood surrounding him. The man was holding a club or thick stick of some kind, Dean couldn’t tell.

“Oh, Jesus.”

The man brought it to his mouth and bit into it. Dean leaned closer to the screen; not believing what the camera was showing him. He moved his head and Dean clearly saw three fingers and a thumb attached to a mutilated hand.

He slammed the lid down and bit the inside of his cheek. “Oh shit, oh shit. What the hell is going on?”

Dean then noticed the old woman staring at him, she gathered her bags, gave him a single backward glance and hurried out of the carriage, leaving him alone, shocked and very confused.

Chapter Four

A seemingly endless collection of bright green and yellow fields hurtled past Alison’s window. She’d forgotten just how vivid and colourful, the countryside was. In the city, dull greys and browns had filled her day.

When the train had stopped at the last station, Alison leaned out of the open door for just a few seconds to breath in the fresh air, with every breath she took, Alison could almost believe that the pure air stripped away the city’s grime layer by layer. Of course, she knew that this was so much bullshit but it was nice to think that it was true. One aspect that did ring true was that her sense of smell was returning to normal and the first thing she discovered was that she wasn’t as clean as she believed herself to be, probably why she snapped at that man earlier.

As soon as she reached her destination, Alison made a promise that her first job would be to find a bed and breakfast and take a long hot bath. She’d attempted to wash herself in the toilets on the train, but those taps were about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

Alison stared at the grime under her fingernails, wondering just how long that had been there, odd how she’d never noticed it before now. She picked up the last half of her sandwich and took a huge bite, wondering just how much dirt and crap she’d unknowingly ingested since she’d been sleeping rough. Her irrelevant musing went straight out of the window as soon as the sandwich contents hit her taste buds. Along with her sense of smell, they’d began to operate properly too. She swallowed the mushy mess and bit out another chunk of sandwich.

She jumped and almost choked on her food when the phone in her pocket vibrated. Alison dug it out of her back pocket, waited for it to stop vibrating then placed it on the back seat ledge, next to her empty sandwich wrapper. The number was an unknown, there was no way Alison should answer that. Perhaps she ought to turn it off or even better, throw it in the bin. She stared at the phone for another couple of seconds before the lure of food brought her back to the sandwich; chances are that it was just a wrong number.

She’d almost eaten this one. When Alison stood by the counter in the buffet coach, earlier on, contemplating on which type of sandwich to buy, her eyes caught sight of a single sausage roll. It had only been a few minutes so the chances were that it should still be there. A chocolate bar would also go down a treat, maybe two, after that lot, a large cup of hot coffee with plenty of sugar.

The sight of her phone still bothered her. Only two other people knew the number and they were listed as Danielle and Maggie. Alison had befriended the pair of them the same night she’d arrived in the city. Three young girls all from different parts of the country had arrived on the same night, within minutes of each other.

Looking back, her life could have been so much different if she’d befriended a local girl instead of those two shivering strangers who were in the same boat as her. Somebody like who’d Alison had turned into for example.

For the first few weeks, they didn’t leave each other’s sight. They shared a similar pain, each girls having valid reasons for fleeing from their homes.

Prior to meeting her new companions, Alison genuinely believed that no other person would be able to relate to the trauma that she had endured just a couple of nights ago. Listening to Maggie, she found that her own experience just paled into significance.

Maggie’s boyfriend ran with a large gang that terrorised a large London housing estate. Another gang took offence at his ambitions, as punishment, they snatched the girl outside her own home, stuffed Maggie into the boot of their car and drove her to a derelict warehouse. Over the course of a full day, the gang members took turns in raping her.

Danielle didn’t want to tell them why she had run away, not at first. Her story came out a couple of nights later after they’d drunk four large bottles of cider that they’d shoplifted from a late opening off license. Slurring her words, Danielle told them that her stepfather had been using her as a sexual plaything since the age of thirteen.

Alison picked the phone off the ledge; it had been weeks since she’d used this thing. The original idea had been to use the phones to warn each other if any of their clients became violent.

She had forgotten how long it had been since Alison had run into Danielle and Maggie. Unlike her, they had both fallen foul of the local dealers. Their money now financed their habits.

The phone vibrated again, this time it was a message. Alison threw the remainder of her sandwich on the seat beside her when she saw it was from Maggie.

“Oh, god!” she cried.

She quickly read the message, feeling her heart slam against her rib-cage, somehow they’d already found the body of the dealer. Maggie pleaded with her to return the stolen money, saying that the associates would be lenient if she did. Alison shook her head, completely thrown by the text. How the bloody hell could anybody know that she’d been the one who’d killed him? Especially Maggie. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Like I’m going back to that hell-hole.” She muttered. No, she’d already chosen her future and nobody, not even her old friends could make her change Alison’s mind. Thinking clearly, it was obvious how they’d known about Glen; the bastard must have been their supplier.

“They chose their demon, let them live with their decision.”

Despite her harsh words, Alison really wished that she could have taken her friends away from the city.

The train began to slow down; they must be getting ready to stop again. Alison watched a young couple pass her seat; they both looked to be in a great deal of stress. She heard him tell the woman not to worry about her parents; there was no way that they could have gone missing. The violence in London couldn’t really be as bad as the news were making it out.

When they had gone, Alison sat back in her seat, thinking about what it must be like to worry about such meaningless rubbish.

Chapter five

He opened one eye a crack, she’d left his side; George sighed in contentment, rolled into the warm vacant space and pushed his face into the pillow. He could still smell the woman’s unique perfume. Where had Anne disappeared? More importantly, would she return?

He pricked up his ears at the sound of singing coming from downstairs.

“She’s still here,” he sat up and rubbed his face, wincing when he remembered that he hadn’t shaved this morning. “That poor woman must have thick skin. I’ll have to have a bloody good shave before we do that again.” That thought brought another smile to his face; he reckoned that the chance of another round of bedroom Olympics with that virile woman was defiantly high on the agenda.

He finally located her voice; Anne must be in the kitchen. His heart suddenly went into overdrive when he remembered Gruff was supposed to be in there too. George jumped out of bed and padded over to the window. His dog sat on his patio staring at the kitchen window. George couldn’t believe he was seeing this; she’d made friends with his dog already. Bloody hell, that woman was amazing! He gazed down at his shrivelled penis. “In more ways than one.”

Gruff must have sensed that he was being observed, he looked up, barked once then darted across his garden, the big oaf crashed through his pea plants before sitting down in his carrot patch, for some reason, George wasn’t the least bit bothered. He left the window and crawled back into the warm bed.

For the first time since Madison passed away, George felt happy. He’d go see her later today to explain his actions, he was sure she’d understand. Madison would want him to be happy.

He giggled, George was happy alright; he lifted the covers and discovered that his little man was now not so little. “Bloody hell, it’s like I’m sixteen all over again.”

George heard the side door open and Anne calling Gruff a naughty boy. His dog always rolled onto his back every time George told him off. He could imagine doing the same with Anne. He was unsure of how he felt about another person getting so friendly with his only companion. He heard the door shutting and put aside his stupid jealous thoughts.

The bedroom door slowly creaked open and Anne reversed in, holding a breakfast tray. The sight of the tray confused him a little, he had no idea he’d been cooking him food, he’s yet to detect the pleasant aroma of bacon or sausages. Perhaps it was a bowl of cornflakes. No, it couldn’t be, George had no cereal in the house.

She placed the tray down on the covers and saw two white bowls, both full of multicoloured berries and assorted nuts and other less identifiable bits. What the bloody hell was this? It looked like hamster food.

“Come on, George, eat up, this is good for you.” She put her hand under the covers, he groaned when her fingers walked closer to his penis. “It gives you stamina.” She gripped his shaft. “Because, believe you me, you’re going to need it.”

He picked a dried strawberry out of the bowl, popped it into his mouth and chewed. George closed his eyes and sighed softly when she climbed back into bed beside him, Anne kissed him on the tip of his nose.

“I’m sorry,”

George opened his eyes, “what for?”

“Well, for making the first move, for acting all slutty.”

He spat out a half-chewed berry. “Don’t be sorry, Anne, I didn’t think you were slutty, a little forward, perhaps.”

She laughed, “Yeah well, one of us had to make the first move.”

He nodded, wondering if he had been giving out the wrong signals. George had found her attractive but not in that way. He decided to keep that nugget of information to himself.

“Tom is going to be so upset when he finds out, you know.” She grabbed his hand and gently squeezed.

“Tom? You mean the butcher?”

Anne nodded, “Yes, he’s been after me for years. You’re a good man, George. Your aura is clear.”

He blinked, “My what is clear?”

Anne giggled, “Your aura, your life energy.” She squeezed his hand again.

What on earth was the woman going on about? He’d listened in on her respecting the planet speeches many times before, usually in the lounge of the Rose and Crown and definitely after he’s downed more than a couple of pints of the pub’s fine ales. George had never really listened to her actual words; he just enjoyed the way that she was able to get under the skins of the other locals. The other reason he listened in was that the woman had such a beautiful voice.

“George, I promise that I’ll explain everything a bit later on.”

Somehow, he doubted that he’d ever share her enthusiasm. Organic farming and eating like rabbits and squirrels was all very fascinating but as for all that stuff about auras and life-force? Well that last thing he needed was some lecture that bordered dangerously close to strange hippy talk.

“Don’t you like your breakfast, George? You haven’t eaten that much of it. I’m sorry, but it’s the best I could do with what limited ingredients I could find.” Anne smiled, “Never mind, I’ll make you a decent meal before we go out.”

George wasn’t sure what to make of that that last remark, had she just insulted him? “It’s me who ought to apologise, this – stuff isn’t really the sort of food I normally eat.”

“Don’t you worry about all that, we’ll soon have you eating proper food, before you know it; you’ll be as fit as an ox. It will happen too, believe me, my darling; your aura tells me everything.”

Suddenly, he saw an image of his future, an old man wearing bio-degradable overalls made from organic avocados skins and eating lentil soup from half a coconut while Anne danced in the moonlight and prayed to the gods of grass and nettles.

George held back an icy shiver. That was one future that he never intended to live. There was no way that he could live without his daily dose of bacon, sausages and pork pies, nobody, no matter how sexy, would be able to turn him away from his meat intake.

No bloody wonder young Tom hadn’t been able to jump into bed with this sex-crazed widow. He dismembered dead animals every day. Anne would probably regard the butcher as despicable as Satan or whatever equivalent nasty thing she believed in. Knowing what he’d learnt so far, it would be some sort of forest goblin or something equally stupid.

“I’ve often wondered why Dean’s aura was so different.” She said.

“What? Sorry, you’ve lost me, Anne.”

“Dean, your son, his aura is almost black. I’m not saying that he’s a bad person or anything, it doesn’t work like that; dark auras usually mean that the individual is cursed.”

“Look, Anne,” he growled, “Can you not bring my son into the conversation? I don’t want his name to kill the mood.”

With all her talk about new age rubbish, George didn’t think that there was much mood left to kill.

She smiled demurely, threw back the covers then straddled his thighs. “I’m so sorry; the last thing I wanted was for you to get upset. Let me make it up to you.”

Anna removed George’s dressing gown before she placed her left hand around the base of his penis. “I know another way of making you happy.” She whispered as Anne lowered her head.

Chapter Six

He couldn’t believe that his old nickname was still there, carved into the wooden bench. Dean slowly traced his forefinger along the crude knife cuts that spelled out the words, Space Cowboy.

Dean yawned and stretched then leaned back against the wooden slats. The train was about to leave the platform. Apart from Dean only the scruffy girl got off at Seeton Crossing station. He wondered if the girl was due to depart here or if that conductor had finally caught the fare dodging mouth on legs and threw her off. He shrugged; she hadn’t seemed unduly stressed when she stepped onto the platform.

Whatever the case, if she hoped to find any spare money here, then she was in for a major shock. Folk in Seeton were tighter than a pair of wasp’s knickers and were suspicious of all strangers.

The train left the station, bound for the next crappy village. He watched the young girl cross the footbridge; she must have seen the ancient metal sign that pointed the way to the village square. He sighed and gazed down at his handiwork. Dean felt the beginnings of a nostalgic smile reach his lips.

He vividly remembered vandalising this bench. It had been exactly two days after he’d celebrated his fifteen birthday.

“Oh my god, that was eighteen years ago.” He said. “Has it really been so bloody long?”

Dean rubbed his finger across the knife marks one more time. “Eighteen years and the council hadn’t even bothered to re-paint the bench. Nothing round here has changed then.”

Even when he was a kid, this crappy village was stuck in its own little time bubble. Dean remembered himself and his other stroppy teenage mates desperately wishing they could leave this shithole and venture out into the real world.

The station was the only place in the village where they got to see real strangers, people who didn’t know everything about you and your family, sometimes the train even stopped here and these strangers got off.

They called themselves the Seeton Massive. Dean chuckled to himself, he hadn’t thought of that name in years. It was Tom Mayland who thought up the name, ironic, considering he was only a shade above five feet.

Dean used make fun of his blonde girly hair that grew halfway down his back. He was adamant that when he got older, he’d be a rock star, with shit loads of money, a garage full of fast cars and beautiful girls hanging off each arm. His dad owned the village butchers so everybody knew that, despite his boasts, the lad wasn’t going anywhere, there had been a butchers shop owned by the Maryland’s since like forever. His destiny had been set in stone since he was a baby.

Gavin Ellis, the largest of the group used to boast that his family owned this village; it was true that his dad was head of the council and they lived the largest house on the outskirts of Seeton. The running joke that in the old days, there weren’t that many folk in the village so the Ellis’s shagged their sister’s and auntie’s, uncle’s and brother’s which probably explained why their entire family all resembled the back end of a horse. Nobody would dare say any of that to his face though. Gavin’s temper wasn’t that long and he did have a tendency to talk with his fists if he believed somebody was making fun of him.

The last one of their group but certainly not the least was Sarah Winwood. Dean sighed; now that was a name that brought back a few happy memories. Everybody in the gang fancied her like crazy.

Dean had lost his virginity to that girl, at the tender age of fourteen. It may have been just a quick and messy session behind the old youth club but as far as he was concerned, Dean had now become a man.

Thinking back, Sarah had been responsible for al the lads in the group to lose their cherries. She’d even been with Gavin.

At any other time, it would have been cool to hook with the others and re-live old memories over a few pints at the Rose and Crown. Dean reckoned that the chances of all of them still living in Seeton would be pretty high, not many folk left the village and those who did, generally made their way back.

“Just like me,” he whispered.

He needed to visit his mother as well and try to explain to her why he hadn’t been able to visit her grave. Of all the actions the institute had taken, initiating a lock-down just after his mother had passed away was the one that hurt the most.

The graveyard wasn’t that far from here. In between the station and the village, he looked up and saw an old man walking over the bridge, he reminded Dean a little of his old man. His stood up and watched him walk towards the platform, could it be him? The man then stopped by a large red transit van and climbed in. No, it wasn’t him. Oh, bloody hell. How was he going to explain his actions to his dad? He wouldn’t be able to understand what Dean had been working on for all this time or why he hadn’t been able to come up and visit. The daft old sod was too set in his ways, locked into the past like the rest of them here in Seeton.

Perhaps he ought to ring ahead and prepare him? That seemed like a logical idea. If he forewarned him that Dean was coming up to see him then most of his dad’s anger should have fizzled out by the time he knocked on the front door.

“Oh, crap!” Bollocks, he’d just remembered that he still had a company phone in his jacket pocket. How dumb was he? They’d easily be able to trace his location if he’d been stupid enough to use that.

Dean removed the phone, prised off the back cover and took out the battery. He dropped it on the floor then stamped on it until he heard the casing snapped he then kicked it off the platform. There were times when his own stupidity surprised even him. Well, it looked as though his dad would be getting a surprise visit from his darling son after all.

He looked up to find that the station platform was no longer deserted. A tall teenage girl wearing a very tight green t-shirt walked past the bench; she held a ghetto blaster in her left hand. Dean tried not to stare at it, bloody hell. Had the kids round here not heard of mobile phones? He hadn’t seen one of those things since the eighties. This place really was stuck in its own little time bubble.

The radio was on, Dean caught a snippet of a newscaster mentioning disturbances in the capital; gunfire had been heard in various locations around the city.

His mouth went bone-dry; he knew exactly what that meant. He watched as she wandered over to the timetable then rushed towards her, eager to hear the rest of the news. Dean heard something about barricades of abandoned vehicles around the parliament buildings and something about bonfires across London Bridge before the woman looked at Dean funny, turned off her radio and hurried over to the far end of the platform..

He stood there; in the boiling sun and feeling as if, he had just stepped out of an ice-cold shower. He had failed to contain it; somehow, the infection had spread out of the institute and into the capital city. He staggered over to the wall and put his hands against the cool bricks. The full implications of what he had helped to create were now beginning to sink in.

“Christ, Linda’s in London!” Dean looked wildly around the station then breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the public telephone was still in the same place. “Thank Christ for that,” he muttered. Dean rushed over and groaned when he saw Seeton’s new generation of kids had completely trashed it.

“You stupid little fuckers.” He growled. Dean saw the woman slowly making her way back to the train timetable bolted to the side of the station building.

“Miss?” he shouted. “Excuse me, miss. I’m sorry to trouble you, but do you have a phone I could use? It’s really important.”

The woman looked at him like he was speaking in a foreign tongue. She then quickly shook her head then turned her back to him.

“Fuck, what an ignorant cow. What the hell was he going to do now?” Dean hurried off the station platform, towards the bridge, there used to be a couple of phone boxes just near the village square, surely one of those still worked.

He glanced back and the sight of his phone battery lying in the middle of the tracks, not believing he’d just done that. If the infection really was out then the authorities would have better things to do than search for him.

Dean turned around and suddenly stopped, he grinned. Some things in Seeton did change after all. Dean hurried across the road and stopped in front of another phone box. He knew for a fact that this wasn’t here the last time he’d been in Seeton.

He opened the door and hurried inside. Dean dug out a pile of change and placed it on the top while he tried to remember her number. He closed his eyes and attempted to calm down, Dean pictured her delicate features in his mind and immediately her telephone number came back to him. He punches in the numbers and groaned allowed as he was connected to an answering machine.

“This is all I need, a bloody machine. Linda, if you’re there, please pick up the phone. Linda? Oh shit. Look, I need you to stay where you are. This is no joke, something very bad is happening. Stay inside and do not open the door to anyone. I know we parted in badly but you need to believe me on this. Please take care of yourself.”

Dean replaced the receiver, Jesus; he must have sounded like a bloody mad-man. He picked up his bag and ran out of the railway station. He should be at the house in a few minutes. He hoped to god that the server was still running, with a bit of luck Dean would be able to connect to the main computer banks. If he could get on-line, Dean might be able to work out just what the fuck had gone wrong.

Explanations and apologies with his dad would have to wait a bit longer.

Chapter Seven

Alison stood on her tiptoes and cursed when she found she was still unable to look into the cracked mirror. “This is a joke,” she said to herself.

Then she remembered seeing a pile of bricks just outside the door of the gents, Alison smiled to herself. “One of those will do the job nicely.”

She hurried out of the toilets, picked up the top block and carried her find back into the gents. She dropped it on the floor, climbed on the block and leaned towards the mirror. “Missed a bit,” she muttered when Alison saw the long narrow streak of grime along her cheek. She paused and gazed at her face again. This was the first time she’d seen herself in a mirror for months.

“You ain’t that bad looking, girl. Apart from that mucky bit you missed.” She licked her fingers and vigorously rubbed the dirt off. On the whole, Alison didn’t think she’d done all that bad considering what limited washing facilities had been on offer.

After leaving the railway station Alison had first made her way through the narrow stretch of trees that lay beyond the station and dipped down the banking towards the narrow beck at the bottom. She did feel a bit conspicuous, stripping off all her clothes then jumping into the cold water. After washing herself, the best she could, she then dumped all of her old clothing into the stream and watched the running water take her filthy rags down the stream. Shivering, she placed the long coat that she had lifted from a drooling woman on the train around her wet body and made her way back up the bank. The only items of clothing that she’d kept from her old life were a spare pair of trousers and her beloved pair of hiking boots, she’d only had these a couple of weeks, they were a bit grubby but serviceable. Despite having bugger all clothes left, as long as she didn’t unfasten the coat, Alison reckoned that she should pass for a wandering student or some young hiker. Back when she used to live here, those types were a common sight in and around the village, she ought to walk through her old haunts unnoticed.

Alison gave her face one more check in that mirror, yeah nobody would recognise this mug, she didn’t look a bit like that fresh-faced terrified girl who left here all those years ago.

Her intention was to go for a quick shopping trip in the village to buy herself some decent clothing before trying to grab a room for a couple of nights above the Rose and Crown.

It seemed like a good enough plan. Once she had settled in, then Alison could then start with the task of hunting down her form teacher, the one who forced himself upon her, and the bastard who destroyed Alison’s innocence and caused her to flee from Seeton and from everyone who cared for her.

Once that evil bastard was finally out of the way, then she would feel comfortable with getting back in contact with her family in the hope that they would forgive Alison and take her back.

She glanced to the exit and gasped when she heard a pair of voices coming towards the toilet. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t her fault that the ladies toilets didn’t have a fucking mirror; even so, there was no way that she could be caught in here. Alison ran into one of the open booths, shut and locked the door. With a bit of luck they’d be finished and moved on in a minute or two.

“So why do you think that our dear councillor has moved the dates for the charity gala ahead two weeks?”

Alison felt a as though an ice-cold slug had just slivered down her backbone when she heard that voice. That voice belonged to the other one, the fucker who took Alison outside school and dragged her back into the sports block. The sound of his voice took her spiralling back to that night.

The school bell was rung absolutely ages ago. God, Alison was so pissed off with that teacher. Just what bleeding right did he have to keep her back? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

She hurried past the outside of the sports block, trying to keep a rein on her emotions, she knew that just one slip and that would be it, the tears would just stream out like a burst dam. She ought to report that Mr. Hudson, the man was just way too creepy, that thing he did with his eyes when he stared at the girls made her blood run cold, like he was undressing them or something.

Alison stopped dead, no, it couldn’t be that. The man was ancient; he must be almost as old as Alison’s own dad. Men didn’t have mucky thoughts at that age, well, except for the creeps and perverts.

Then again, those two words fitted Mr. Hudson perfectly. She nodded to herself, yes. Alison would send an anonymous letter to the headmaster in the morning, telling the head that Hudson had been feeling her arse or something.

She grinned, Yeah that would sort him out. Feeling miles better, Alison headed towards the school gates. She ought to be excited now, not pissed off. Tonight was the night when she would finally get to drink inside a real pub.

It had all been Trisha’s idea; she told Alison last week that her new boyfriend had just been given a car for his eighteenth birthday. It still excited Alison to think that her best mate was actually going out with a boy three years older than they were.

Trisha had told Alison that they’d even done it in his bedroom.

Trisha suggested that they all take a trip to Edenvale, the next village eight miles to the west. Her boyfriend told Trisha that their local pub was nowhere near as strict as the Rose and Crown; apparently he’d been drinking in there since he was fourteen. They had lock-ins and everything at the Black Goose.

Alison couldn’t wait; the last time she had alcohol now was over three weeks ago, when she was up at Trisha’s house. They both shared a bottle of cider; Trisha was allowed alcohol, which as far as Alison was concerned, just wasn’t fair. Her parents were non-drinkers, they though alcohol was the devil’s piss or some rubbish like that. If they even suspected that Alison was going to a pub tonight, they’d ground her for three months. As far as they were concerned, she was staying over at Trisha’s on a shared revision date.

Just before she reached the school gates, she noticed something small and white move along the top of a dry-stone wall to the left of her. Alison spun around and peered over, trying to make out what it was. It was difficult to make out; the fact that the sun had gone down and the street lamp above was broken didn’t help. It looked like a cat, but if it was it was a bloody small one.

She shook her head, whatever. Alison had better thing to do with her time. She’d already decided what to wear tonight, stuck at the back of her wardrobe was a very revealing blouse that she’s found in her own mum’s wardrobe a few months back. It came as a complete shock to find that mum had ever worn anything so risqué. Her mum came across as a total prude.

A mournful high-pitched meow shattered the silence. Alison jumped; then looked back at the wall. Oh hell, it was just a kitten. She stepped off the path and ran across the wet grass, silently cursing as the water soaked through her plimsolls.

Oh, this was so cruel. It was a kitten alright, some evil bastard had tied a length of washing line around its neck and fastened the other end around a large stone. Now who would do such an awful thing?

Alison slowly approached the shivering animal and put her arm out. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. I’ll sort you out.”

She sensed a shadow right behind her and heard the sound of a low groan, just before someone thrust a canvas bag over her head. She tried to shout out but found her yells were abruptly cut off as a pair of large hands was pressed around her neck.

“Don’t be scared,” whispered a rough male voice in her ear. “We’re gonna sort you out.”

The man dragged her across the grass, she tried to struggle and get away but that soon stopped when he punched her in the side of her head.

“Enough of that,” he growled. “Save your wiggling for the fun bit.”

She heard the opening of a door, in her groggy state, she eventually worked out that he’d taken her back into the school. She smelt wood polish and something else, an aroma that was very familiar, the faint smell of somebody’s aftershave.

“So, Alison, you dirty little bitch. You reckon that it’s cool to tease me do you? What, like I don’t have urges anymore? I think it’s time to show you what happens to filthy tarts who bit off more than they can chew.”

Alison gasped out loud. Oh, my god! That voice belonged to her gym teacher. What the hell was going on? She blinked in the harsh light as the canvas bag was pulled off her head. She found herself alone with the teacher the other man had gone. She couldn’t move her arms; the man had an iron grip on both her wrists.

“Don’t you worry, he’ll be back. He’s having his turn after me.” The man then grabbed her neck and suddenly pushed her back. She crashed into the wall behind her and fell onto the wooden floor.

“What have I done wrong?” she cried.

His face reddened, “Don’t you give me that innocent fucking face.” He snarled. “You know damn well what you’ve done, you prick teasing little bitch.” He knelt down in front of her, put his hand over her ears and pulled her head towards his. Alison smelt extra strong mints on his breath.

“Yeah well, I decided that it was time that little girls like you should know what happens when their games goes wrong.” He licked his lips. “Don’t look so fucking frightened, this’ll mean nothing to a dirty slag like you anyway, Hell, you probably won’t even feel it, I bet you’re as loose as a well worn welly anyway.”

Alison finally managed to scream when she realised just what he intended to do to her. He pushed one of his hands over her mouth while his other hand moved down the front of the uniform towards her crotch.

On more than one occasion as she sat, shivering under a bridge or lay wrapped up in broken up cardboard boxes, Alison had dreamt of how her life would have turned out if she hadn’t been violated by that evil monster. That fucker had hurt her and made Alison hate her own body.

Somehow, she’d managed to escape, but only thanks to some anonymous pupil forgetting to put away their rounder’s bat. As he lay on the floor, panting and grinning and calling her so many horrible names, she turned her face away from his and through her tear blurred vision, spotted the bat’s brightly coloured handle just a few feet from her hands. She turned over and, ignoring the intense cramping pain knotted up inside the pit of her stomach, she slowly crawled towards her salvation. The teacher had been too late to notice she wasn’t in the same place he’d thrown her. By the time he had realised that something was amiss. Alison had retrieved the bat and stood above him. She screamed in raw anger and brought the bat down as hard as she could.

Alison later learnt that blow must have only knocked him sideways. Alison kept a close eye on the news once she’d taken the decision to go, she knew that leaving the village was now her only option, even if she had stayed and accused him, who would believe her a silly little girl? It would have been his word against hers and she had no doubt that the other one would have backed up whatever story he chose to tell. If she’d stayed, he’d have killed her. Alison believed that taking it in turns to rape her then dumping the body was their original intention anyway.

She should have stayed and kept bringing that bat down on his head until it looked more like a dropped melon, but she knew that time was against her. Alison had no idea where the other one had gone or how long it would be before he came back.

Alison listened to the two men on the other side of her cubicle, casually exchanging gossip about some bloke called Gavin. That name rang a bell, she was sure that her older sister used to hang around with a lad called Gavin. They were just about to leave. Alison silently climbed onto the toilet bowl; she just had to connect that unforgettable voice to a face. She peered over the top, just in time to watch them leave the gents. Alison didn’t think they’d be too hard to find though, considering both men wore police uniforms.

Chapter Eight

Linda stared aghast at the carnage below her. Oh, this was so not good. She glanced back at the television screen that was relaying similar pictures, only the scene on the box was happening twelve miles away, on the other side of London.

“Where’s the damn ambulance?” She looked past the accident, towards the city centre, looking at the state of the snarled traffic; there was a good chance that it would be a while before they got here.

She looked back at the television, judging by what the panicked looking news reporter had just told her, there was a fucking good chance that the ambulance would never turn up. The silly cow made it sound as though Armageddon had arrived in London.

“They must be exaggerating, they must be.”

She heard the thunderous noise just five minutes ago while she was in the kitchen. Linda had planned an evening in with Richard Steel, a very sexy colleague from work. He wanted to take her out, but she was adamant that he should come over to her place. He’d jokingly asked if she was trying to take advantage. Of course, she had vigorously denied any such thought had even entered her mind. The butterflies in her stomach all had epileptic fits when he said ‘that was a shame.’

Linda tore her eyes away from the apartment window and gazed at the open bottle of wine stood on her kitchen table, she really ought to ring him and see if he’s alright. He lived in Camden and Linda was sure that they’d said that Camden was one of the areas that had been one of the worst affected.

She left the window, poured herself a large glass of the wine and padded back into the living room in search of her phone. As Linda dug her phone out of her handbag, a piercing shriek echoed up from the street below. She rushed back to the window and saw that one of those people in that crash had managed to crawl out of the wreck. Then she looked again, the glass fell out of her hand.

“Oh, my, god. This just can’t be happening.”

The crawling man’s legs and hips were still inside that ford escort, crushed beyond all recognition when that double decker bus had ploughed into it. Only his torso, arms and head had remained intact and now that head was busy biting chunks of flesh out of the leg of a terrified spectator.

Two men ran out from the gathered crowd and pulled the abomination of the screaming woman and, each holding an arm threw it towards the wrecked car. A single police officer, who’d been unsuccessfully, trying to keep the crowd quiet as well as trying to help the victims still alive inside the vehicles, rushed over to the fallen woman, crouched beside her and placed his hands over her leg wound. Linda slowly backed away from her window, trying in vain to make sense of what she had just witnessed. Linda felt something crunch under her heel, she gazed at the pool of red wind soaking into her pale blue carpet and burst into tears.

She then heard that silly bitch in the television studio advising everybody to stay inside and stay calm, reassuring everyone that the authorities had everything in order. Linda glared at the woman lie through her back teeth and so wanted to push her foot through the screen.

“My carpet is fucking ruined.” She screamed at the TV. “And you tell me to stay calm?”

Linda fell to her knees and started picking the pieces of glass off her carpet. Warm, soapy water should do the trick. She didn’t think the stain would come out though. Perhaps she could move the sofa over it?

Another scream blasted out from outside. Linda stayed focused on her task, there wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d look out of that window again, at least not until the police and ambulances had sorted it all out. The sight of that unholy thing taking a bite out of that poor woman would stay with her until the end of her days.

She stood up, padded to the kitchen bin and dumped in the glass fragments.

“I’m going to need something a lot stronger than wine,” she muttered. Linda hurried towards her drinks cabinet, pausing by the TV. The female news-reader was now informing the audience that both the U.S. and E.U. have imposed quarantine restrictions on all outward bound journeys from the U.K.

“And you can shut the fuck up you miserable bitch.” She muttered before turning off the TV.

Right at the front of her cabinet was half a bottle of Jack Daniels, her dad had given her it three Christmas’s ago, to this day, she hadn’t a clue why, Linda hated the stuff and her dad knew that. The only reason she opened it in the first place was a few months ago when she was sleeping with some young scientist bloke. She yelped when another shriek echoed in from the streets.

“Oh, Christ.” She said, moaning. “Please make it fucking stop.”

Linda reached out and grabbed the whisky from the shelf, unscrewed the top and drank straight from the bottle. The liquid burned its way down her gullet before exploding in her stomach, Linda coughed, almost choking as some of the liquid came back up and dribbled down her chin, she wiped the mess away and took another drink, this time Linda only had a sip.

The mindless panic receded just enough to remember that she was going to try to get in touch with Richard.

“Oh, god, I hope he’s alright.”

She took one more gulp of the whisky before setting it down next to her phone, promising herself that she’d have a bit more once she’d made sure that he was alright. Linda grabbed the handset then stopped.

“What the hell am I doing? His number’s on my mobile.”

From where she stood, Linda could now see through her window. She moaned in horror and blindly felt along the table for the bottle. This just couldn’t be happening; it was like a scene from a horror movie.

That bitten woman had her head buried in the copper’s stomach. Oh my god, she was eating him! There were a crowd of screaming people scrambling over the wrecked vehicles, Linda thought they were fleeing from the woman, she moved a little closer to the window and screamed herself.

The street was filled with people slowly making their way along towards the car-crash. Linda looked closer, something was seriously wrong with all of them; then she saw the gaping wounds and the missing limbs.

They are dead! No, this can’t be happening.” She uttered while backing away and shaking her head. “Dead people can’t fucking move.”

Linda took another drink from the bottle, this time she managed to keep all of the fiery inside her. She decided that she must have not looked properly; they can’t be dead, because that’s impossible. Perhaps they were sick, infected with some disease like bird flu or something. She nodded to herself.

“Bird flu, it must be that or that other one, swine flu.”

Satisfied that she wasn’t losing her mind, Linda grabbed her coat and searched through her pockets for her phone. She kept well away from her window though, guessing that a closer view of those people would blow her theory right out of the water.

Linda fumbled through the phone’s contact list, momentarily feeling guilty for passing over her mum’s number in preference to somebody she hardly knew. His name came up and Linda jabbed her finger against the telephone icon, praying that he’d answer.

“Linda? Where are you?”

She almost wept with relief when she heard his voice. He sounded out of breath. “Richard, are you alright?”

“Yes,” he replied. “A group of old men started following me, I had to jump over a wall into someone’s garden to lose them. Look, something really odd is going on. Are you still in your apartment?”

“Yes.” She replied. “It’s horrible outside, there’s people eating each other.” Linda felt herself choke up. “I dropped my wine and everything.”

“Look, you stay there; I’ll be at yours in a couple of minutes and calm down. Everything’s going to be fine.”

The phone went dead in her hands. She looked at it, wondering if she ought to call him back then changed her mind. There was no point, he was on his way. Linda smiled; everything was going to be alright.

She’d call her mum as soon as Richard got here, she lived over in Birmingham anyway, knowing her, she probably wouldn’t have even realised that anything was wrong here in London. It’s not like she listened to the news or read the paper, she was way too busy in her garden, looking after her flowers for any of that nonsense.

Feeling miles better, Linda decided to put the whisky back, if Richard was coming over, she wouldn’t need that any more.

As she passed her door, she heard someone shouting in the corridors, it sounded like Mr. Roberts, the nice old gentleman who fixed her boiler a few months ago; she grabbed the door handle, intending to check on him. The poor guy sounded terrified; then she stopped, what if he was infected with the flu as well? Is she opened this door then she’d get it too. Linda slowly turned the key and locked the door. Wishing Richard would hurry up and get here, she didn’t know how much more if this she could take.

“Why did I turn off the TV?” The noise outside was now so loud, she felt as if she was stood beside that smashed up car. Linda placed her hands over her ears, picked the remote off the sofa and turned the TV back on; she caught the newsreader announcing that the infection had now spread into the Home Counties before she flicked through the channels and stopped on Cartoon Network. So, she was right, it was an infection and not dead people walking about.

Something in the corridor crashed into her door.

“Richard?” she shouted. “Is that you?” Linda rushed to the door and tried to pull it open; screaming in frustration when she realised that she’d locked the bloody thing. “Hang on a minute.” She turned the key and paused, was it him out there? He hadn’t answered her calls. Then again, who else could it be?

Linda pulled down the handle and opened the door. Richard lay in the corridor. Linda stumbled back into her apartment, shrieking in disbelief at the sight of Mr. Roberts huge hands thrust deep into Richard’s stomach. The old man lifted his head and moaned. Linda saw pieces of bright red flesh stuck between the man’s teeth.

He scrambled off Richard and followed the crying woman into her apartment. Linda picked up the bottle and threw it at him, the glass smacked into the man’s forehead and dropped to the floor, rolling into the wine stain. She stared aghast; it hadn’t even slowed him down.

“Get away from me, you fucker,” she screamed. Linda darted into the kitchen and slammed the door shut, she whimpered when the man hit the door. She watched the wood tremble in its frame and knew that wouldn’t hold him for long. Linda looked wildly around the tiny room, she gone and trapped herself in here. “Oh you silly, fucking cow!” she shouted. Linda looked around the shelves for anything she could use as a weapon. She let out a bubble of hysterical laughter when she noticed an unopened bottle of carpet cleaner right at the front.

“Eva Kleen tackles all stubborn stains, even red wine and blood. Oh, god someone is really taking the piss.”

Linda opened the drawer under the kitchen top and picked out her two sharpest knives. There was no way that she was going to die in here. The door panels cracked. Linda raised one of the knives and charged forward, slamming the blade through the thin wood. She heard something on the other side make a ‘gack’ like sound then a heavy weight hit the bottom of the door.

Linda stayed stock still, panting like a race horse. The only sounds she heard was Sponge Bob asking Patrick if he knew where Gary was. She kept the other knife tight in her sweaty palm and slowly padded over the kitchen door. A globule of dark red fluid had seeped through the knife hole.

“Mr. Roberts?”

Linda grabbed the door handle and pulled, moaning as the still body of her neighbour fell through the gap.

“Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry.” She warily used her foot to touch one of his arms, jumping back when it flopped to the floor like a dead fish. Linda stepped over the body and ran back into her living room.

She needed to find somewhere else, somewhere to hide until all this had blown over. Linda then caught sight of a red flashing light on her answer phone. Who could be ringing her up at this time?

“Oh, god! Bollocks to the phone, she’d forgotten all about her Richard, he’d be bleeding all over the corridor and all she cared about was finding somewhere to hide. Linda ran over to the open door and peered out, she gasped when she saw the body was no longer there.

“Richard?” Where had he gone? He couldn’t have just got up, he was half dead. “Oh, god, Linda, don’t even think of stuff like that.” Could someone have dragged him away?

She placed one foot out of the apartment and looked down the corridor, apart from the impossible amount of blood, she saw nobody, living or dead. Linda then sensed somebody behind her; she spun around, the knife already in the air, thinking that somehow Mr. Roberts had got back on his feet. Linda shrieked in complete terror when the man she was hoping to marry, stood up from behind the sofa. Her mind went into meltdown at the sight of the man’s guts hanging out of his stomach and trailing across her carpet. Richard growled then lunged for the woman. Linda stepped back against her wall and slowly slid to the floor. She closed her eyes, sobbing and hoping that there wouldn’t be too much pain.

The dead man stopped by her foot, fell to his knees and placed his cold hands on her shoulders. His touch was almost tender until he growled once more then lunged forward and fastened his teeth around her left breast. Linda’s eye snapped open and the woman screeched out in agony.

Chapter Nine

He traced his finger down the bronze plaque until he found the name of his Grandfather. As a child, Dean used to be so proud of the fact that his family was the only one in Seeton who had lost men in both world wars. When he grew older he found the very idea of armed conflict abhorrent.

Dean stepped away from the village war memorial and gazed across the street towards the butcher’s window. It seemed ironic that a pacifist may have been responsible for helping to wipe out the human species. Dean took a deep breath and reined in his emotions. He was a scientist, it was his job to take a step back and look at this disaster with an objective eye. He wouldn’t get anywhere if he allowed irrationality cloud his judgment.

Then again, considering he couldn’t get in the fucking house, no amount of rational thinking was going to help him. Dean had just come back after finding his dad’s place all locked up.

He’d climbed the long hill up from here, re-living the times as a kid when he used to free-wheel down this hill straight into the village centre. Christ knows how he’d managed to get himself run over. They’d bolted a metal railing into the wall since he was last here; something for which he was thankful for, Dean had forgotten just how steep this bloody hill was. His old home came into view, Dean had smiled at the sight, it hadn’t changed one bit.

As had he neared the house, Dean rehearsed the speech that he intended to reel off, hoping it was unpretentious enough to allow Dean to get his old room back and plenty of uninterrupted time so he could get this damn plague under control.

The dog started to bark as soon as he opened the garden gate, was it the same dog? It couldn’t still be Gruff in there, that animal was on his last legs when he lived here. Dean got the shock of his life when he found that his dad wasn’t at home, he’d even jumped over the wall, to try the back door and received another shock when he saw what his dad had done to the garden.

Dean waited for a two policemen to walk past him before he crossed over the empty road. He’d lost track of his dad’s social habits when he moved to London. Then again considering just how predictable his dad was when Dean was a teenager, he can’t imagine that he’d changed that much.

It was obvious what he ought to do, he’d start off in the Rose and Crown and if he wasn’t in there and nobody in the pub knew where he’d be, then Dean would simply come back here and ask around in the shops. It’s not as if he had anything else planned.

“Why do you need the room anyway?” he muttered to himself. He turned towards the village hall, The Rose and Crown was just behind that large stone building. All he had to do was go over and ask for a room above the pub, there were bound to be a few spare, not many people used to holiday in Seeton and Dean couldn’t imagine that much has changed.

It did make more sense; there was nothing really in his old room that would have helped him that much anyway. “Besides, Dean, time is of the essence, the longer you procrastinate, the more people will die.”

Dean walked past the butchers shop and glanced in the window. His old mate, Tom leaned against the counter, chatting to some old dear. Bloody hell, the lad hadn’t changed a bit, well, apart from losing most of his hair and gaining a few pounds in weight around his waist. It shocked him to see just how much Tom now resembled his old man when Dean’s mum used to send him out for three pounds of skirt beef and a pound of kidneys for their Friday pie. Dean picked up a little speed and turned his head away from the window, he did not want Tom to see him; Dean would play friend catch up after he’d gotten himself sorted out.

His heart almost stopped when two police cars and an ambulance raced past him. He hoped to Christ that the infection hadn’t spread this far. When Dean heard the shop’s occupants scramble towards the open door, he put his head down and made himself scarce.

Dean speeded up and walked past the remaining high street shops. He didn’t turn back around until he’d reached the front of the village hall. The road and pavement was now devoid of activity, he sighed, figuring that it was probably just a road accident or something. Knowing how boring this village was, the call was more than likely for a cat stuck up a tree. That sudden flurry of activity would probably give Tom and his only customer something else to chat about. It was probably the most exciting event they’d seen all week.

He walked past the village notice board, proclaiming that the gala had been put back for another week. “Scratch my previous thought,” he muttered. “They’d be yapping about the gala being postponed, that would was far more important than a stupid cat stuck up a stupid tree.”

One of the village phone boxes, painted in brilliant red stood just outside the hall. He guessed that it still had regular use. He doubted that not many people in Seeton had bothered to get a mobile phone. This place really was the village that time forgot. An ancient Morris Oxford van drove past him.

My point exactly, he thought.

“Oh shit, what if they don’t have internet access?” Dean’s head darted around the buildings looking for telltale signs of transmitters, he couldn’t see anything but that meant nothing.

He stopped outside the pub’s doorway and re-checked to ensure that his wallet was still where he’d left it. Dean had withdrawn over a thousand pounds out of his account before he boarded the train. The wallet was still there, still with the money inside.

He laughed to himself, realising what he’d done. All that cloak and dagger shit had been all for nothing, all the authorities need to do was check all the employees’ bank accounts. “You’d never make a spy, Dean.” He said, shaking his head.

Before he could grab the door, an old couple came out of the pub and almost ran into him.

“Sorry,” he said, ramming the wallet into his back pocket, “He should have looked where I was going.”

The old man, jerked to a halt, Dean heard the woman, holding the man’s hand let out a gasp of surprise.

“Dean? What are you doing here?”

He gazed in surprise at his father, not believing that he had failed to recognize his own dad, he then shot a single glance at the woman, briefly wondering why her face dripped with malice. He looked back at his father and tried to smile, desperately remembering his speech.

“Hi dad, I’ve just been up to the house but you weren’t in.”

His dad returned the grin. “No, son, that’s because I’m here.”

That remark completely threw Dean off balance. Was this really his dad? He’d never know him to come out with a funny, ever! While Dean was growing up, his dad’s dour face was as ever present as that horrible floral wallpaper he’d put up above the mantelpiece.

Then he noticed they were both were holding hands and it clicked, on my, his dad now a new girlfriend. Suddenly, his pre-prepared speech became stuck just behind his teeth, in the presence of company, his words now seemed stilted and false. He did know what to do; Dean had never been any good at extracting himself out of awkward situations.

Thankfully, his dad came to the rescue.

“How odd, that we bump into you, right here and now.” he turned to the woman for confirmation and she just blanked Dean. His dad carried on as if nothing had happened. “It’s all over the news about the disaster in London. We were just on our way to the phone box to make sure you were alright.”

He nodded, not knowing what to make of this new woman. “He put on his best smile and extended his hand. “Hello, I’m Dean, pleased to meet you.”

“I know who you are, “she replied, her hand stayed by her side. “What are you doing up here?”

Oh, this was going bad, he had no idea who this woman was, nor did he really care, but her weird attitude did bother him somewhat. “Look dad, the events in London are getting worse. I’m here because I think I can put what’s happened right.” He sensed the woman about to interrupt and moved in between them. “I don’t want to think what will happen if the problem in London gets out of control.” Dean knew for a fact that it already had. The only thing stopping him from screaming out in frustration and guilt was the objective scientific side, keeping everything else firmly under lock and key.”

“You mean you’re responsible for this?” replied his incredulous dad.

“A black aura,” muttered the woman.

“Of course, I’m not responsible,” he replied, lying, “but I did once work with the team who were involved in this disaster.” Dean tried to push past his dad, “I’m going to stay here and sort this mess out, dad.”

“You mean here, at the pub?” his dad didn’t give him chance to reply. “No way, there’s no way that you’re staying here. Look, here take the house key. Your room as still how you left it.”

Dean looked at the key then at the pub doorway. He sighed then took the key out of his father’s hand. He nodded at the woman before hurrying away from the pair of them.. He suddenly stopped, spun around and found that they had both gone. “Bollocks, I forgot to ask if he had internet access.

Chapter Ten

Common sense gently advised him that rushing out of that nice, warm office may have been a little rash. Billy D’lacey then caught his common sense on the back foot by agreeing with it. Making the hazardous journey through the centre of the city may have indeed have been a fool’s errand.

His common sense, not used to this uncharacteristic show of unity then suggested an even bolder move of getting the fuck out of this alley before all those shambling things sniffed them out.

Billy D’lacey growled, startling the two men stood at either side of him and curtly told his common sense to mind its own goddamm business.

When the news of the body’s discovery first reached Billy, he made it his highest priority to pay his last respects to his fallen soldier before news of the murder found its unwanted attention on the desk of some greasy detective. In retrospect, Billy, figured that the filth wouldn’t have given two shits, especially with what was occurring throughout Birmingham.

The news on the TV had given Billy enough to worry about before he embarked on the journey. At the time, he considered the reports of the army patrolling the city and the road-blocks to be just one big wind up, as for these supposed aggressive hordes of insurgents roaming the streets, well that had to be wrong.

Stuff like that didn’t happen in his city, at least not without his permission.

He stared down at the dealer’s sprawled body, noticing the single imprint of a cat’s paw embedded in the congealed brain-matter, pooled around his ears. Paying his last respects to this casing of cold meat now seemed like a joke. The man he knew and respected had left this plane of existence, leaving behind food only fit for the city’s scavengers.

Billy finally tore his eyes off the corpse and gave his two companions a single casual glance. Their behaviour disquieted Billy; their posture betrayed their true nervous thoughts. Jacob looked especially jittery; the gangster would have to keep his favourite minder under very close observation.

Their reluctance to travel here and the two minders obvious enthusiasm to return to the club was understandable. Like him, his minders dished out pain, punishment and regular executions with pride and zeal. Seeing their dead victims regain a semblance of existence and then attempt to eat them wasn’t part of the deal.

Billy caressed the solid silver eagle’s head attached to the tip of his ash cane. He recanted a simple prayer to the memory of Glen, then brought the cane down onto the corpse’s forehead. Billy sure as fuck had no wish to see this one get back up.

“Jacob, you appear to be operating at less than your optimum capacity. Should your well being concern me?”

The man looked down at his employer, Billy saw just how red his eyes were; he saw the troubled frown and took that as a bad sign. Jacob did not work well under complicated conditions.

“I’m fine, sir.” He muttered.

Billy sighed loud enough for his other minder to tear his eyes away from the now deceased dealer.

“So you’re not about to start blubbing again, like a little girl who’s just lost her teddy bear?”

The man drew himself up to full height of six foot ten and took a single threatening step towards his employer. It gratified Billy to witness the familiar fire ignite behind Jacob’s ice-blue eyes.

“I said that I was fine,” he repeated in a low growl.

The hairs on Billy’s forearms stood up. His excitement rose, knowing that the minder would not disappoint him again, in fact, the man would be more than keen to make up for his earlier mistake. Billy intended to milk Jacob’s fervour until it was desert dry.

“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Cole. You are a courageous man, one of the few in my employment he have earned my respect. I consider you to be part of my family. Our fallen comrade deserves our personal condolences, no matter what obstacles are thrown in our way. You do understand that don’t you.”

Jacob cast his eyes to the floor and slowly nodded.

All three men looked towards the end of the alley when a convoy of drab olive vehicle rumbled past the opening. “Our task here is complete, gentlemen, I suspect that we have overstayed our welcome.”

It had been nearly two hours since Billy woke to the sound of screaming. In his confused-sleep state, he almost put a bullet through the brain of one of the club’s strippers who had been in his bed. After ordering the other two girls to calm the hysterical bitch down, he rushed out of his suite and into the club’s reception area. His two minders were running towards him, both drenched in wet blood.

The men were in a worse emotional state then that stripper. With his features coated in crimson lumps, it took him a moment to recognise Craig Dolan.

“Would you care to explain why you two are dripping gunk upon my expensive carpet?”

He directed that question at his head doorman and part-time minder, Craig Nolan. He appeared to be marginally more coherent than Jacob. The man wiped some of the stuff out of his eye, looked at the glutinous blob of red mess before wiping his hand on the back of his jeans.

“It’s that fucker you asked us to question, sir. Something really fucking strange has happened to him.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he replied, “but was it really necessary to wallow in the man’s guts?”

Craig looked as though he was about to burst into tears, the alarm bells inside Billy’s now fully awake mind, finally began to ring. The man lifted his foot.

“Don’t you dare come any fucking closer!” he shouted. “In fact, step back onto the lino. Get off my carpet.”

“We killed him, sir.”

“I think I’ve already figured that piece of information out.”

Craig shook his head, “No, Sir. You don’t get it. We killed him and he came back to life.”

Jacob let out a low moan.

“He won’t fucking die,” Craig whispered.

Billy rushed back into his suite, grabbed his pistol off the dressing table and followed the men downstairs. He slowly approached the closed door to the soundproof room where he and his associates entertained their guests. The two men stopped behind him, seemingly unwilling to venture any further.

He double checked his gun then unlocked the door.

“Please be careful, sir. That thing in there bears no resemblance to that snivelling little cunt that we brought in.”

Billy nodded, still not believing their implausible story. He wouldn’t forget Marigold Drake’s face though, when he and Jacob arrived at the camera shop where he worked. Billy honestly thought the little kid was going to have a seizure right there and then. He did throw up when Jacob grabbed the boy’s arm and dragged him over to Billy’s black van. Somehow the very idea that a skinny seven stone, chicken-livered bag of shit could affect his boys just seemed impossible.

He raised his pistol and opened the door. Billy looked past the gore-streaked walls. He gazed over the metal table, bolted to the floor still littered with Craig’s favourite torture toys and stared aghast at the shaking, meowing bloodied wreck huddled in the far corner.

Behind that swollen mask of crimson mess, Billy could still make out the features of the arrogant little shit that had the audacity to believe that he could steal money from him. The fucker actually believed he would get away with it too.

He gazed back at his two minders. How the fuck did this man, reduce his two best torturers into mounds of jelly? The wreck in the corner then sensed that another person had joined him in the room. The change in his posture was almost dreamlike. He transformed from a snivelling coward into something that was almost feral.

“Shut the fucking door!” screamed Craig. “Don’t let it get close to you, that thing won’t die.”

He dismissed his minder’s pathetic pleading; the idiot had obviously taken leave of his senses. The idea of those two helping themselves to some of his pharmaceutical products, before they began to work on this sad excuse for a man, stuck in his mind and refused to leave.

He then turned back around and watched him crawl closer. As he slowly moved across the wet floor, Billy then saw just how much damage, his boys had inflicted upon his body.

The missing fingers and the two splintered ribs pushing through his torn skin were the obvious signs then, as he crawled closer, Billy noticed the wet trail of steaming guts, the man left behind. He had a gaping hole cut out of his stomach.

“Oh, dear Lord.” He muttered.

The minders had hollowed him out and yet he still moved. His minders hadn’t been lying, this travesty really was dead. The boy’s hand reached out to grab Billy’s bare foot.

“Get the fuck away!” he shouted, jumping back. Billy brought the pistol up and fired a single shot at the boy’s forehead. Fragments of skull and pieces of brain sprayed out of the back of his head. What remained of the body just collapsed like a de-boned fillet of fish.

“Did you two spastics not think of bashing in the cunt’s brains?” Billy gazed at his two trained killers, shivering like babies.

“Is he dead?”

Billy stood back, “Of course he’s fucking dead, Craig. Now get cleaned up; then meet me upstairs in ten minutes time. I want to see a bucket of cold water in one hand, Craig. Jacob, you can bring a stiff bristled brush.”

Craig looked at him with confusion etched into the ugly features. “I’m sorry, sir. Did I hear that correctly?”

Billy sighed. “You two fuckwits have dripped all over my expensive carpet. I expect you to clean it.”

The last of the military vehicles rumbled past the entrance to the alleyway. When he and his colleagues drove through the deserted city streets earlier, Billy watched a dozen uniformed men setting up checkpoints near the railway station and close to the bullring. Thankfully, their route took them away from any of the main shopping areas, so they didn’t have to stop. Looking back, it may have been difficult to explain why three mean were tooled up with hardware, more sophisticated then what the soldiers had.

He guessed that the army would start clearing the moving dead people from the centre and spreading out from there. There was little doubt in his mind that the chances of them returning to the club anytime soon would be next to remote. He kept this vital piece of information to himself. If his men knew that he had no intentions of retreating to the safety of the club then their actions may be unpredictable. Usually, he wouldn’t give two fucks about how his employees felt. His word was law and that was that but, the rules had changed. Unlike him, who had adapted to this fucked up state of affairs, they still needed time to acclimatise.

“Sir, we have company. Oh, fuck, it’s another one of them.”

Billy followed Craig’s trembling finger. He watched a young teenage girl stumble into the alley. She stopped in the middle, turned towards them and took a single step towards the three men. Even without his previous contact with Marigold, he would have been able to deduce that this lady should not be moving about. Her naked body displayed the unmistakable ‘Y’ shaped stitching of a mortician’s assistant.

Jacob unleashed a sound reminiscent to an angry bear; he stumbled past Billy, whilst reaching into the inside of his jacket pocket. “A shot to the head? I can do that,” he muttered.”

Despite applauding the man’s eagerness to make amends, there was no way that Billy could allow this. He padded up to Jacob, who was already attempting to draw a bead on the approaching corpse. Billy placed his hand on Jacob’s wrist and pushed his arm down.

“The time to exterminate these abominations with bullets will come later. I don’t want any gunshots in here though. Look around you, we’re in an alley, the buildings will amplify the noise, do you wish to advertise our presence to Birmingham’s myriad dead? Unless of course, you intend to battle with a few hundred of the things.” Billy grinned, “Besides, I want this one intact. This bitch has a role to play.”

He ran back over to Glen’s body. He found it unfortunate that the dealer had chosen the only area in this allay that wasn’t covered in litter to fall. Around his sprawled body were piles of discarded bin bags, another inch to the left or right and the rubbish would have cushioned his impact.

Billy glanced behind him and saw that the girl was getting dangerously close, his two minders still had their guns drawn; he didn’t think they’d fire unless they believed their lives were in danger. A cursory examination of the crap piled up around the body resulted in nothing he could use. Billy ripped open one of the bin bags and almost whooped with joy when a supermarket carrier bag fell through the hole.

“Just fucking perfect,” he said. He emptied the contents out, watching as a lump of mouldy teabags bounced off Glen’s face.

“Sir? Can we shoot this fucker yet?”

Billy sighed, he ran past his minders, turned the bag upside down then pulled it over the girl’s head; he ducked under her flailing arms and tied the bag’s handles around her neck.

“Come on, don’t just stand there fucking staring, get this thing secured. Billy pushed the dead girl towards the two men and strode out of the alley, towards his van. The occupant tied up in the back still hadn’t answered his questions. Billy turned and watched the minders each grab an arm. He felt that close contact with one of these things would help them both to adapt to the new situation.

Glen had been involved in rather a lot of activities not authorised by Billy. He’d allowed these indiscretions to continue because the dealer was the best he had. It was reasonable to assume that if Billy reined in Glen’s rather vile pleasures then his productivity would be affected. In retrospect, perhaps paying more attention to the dealer’s contemptible traits may have avoided the silly fucker’s needless death.

He grabbed the van’s rear doors, even so, Glen was still family so consequently, his death needed to be avenged.

The terrified girl’s face altered from blind hope to dread in the space of a second when Billy opened the rear doors. Just who did the silly bitch expect to open the door? Perhaps she heard the rumble of those army vehicles and thought some handsome soldier would stop his truck, rush over to the van and rescue her.

He climbed in and took a seat opposite the girl. Billy left the doors open, he wished to give this girl just a slight hope that escape may be possible.

“Hello Maggie.”

It pleased him when her eyes opened just a little wider; she hadn’t expected him to know her name. Her eyes were rather pretty eyes, considering the state of the rest of her; they were probably her best feature.

“I imagine that not too long ago, there would have been lots of handsome young men just dying to take you out to the cinema or for a meal.”

She tried to cringe away when Billy placed one of his large hands on her thigh. “I’m guessing that you’ve forgotten what it was like to normal.”

Her eyes darted over to those wide open doors. The prospect of freedom must be so tantalising close for the poor girl, she must even be able to taste it. He squeezed her thigh tight. She groaned behind her gag.

“You only have to tell me where Alison has gone. That’s all you need to do. Just a few harmless words and that’ll be it; you can be on your way.” He pulled out a small plastic bag from his pocket and placed it on the bench beside him. Her eyes immediately shifted down to it. He decided not to inform her that the contents were just washing powder. “I’ll even give you a gift for being so cooperative.” He released his grip on the leg and then removed the gag. “Do we have a deal, Maggie?”

The girl slowly shook her head, “No way,” she whispered. “I ain’t betraying Alison. She well out of it and good, too.”

He had expected a little resistance; hence, the carrot on the stick prop but this was ridiculous. Billy sighed; he untied the knot in the bag and emptied the contents out of the rear of his van. It pleased him to hear the little bitch let out a tiny moan. “Craig, bring in our guest.”

Billy jumped out and stood to one side while the minders brought the struggling corpse up to the van’s rear. He carefully removed the bag from around her neck. “Maggie, this is your last chance. Tell me where she’s gone right now, or I’ll put this monster in the back of the van with you.”

The girl shuffled back, mumbling and groaning, her raw fear was there, visible for all to see and yet she still shook her head.

“Move that thing away,” he ordered. Billy jumped into the back, grabbed Maggie’s wrist and dragged the girl out into the open. She tried to get away, seemingly forgetting that she was still trussed up like an oven ready chicken. He moved back a few steps and drew his own pistol. “Okay boys; throw that thing at the bitch.”

“Okay, I’ll tell, I’ll tell! She’s gone back home back to where she was born.”

Billy nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Maggie, that wasn’t so hard, was it. He pointed his pistol at the dead girl. Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off the trigger. “Oh, wait on. Where exactly was she born?”

The girl shook his head, tears streamed down her filthy cheeks. “I’ve no idea,” she whispered. “Alison never told me.”

“Let it go.”

The minders released her arms and jumped back; the dead girl took no notice of her previous captors and lunged for the girl on the floor. Maggie shrieked in agony when it bit into her outstretched arm. Billy heard the collective moaning of a dozen more of the dead, slowly walking towards the van. Maggie’s screams must have attracted their attention.

“Get in the van; it’s time to finish this.”

“But, she didn’t tell you where the girl was born.”

Billy shrugged. “I already had that information; I just needed confirmation before I went on a wild goose chase.

Chapter Eleven

It must have cost an absolute fortune. Somehow she doubted that his family would have coughed up the cash either, oh no, the caring community would have bought this for the deceiving, evil son of a bitch.

“The village won’t be the same without him.” Alison choked back a bitter sob as she carefully re-read the inscription cut into the stone. “Karl Hudson will be sadly missed by all who knew him.” She wanted to scream out at the top of her lungs. Alison saw all her imagined acts of retribution flushing down the sewer, because of one careless driver not looking where they were going.

“Those idiots wouldn’t miss the bastard if they knew what he’d really been like.”

Alison sincerely hoped that the teacher had not been killed outright. She wanted him to suffer, to lie there, all alone in the middle of the road, staining the tarmac crimson, his body broken like a smashed doll and suffering an unendurable agonizing death.

She spat on the gravestone and watched her phlegm slide down the black marble, leaving a green slime trail. “You’re going to burn for eternity for what you did to me, you evil cunt,” she spat. She dropped to her knees, unable to contain her torrent of emotions from sweeping through her. Alison stayed in that position for what seemed like hours. The sudden noise of the huge cemetery gates being pushed open filtered through her misery, she raised her head, aware that she was no longer alone. Her desire to remain inconspicuous overrode her need to unleash the bottled in emotions. Alison wiped her eyes and watched the figure slowly walk along the leaf covered gravel path. For the moment, Alison saw it was safe to stare; the woman had her eyes trained at her feet. In her hands were a small bunch of pink roses.

Something about the colour of the flowers and that woman seemed to trigger a memory from her childhood. The other woman suddenly stopped beside an old tree and placed the flowers down next to a grey gravestone.

Alison slowly got off the floor, silently cursing at her now soaking wet coat. It took her a moment of searching through her seldom used memories to discover why the scene before her was familiar. She looked again, yes, the hair colour had changed and she obviously grown older but there was no doubt in Alison’s mind that she was staring at the girl whom she was due to meet on the night the teacher violated her. The girl was her old friend, Trisha.

She was here to pay her respects to her grandmother. Alison remembered accompanying her friend here just the once. They couldn’t have been any older than ten. Alison had stayed by the gate while her friend laid the flowers that Trisha’s mother had cut from their garden. There was no way that she’d come in here, the place gave her the creeps.

Despite her previous plan on not interacting with anyone in the village until she’d dealt with her past, she just couldn’t allow herself to ignore Trisha. She felt the tears return.

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” she whispered. Alison brushed herself down and stepped away from the gravestone, intending to call out her name when another figure opened the gates. Alison gasped when she saw who was there.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” she said, stepping back and slowly bobbing down. The man from the train had just entered the graveyard. She turned and sat against the granite. She’d been on the streets far too long that most coincidences just didn’t exist. The chances of him following her were far too high for Alison to ignore.

“He must be working for Glen’s friends.” She looked back, watching him slowly walk past the stones; he appeared to be reading them as if looking for a particular grave. “More likely he’ll be looking for me.”

He passed Trisha, they both politely nodded to each other then he looked at his watch, spun around and rushed out through the gates. Alison didn’t waste any time, she had to know what he was up to. She got up and hurried through the graveyards towards the gate, she glanced around just the once and saw Trisha stood by her grandmother’s stone, Trisha’s eyes were shut. Alison sighed, promising herself that she’d try to locate her sometime today. Alison definitely needed allies now. The game board had just acquired another player.

The man was heading up a steep street at a fair rate of knots. She had no idea what had got into him, he appeared to be almost panicking; acting like someone who thought his house was on fire.

He suddenly stopped outside a red-brick detached house, opened the gate and ran up the garden path before pushing open the front door and disappearing. Alison leaned against the stone wall beside and sighed, she realised that she’d made a mistake; the man must live here, in the village. He had probably just come back from visiting someone or, judging by the look of him, been on a business trip.

Alison turned round and headed back to the cemetery, hoping that Trisha was still there. She smiled to herself.

“You really are a silly paranoid cow.”

Looking back, it was obvious that he couldn’t have been part of that gang; he looked about as dangerous as a toothless hamster. Even so, his behaviour did seem a little weird. Then again, what did she expect from someone who lived in Seeton?

Alison reached the gates; her heart was racing, getting excited about meeting her old friend for the first time in ages. She hoped that Trisha would forgive her for vanishing into thin air, Alison was sure that she’d understand when she explained her reasons. Alison then stopped dead.

“Oh. Jesus, what if she doesn’t believe me?”

Alison turned around, watching a red transit van turn the corner before stopping outside the butcher’s shop. She’d already had this conversation with herself many times in the past, the fear of nobody believing her story was another reason why she’d left the village.

“Come on, you silly bitch, get a grip on yourself.”

She turned back around and slipped though the open gates, Alison looked towards where her friend had been, only to find that she was no longer there. She hurried along the path and stopped at the grave and gazed down, not understanding how she could have left here without Alison seeing her, then Alison noticed something shiny and black laying on top of a pile of freshly dug earth, she padded over to investigate and found that it was a single high heeled shoe.

This had to have belonged to Trisha, she felt inside and found that it was still warm; could she have really left here hopping? Alison looked at the mound of wet soil; it was almost as if she’d burrowed her way out.

“Either that or something had dug their way out and snatched her.” Alison laughed at the ridiculous idea.

“Get a grip, lass. Like that’s going to happen.

Chapter Twelve

He leaned back on his chair and stared at the front door, he was sure there was somebody out there. The dog hadn’t moved so maybe he had imagined it. Then again, Gruff’s reaction was hardly a good indicator anymore. He was about to call out when George heard the sound of a key scraping the inside of the lock.

They had gone their separate ways earlier on, she had a few errands to run for her elderly neighbour and George needed to visit the pet store. As their destinations were on the opposite sides of Seeton, it seemed faster to accomplish their tasks separately and meet up here.

It sounded like his good lady friend was back from her brief shopping trip. He’d forgotten that he had given her the spare key, a bit silly really considering that Dean was in the house and he told them that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m still used to having the house by myself.”

It still found it bloody hard to wrap his head around the fact that his son had come back. George absently patted Gruff when the dog placed his head on George’s lap.

“There’s no point you trying to soft-soap me now. It’s way too late for that. I still haven’t forgiven you for sucking up to Anne.”

He tickled the bog behind his ear, He was so glad that he had though, god knows what he’d have done if Gruff had gone for the woman.

“I always thought you were a one dog, one owner type of animal. Come to think of it, you weren’t all that keen on Dean when he used to live here.”

George looked into the dog’s big brown eyes, “I think you must be getting soft in your old age. I bet you allowed him to rub your belly as well.”

That lock was giving that poor woman so much trouble; he could hear her cursing from the kitchen. That was pretty funny. He vividly recalled her patronising lecture while they were walking into the village. It appears that her being at one with nature, and of discovering her inner peace had suddenly gone right out of the window.

“The door’s already unlocked!” he shouted, grinning.

She’d tried to explain a few more of her cranky ideas during their lunch at the Rose and Crown. He tried to pay attention, he really did but his mind kept alternating between needing to hold her large breasts and of moving that weed killer that he’d placed under the sink.

Going to the pub for food had been his idea.

Despite her assurances that her meat free recipes were just as tasty as anything made with dead animal, George was not convinced. He couldn’t shake the thought of her placing that plate in front of him and he looking down and seeing something that belonged at the bottom of a budgie’s cage.

George had real difficulty in containing his joy when they discovered the door to Seeton’s only heath food shop shut and bolted. He suspected that the woman’s karma developed stress lines around about that time.

His thoughts of just how broken her karma was now evaporated when she opened the door. George looked into her tear-filled eyes and knew something serious had happened. He threw back the chair and ran up to the woman, throwing his arms around her shoulders. “Its okay, Anne, I’m here for you.”

The woman slowly nodded then gently pulled her head back; George bent his head and kissed her tears away.

For that second, she calmed; then her face cracked, and when she spoke, her voice was so soft he barely heard it. “You need to turn the TV on.” She drew in deep shuddering breath. “It came over the radio whilst I was in the bakers, talking to Mrs. Lyndhurst. It’s spreading. They now say the infection has reached Birmingham.”

George led her into the living room and sat her down on the sofa. He passed her a box of tissues before grabbing the TV remote control from the coffee table.

“That’s where my Glen moved to after he finished university.”

He nodded and sat next to her. He remembered her boy well, even as a kid, he was trouble. The kid was a complete slime-ball; Glen seemed to have a thing for sneaking into the girl’s changing rooms. She may have thought that the world shone out of his arse but he knew better, he doubted that he’d have changed in the intervening years.

“I’ve tried ringing him but I just can’t get through. I keep getting this recorded message, asking me to try later. Oh, George, I’m so worried.”

He gently squeezed her hand. Before turning on the TV, “Try not to worry, sweetheart. I’m sure it’s not as bad as they make it out. You know what these news-reporters are like. The beggars thrive on bad news; they always blow every disaster out of all proportion.”

She nodded and blew her nose. “I’m sure you’re right.”

They both watched a blank faced female news-reporter reading out a comment from the prime minister regarding the recent scandal involving a senior cabinet minister and another MP’s wife.

“I’m sure I read that in the Daily Mail last week,” murmured George.

The news-reporter continued with a bulletin about a car-bomb failing to explode near a Scottish railway station. The programme carried on for another ten minutes without mentioning the incident in London. Before the business news started, the woman finished off with an account of a minor oil spill just off the coast of Greenland.

“There you go,” announced, George. “I said there was nothing to worry about. It couldn’t have been as bad as they made it out to be this afternoon if it didn’t even make the evening headline.”

She just looked at him, her face unreadable. “George, come on. Are you telling me that none of that rang any alarm bells?”

He shook his head, “No, why should it?”

She sighed. “Come on, man you said it yourself, that affair incident happened last week. We’ve just watched a repeat of very old news. Come on, turn it over.”

George changed the channel the BBC news. Anne’s voice shredded through his self-denial, leaving him feeling very confused and scared. He had read that article in the paper; he also remembered hearing about that car bomb too. Who had heard of them repeating a news programme from last week? Unless they were trying to cover something up.

As he pressed the button on the remote, they were greeting with a light blue screen with the words ‘Normal service will begin shortly’ George shook his head and switched to another channel, which displayed the same message. He looked into Anne’s fear filled eyes whilst cycling through all the channels and finding the exact blue background.

“This is getting scary,” she whispered.

They both jumped as a male voice barked out a stream of words in a foreign language. Before silence cut the voice off when George pressed the channel button.

“Turn it back!” she shouted.

A satellite image of an unknown city filled the screen.

“Where is that?”

George shrugged, “It could be anywhere. Judging by the Arabic writing running along the bottom of the picture, I’m guessing it’s somewhere in the middle-east. Do you want me to find an English channel?”

She shook her head, “No, wait.”

The picture slowly zoomed in. George couldn’t understand the announcer’s language, but it was obvious that the fellow was either exited or just plain terrified.

“Oh, fuck.” Said Anne. The picture stopped at second floor building height. They both watched in horror as a group of people all attired in night wear, caught an old woman who’d been trying to open a door to a department store. Every one of them tore into the pensioner. Anna thrust her head into George’s chest and sobbed out loud when fountain of blood streamed though a gap in that crowd.

The foreign announcer was cut off in mid sentence and another blue screen replaced the carnage.

“Are you alright?”

She shook her head, “No. That city was Birmingham. That poor woman died a few streets away the Bull Ring shopping centre.” She looked up, “I recognised the street.”

George turned the TV off and gently picked her off the sofa. “Come on now, Anne. Calm yourself down. Look, I’ll see if Dean had a mobile phone, even if he hasn’t, the lad may know another way of finding out what’s happening.”

He left her in the living room and padded into the hallway. “He’s a very bright boy, I’m sure he’ll be able to help you out.”

As he reached the stairs, George saw Dean standing at the top, the lad jumped when he saw his father looking up at him.

“I thought I heard somebody come in,” he said.

“Have you got a minute, Dean?”

His son nodded and walked down the stairs.

“What’s up?”

“How can he help?” Shouted Anne.

George almost jumped out of his skin, he hadn’t realised that Anne was stood behind him.

“All this is his fault in the first place.”

George spun around and grabbed the woman’s wrists. “For crying out loud, woman, calm down, look, let’s just sit down and talk to each other reasonably.”

She shook his hand off her, he hadn’t expected that, Anne pushed passed him and stormed into the hallway, George saw that Dean stood hallway up the stairs, making no attempt to come any further down.

“We both heard you, Dean. You practically admitted that this disaster was your fault when we saw you outside the pub.”

George padded into the kitchen and shut the door. He put the kettle on then sat down on his chair and sighed. Gruff gave the back of his hand a single lick.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he muttered. “This is just like old times isn’t it?” He gazed up at the ceiling. “Madison, sweetheart, if you’re up there looking down, then I’d just like to say that the irony of this situation fails to amuse me.”

George took his cup to the kitchen table, wondering why his life had to get so damn complicated. Even in here, he could still hear them going at each other, he knew he should have marched in there and ordered them both to calm down, after all, this was his house. He turned and watched Gruff pad up to the door with his tail down, teeth bared and growling ominously.

“I’m guessing the noise is upsetting you as well.”

The dog barked once, then somebody brayed upon the front door, George almost spilled the kettle water over his hand. He ran over and ordered the dog into his basket. The frantic banging started again. It sounded like a policeman’s knock. He opened the kitchen door to see his son run back up the stairs.

Anne turned around, wiped her wet face on her sleeve then drew in a deep breath before letting it out in one long shudder. “I’m sorry, George, I’m shouldn’t have taken my grief out on your son.”

He gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. “Go into the room and wipe your face.”

George waited until she passed him then grabbed the door handle. “My disruptive day started with a knock on the door,” he whispered, glancing at the back of Anne’s head. “Will it end the same way?”

He pulled the door just as the caller was about to bang again. Standing on his doorstep was the one man that he never thought he’d see outside his house. “Ken? What are you doing here?”

He’d known the old farmer all his life but the man either stayed on his farm or inside the Rose and Crown, sat in his usual place, by the fireplace. George had never seen him anywhere else.

The farmer closed his eyes for a moment, they snapped open when Anne joined him at the door. “George, you’ll need to see this.” He nodded at Anne. “You need to come too.”

He turned around and marched towards his parked Land rover.

“Do we go with him?”

George shrugged, “It must be important, Anne. That’s the most words I’ve heard the man speak in years.”

Anne grabbed her coat and followed the farmer leaving George stood on the doorstep; he gazed up at his son’s bedroom window, thinking about black auras and of trouble always following Dean.

Chapter Thirteen

Harold Dunbar leaned his former two-wheeled pride and joy against the lamppost outside the shop of lies. He took out the cigarette packet from inside his inside leather jacket pocket, eased one out and lit it.

“You’ve only got three left in there, sonny Jim,” he muttered. “You’d better start slowing down.” He let out a bitter laugh, after his shocking discovery earlier today; it was more likely that he’d be on the cocaine. Well, he would be if Harold knew where to get any.

He made a move towards the chain and padlock wrapped underneath the seat then abruptly stopped.

“What’s the frigging point?”

That padlock was probably as fake as the fucking bike. Harold sucked greedily on the cigarette and filled his lungs with hot smoke. He desperately needed that nicotine hit to calm his shattered nerves or at least file down a few of those emotional peaks.

Feeling muggle-headed was a fuck of a sight better than wanting to shove his fist down the next passing stranger’s throat and pull out their pancreas.

Harold smoked the cig down to the filter in several angry sucks and flicked the end into the middle of the road; he still wanted to twat somebody.

He stopped himself getting another one out. He’d just have to put up with his non-chilled emotions until he’d sorted that salesman out. Besides, he’d need those for later, Christ knows when he’d be able to afford anymore.

“That is one serious habit you have there, sonny Jim.” He nodded back to the reflection of the blonde youth in the shop window. Didn’t he know it, he wasn’t fifteen until next August and he already had the dreaded smokers cough every bloody morning.

His hand crept into his jacket pocket and this time he let it, fuck it. Harold would find some way of getting some more fags.

Harold wandered over to the main door, lit his next cig and tried the handle, locked of course. He didn’t think it would be that easy. There must be some way of getting inside, if he had to, Harold would put a brick through the window but he’d rather do this quietly.

He took one last look of his two-wheeled rip off before turning into the alley that separated Roger Huggins’s furniture emporium and the butcher’s shop.

It had been almost three months since he’s first laid eyes on the new edition in the fat man’s display window. A passing cement mixer had almost wiped him out in his rush to get across the road to examine this shining steed. As he approached the window, Harold kept telling himself that this had to be a mirage. Goods of this pedigree just didn’t find their way into shitty Seeton.

The saliva in his mouth took a walk as he read the hand-written card leaning against the tyre. So, it had finally happened. A rare gem had finally landed in Roger Huggins’s lap and he hadn’t even realised. The man who’d steal candy from a baby and then try to sell it back to their mother had made a whopping mistake.

Harold Dunbar knew his stuff when it came to bicycles and he knew a genuine professional BMX when he saw one. It must be worth in the region of six hundred pounds and that fool had marked it up for only two hundred.

He had placed his head against the cold glass when harsh reality punched through his sugar-coated fantasy of riding that dream bike. Two hundred may as well be two million. There was no chance that he’d be able to find that amount of money. He was just a fourteen year old boy with a ten pound a week paper-round and a bad smoking habit that took all of his cash.

The alley was a dead-end, he turned back but not before picking up half a brick. It wasn’t his fault; the man had left him with no other choice. He should have left his door unlocked.

After Harold had handed over his hard-earned cash to the smiling man, he pushed the bike through the village, happier than he’d been in years. It had taken him three months to get that money, twelve weeks of constant lawn cutting, baby sitting and car washing. On top of all that, he’d managed to cut his habit down to just three roll-ups a day.

He was almost home when the ground-breaking moment happened. He’d paused by the side of the road to roll another cigarette, when the butcher’s delivery van hurtled past him at what seemed like the speed of sound. He watched in horror as his new bike slowly tipped over and fell into the road. He’d been anxious but not too worried; Every BMX nut knew that the paintjobs on these babies could withstand a sandblasting gun. A fall onto the tarmac shouldn’t have even marked it.

Harold picked it up and saw the tarmac had scratched off a large jagged strip of bright red paint to reveal a dark blue base and hints of letters coloured in white. He used his thumb nail to scratch off a bit more of the red paint. It dawned on him that he’d been had. This was just some cheap knock off BMX that you could pick up for under eighty pounds in a bargain warehouse.

He looked up and down the high street to make sure nobody was around; then launched the brick at the window. He jumped at the noise; Harold hadn’t expected it to be so loud. No alarms went off, he grinned; Harold didn’t think the shop would be alarmed. Most of the gear that passed through Roger’s hands weren’t exactly legal, he wouldn’t want the police anywhere hear his shop.

He took off his jacket and wrapped it round his arm then knocked out the remaining glass and climbed through the hole. Harold took out the torch he’d brought for this task and switched it on; he wasn’t daft enough to reach for the light switch; now that would have been fucking dumb. When he first found out that he’d been taken for a ride, Harold wanted to come back here and torch the place. Hurt the bastard where it hurt but then he realised that Harold would lose out too.

That money what Roger took off him would be gone, that he knew but he should be able to find something in the building of junk that’s worth a bit of cash. He’d need something small and easy to shift. Now he’d broken the window, Roger would know that someone had been in here.

The door to his left would take him straight into the main showroom. But that was no good, everything in there was massive, stuff like fridges and sofas and other crap like that. Harold passed that door and opened the one next to it; this one took him straight into a storeroom. At either side of him were huge metal shelves just packed with every type of object imaginable. Most of Seeton’s history must be on these shelves. He opened a random box and found it full of old medals. He grinned.

“I’ve hit the jackpot on the first go, how lucky am I?”

Harold emptied the medals into his hand and stuffed them into his pocket then he put the box back where he found them. The chances were good that Huggins’s wouldn’t even notice, even if he did, so fucking what? The bastard probably stole them anyway. He decided that it was time to get out of here; this place was beginning to freak him out.

Harold lifted the torch and played it along the shelves just one more time, he may get lucky again. The beam passed over an old clock a pile of paperbacks and a human mask. Harold shook his head in amusement, you could get lost in here, then the mask opened its eyes.

The boy shrieked in terror and dropped the torch, through his panic he heard it groan and move. When a fingernail brushed against his cheeks, Harold ran for the door, feeling his bladder letting go. He ran through the broken window and out into Seeton’s deserted high street.

Chapter Fourteen

He rushed back up the stairs, straight into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. Good god, he was mad. This was something he really could do without. Just who the fuck did that bitch think she was?

“Have I gone back in time here? Christ, it’s as if my mum has come back to haunt me. Why do I feel like I’m a naughty kid again?”

He leaned back against his door, closed his eyes and attempted to calm down. Getting mad at irrelevant rubbish like that jealous old trout being made to feel like gooseberry was just pointless.

“Don’t you think you have enough on your plate, Dean? Come on, man. Get a grip of yourself.”

He snapped open his eyes and rushed over to check on his experiment. He’d moved the bedside table into the middle of the floor earlier on and placed an old hamster cage on the top. He’d found it in the loft a few hours ago, it put a smile on his face when Dean stumbled over it, He knew it was up here, at least it was the last time he’d looked. He’d banked on his dad’s habit of never throwing anything away, even if he had, it wouldn’t have been much of a problem getting a new one. The only drawback would have been finding one that would have been sturdy enough. This old thing was constructed decades ago and still stood the test of time, even he would have had trouble bending the metal bars let alone the animal that he intended to put inside it.

His mum had bought him this complete with a pet hamster back when he was a kid, Dean couldn’t remember exactly how old he’d been, he guessed either seven or eight. He’d named it Albert, he did remember being so distraught when the hamster had died. His parents promised to buy him another one but had refused, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to take another death.

Dean had quickly thrown his coat over the top of the cage when his dad called out his name. If dad still only had Gruff for company then he may have disapproved of the experiment but he would not have commented. The addition of some annoying tree-hugging, animal loving save the earth banshee made his dad’s behaviour too unpredictable.

He had begun to wonder if coming back here had been the wisest of choices. Then again, what other option did he have? According to the reports, the infection had now spread to most of England’s cities. It wouldn’t be long before it reached here too.

Dean pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sign of either of them following him up. He sighed, not much chance of that really. The woman had worked herself up into a right tizz.

“Not my concern,” he muttered. “There’s more than her feelings at stake.”

Dean padded back to his experiment and sat on the bed beside the cage. He’d gone into the village earlier, hoping that the pet shop was still there. In any other place, the stakes would have been stacked against him, but this was Seeton and nothing changed here. He smiled as he stood in front of the shop; it looked exactly how he remembered it, even down to the paint-work. The owner had kept the same colour when he’d re-painted.

He’d hoped that the shop stocked rats, but the closest he could find were a couple of gerbils. Dean had mentally shrugged, it’s not like he could go anywhere else. He told the man that they were for his son but thankfully, the old guy wasn’t really listening, his eyes were on a group of kids huddled around a large cage containing puppies.

Dean’s initial optimism took another beating when he pulled the blanket off the cage. There wasn’t much of the animal’s body left to identify it as a gerbil. It must have literally exploded once he’d left the bedroom. Bits of its insides stuck to the inside of the fabric. He’d already prepared the subject first by giving it a small dose of the original solution and the animal’s reaction complied with Gertrude’s. The little bastard almost took off the tip of Dean’s finger when he attempted to inject it with the cure. He picked a piece of bloodied brown fur clinging to one of the bars and examined it in the light of his reading lamp.

“I must have set the dosage too high. I can’t think of any other reason why the drug should have had such an adverse effect.”

He cleaned the cage with a few baby wipes, placing the waste in a plastic bag, then padded over to his bedside cabinet and opened the drawer. A tiny head popped out of the gap. The remaining gerbil then ran back into the corner and picked up a sunflower seed.

“I’ve got a bit of bad news for you, buddy.” He scooped the rodent up and dropped him though the door at the top of the cage. “Your friend met with an accident. Don’t be too alarmed though, I’ll get the dosage right this time.”

It hadn’t taken Dean that long to discover what had gone wrong at the labs, when he managed to download the last test results. One of their incompetent technicians had mixed up a pair of nucleotides before compiling the final gene sequence. Dean put aside the glaring fact that one of the senior scientists should have double-checked the work before live testing had commenced. It was easier for his conscience to pass on the blame.

He’d been able to link up to the powerful remote computers to fix the problem and re-run the sequence before the internet failed. By what online news he’d scanned through whilst waiting, he didn’t believe that it would be coming back on anytime soon.

Several naval ships from over a dozen countries had already begun a blockade and had sunk half a dozen ships trying to escape from England. Apparently, they’d even destroyed two cruise liners. Dean wanted to weep for the vast amount of deaths this mistake was causing.

He injected the animal with the first solution then padded over to the bedroom window; he had a few seconds before the gerbil would lose control of most of its body functions. Dean saw his dad and the woman hurrying up the garden path just behind a huge bear of a man.

He’d recognise that broad back anywhere, that was Ken Ellis, Gavin’s uncle. The man owned the dairy farm a few miles from the village. The four of them regularly used to play in the man’s barns and in amongst the old junkyard bordering Ken’s property. Dean would have seen the farm-yard if he’d been paying any attention whilst he was travelling here, the line cut right through his land.

All three climbed into the farmer’s Land rover and a few seconds later, the vehicle moved off. Dean scratched his head, wondering where they were going now; then he realised that it really wasn’t any of his business. He reminded himself that he was a stranger here now, they’d probably just gone to the pub or something.

“Why should I really care anyway?”

All this was distracting him from the important work. Dean hurried back to the bed, staying well away from the creature in the cage, despite his precautions; it threw its body at the bars, desperately trying to grab him.

Dean prepared the next solution, this time, only making it half the strength. He reached for his other syringe, keeping his attention fixed upon the animal. Its speed seemed to contradict his observations in the lab. The infected human’s movement decreased. Perhaps the mass of the body affected its movement after infection.

Dean trapped the snarling monster in the corner of the cage with two long pencils and injected the contents into its back. He then rushed over to the door, in case this one exploded as well.

The animal just collapsed and appeared to die. He stayed where he was and counted to twenty. His optimism joined the gerbil in death. Dean slid to the floor and placed his head in his hands. The spectre of failure hung above his head like a thick, black cloud.

“Get over yourself, Dean,” he said. “Hiding in a cupboard is not your style. Think, man! There’s nothing wrong with the new solution, you know there isn’t.”

He got to his feet and checked on the gerbil, it still hadn’t moved, even so, there was no way that he was going to stick his fingers through the bars, just in case. If he had the correct equipment, he could have been able to perform a rough examination of the body.

There was no chance of that happening, he sighed then got to work, cleaning up the mess. He dumped all the stuff inside the cage and carried everything downstairs. Doing something practical helped to keep his mind from spiralling further into depression. The answer was right there, in front of him. It must be, there must be something he wasn’t taking into consideration.

He reached the bottom of hall and placed the cage on the floor, stretched his arms and shooed the dog’s inquisitive nose away before lifting it back up and walking into the kitchen.

He unlocked the side door and carried the cage into the back garden. His intention was to leave the cage in the shed, just for a day or two. Once this was all over then Dean would burn the bloody thing in the garden, he was sure that his dad wouldn’t mind.

Dean opened the shed door, placed the cage on an old workbench, and closed the door. Heading back to the house, he realised that it couldn’t be a problem with the dosage, Dean had compensated for the animal’s body mass before the injection.

The dog jumped up to greet him as Dean entered the kitchen; he absently patted the dog’s head then suddenly stopped, “That gerbil was just too small.” He said.

He needed a larger test specimen. He wondered if those puppies were still in the pet shop, they were an ideal size.

Chapter Fifteen

Alison crossed her legs and gazed up into the clear blue sky, it was so peaceful here, unlike the rest of the village, this place brought back only happy memories. The only other people in here with her were a small group of kids, messing about in the children’s play area. One of them had a large bag of dried dog food and seemed intent on throwing the stuff at his mates.

She gauged their ages to be around thirteen to fifteen; she wondered where they had found the dog food, probably stolen from the pet shop. Alison remembered getting up to equally stupid japes at their age too. There hadn’t been much else to do in Seeton for Alison and her mates. From what she’d seen, nothing had really changed.

Before that kid had ripped the bag open, Alison had received more than a few curious glances, whether the looks were admiring or scornful was debatable. Judging from the bouts of giggling she’d heard, Alison guessed on the latter.

. She smiled to herself, wishing she could have gone back to being that age. Alison would have given her right arm to lose her experiences and memories and go back to having that naïve arrogance and natural optimism that she possessed at that tender age.

“Before that beast stole them away from me.”

Alison shivered and decided to go back to the pub where it was a little warmer; maybe she could get something to eat from that takeaway in the centre of the village first. The Rose and Crown did evening meals, but she’d rather not eat at the pub, not with all the locals giving her the odd snide look, wondering who she was. Alison didn’t think it would be that long before at least one of them actually guess.

She imagined trying to eat her fish and chips in peace, whilst occasionally hearing the who’s that girl phrase thrown around the lounge and games room, treating her like some fucking monkey in a cage, then looking up when someone called out her name – and seeing her parents standing there.

No, she couldn’t risk discovery, not until she had dealt with that copper. It was a real shame that she had to still behave like a pariah especially considering just how nice that landlady had been to her when Alison finally plucked up the courage to enter the pub and enquire about a room, after she’d left the cemetery.

The large middle-aged woman had one of those incredible faces just built for smiling. Combined with her compassionate manner and her genuine desire to help, it didn’t take Alison long to fall in love with the woman.

As soon as she had left her in the room after showing her everything and promising to bring her a cup of tea, Alison’s suppressed emotions took her by surprise and broke through the hardened shell that she’d built around her damaged psyche. She sat upon the pale, floral bedspread and unleashed a never-ending torrent of hot tears.

It took her a while to get herself back together but Alison did feel better, if a little drained. The landlady, as promised, returned and lightly tapped on the door. Alison ignored her, knowing that if that kind lady saw her in this state, her benevolent face, filled to the brim with concern and sympathy would have set her off again. If that happened, Alison didn’t think she’d ever be able to get herself back into a semblance of order.

Alison waited another twenty minutes before moving off the bed. She opened the door a crack and, seeing the corridor empty, opened the door a little wider to find a cup of lukewarm tea and a plate of digestives waiting for her, beside the door. There was even a yellow post-it note stuck to the edge of the saucer telling her not to hesitate to give her a ring if she needed anything. She almost broke down in tears after reading the note.

Those kids giving given up on their game of throwing dog biscuits at each other. She watched them all take up relaxed positions on the benches and around the playground equipment before a small blond boy was coerced into handing out the contents of his cigarette packet.

She smiled at their silly antics then stood up and yawned. Alison felt as though she could sleep for a week. All this fresh country air was playing havoc with her system. She really did need her bed. One of the kids wolf whistled at her, followed by some inaudible words that caused at least two of them to fall about laughing.

“Gee, what a big, hard gang of rebels.” She uttered, grinning to herself.

Their banter abruptly stopped at the sight of an old man shuffling towards the play area. It didn’t appear that he’d seen the kids yet but that soon changed when the blonde threw a bottle in his direction. The glass smashed on the path a few feet away from the old man. Every one of them erupted in gales of laughter. Alison wondered if she ought to sit back down to enjoy the ensuring frolics.

One of the major drawbacks of living in such a close-knit community was that, unlike the cities where you had a certain degree of anonymity, most people either knew you or at least was on nodding terms with at least one member of your family. How could the kids maintain that rebel attitude when any backchat they gave to another villager would inevitably find its way back to their parents?

Alison and Trisha had learnt that lesson when they both skived off from school and were seen by the postman. It took a few days for the news to reach Alison’s dad but after the beating he’d given her, Alison never did it again. In this age of mobile phones, Alison reckoned that those kiddies’ parents would be finding out about this incident before any of them even got home.

She stayed on her feet, carefully watching the man stop and turn. There was something not quite right about the way he moved, was he drunk? The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end when the man issued a deep bestial groan and lurched towards the play area. Something was definitely wrong here; Alison didn’t need her months of street living to tell her that those kids were in danger. She quickly glanced around the park in the hope that someone else had noticed this. Seeing the area empty, she hurried across the grass.

Before, his movements were slow and erratic. Now, he closed in on those kids, acting like a starving man spotting food. Alison blinked and shook away that ridiculous notion. He was just a nutter, probably high on some narcotic, he sure as fuck wasn’t a bloody cannibal. Whatever he was, that weirdo posed a serious threat to those kids.

“Don’t just stand there!” she shouted. “Get away from him.”

The kids didn’t appear to have heard her; they remained motionless like kittens, unaware of the danger. Their insular education had just not prepared them for situations like this. They only moved when the man reached the waist high yellow painted fence and lunged over, trying the grab the nearest boy.

She reached the other side and ran through the bright red metal gate and up to the nearest boy. “Stop your gawping, lad and move it!” she said grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around. The voice within their midst seemed to break their paralysis; they turned as one and pushed past Alison. One boy still remained, the blonde haired lad, he could get away as the man gripped the boys sleeve and was trying to pull him towards him.

“Get the fuck off him, you freak!” she shouted whilst running towards the boy.

He looked straight at Alison and she saw a pair of lifeless eyes staring back at her. Oh Jesus, this fucker was seriously up there orbiting the planets. Alison grabbed the other boy’s arms and tried to pull him back. The old man responded by growling and dipping his head down. She watched in absolute horror as the man opened his mouth and fastened his jaws around the boy’s wrist.

The kid screamed when the man closed his jaws then pulled his head back, taking with him a red raw chunk of meat. The blonde boy fell back into Alison when the man let go. She pushed the sobbing boy towards his crying friends then grabbed the dog food bag off the bench.

“Don’t just fucking stand there, get him out of the park and ring for an ambulance.” She turned her attention back to the man who hadn’t moved away from the fence, he just stood there, gazing at her, with his creepy dead eyes whilst chewing.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she shouted.

Alison ran towards the man, jumped out of the way of his arms and threw the empty bag over his head. He still didn’t move nor did the man attempt to remove the bag.

“You must be on some serious fucking medication, mate.”

Those kids were safely out of the park, she wanted to follow them to make sure they found help but Alison dare not leave this fucker to wander about and bite anyone else. She slowly backed out of the play area, keeping her sight on him, the man stayed just where he was; his reptilian stillness frightened the hell out of her. She thought she knew every drug going but nothing in her experience could cause anything like this. Alison turned and ran for the gates, deciding to let the police sort all this weird shit out; she turned around one more time before reaching the gates, that old man didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

The kids had also gone, Alison spun around, hoping to spot any of them. There were a few blood spots on the floor; they lead towards the village hall. She just hoped that one of them had taken her advice and called for an ambulance. Then again, if they’d gone back into the centre, somebody was bound to see them and get help.

What was she going to do about the drugged-up freakazoid? Alison couldn’t leave that in the park, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he attacked another kid. What other choice did she have though? What if the copper who’d helped to abuse her all those years ago just happened to arrive on the scene, the one with the unmistakable voice, she didn’t think she’d be responsible for her actions. It was way too soon for a confrontation.

“Fuck it,” she muttered. “There was a phone box a few minutes from here, she’d ring from there. The chances were that the police were already on their way, somebody must have found the kids by now.

Alison ran across the road and rushed back into the village, she didn’t think that this day could get any stranger.

Chapter Sixteen

Clarence Fisher wiped the condensation off his glasses, and his out of focus world returned to normal clarity when he pushed them back. His mother kept telling him to go back to the opticians; the woman was convinced that he was losing his sight. He sighed, despite being fifty-two next year; the silly mare still treated him like a child

“You’re fifty-one and still single, my lad. What in donkey’s doodahs are you playing at?”

Thanks to his father leaving him the village bakery plus a few wise investments, Clarence had plenty of money. His job kept him fit and the mirror in the bathroom reminded him daily that he wasn’t a horse-faced ogre. He even still retained his hair! Clarence blamed his imposed celibacy on the annoying fact that the bitch in the bedroom had been putting off every potential mate ever since he was seventeen.

That reminded him, a trip to the seedier area of Birmingham was still to be arranged for next week.

He looked back, at the freezer door and stroked his unshaven face, maybe he won’t have to. He still wasn’t sure why Anne had asked him to do this, he wasn’t really listening but the lady sure was being very nice to him.

“Are you alright in there, Clarence?”

He shivered and it wasn’t just due to the freezing temperature, that magnificent woman really had a gorgeous voice. He loved it when she called out his name.

“I’m fine, sweetheart, nearly done.”

He’d had a crush on her for two decades now, he’d often fantasised about Anne screaming out his name as they made love under the moonlight; he shivered again.

Clarence tapped the thermometer bolted to the wall; as per usual the gauge was still stuck at minus five. It felt colder than that. Then again, it had been stuck on the setting for nearly three years now. The shop’s walk-in freezer was cold enough; he didn’t need a gauge to tell him that, all must be the proximity to that woman causing him to feel so cold.

“Come on, my lad.” He whispered. “Get a grip on yourself.”

He bent down pulled away an old cardboard box that appeared empty and pushed the final loaf of bread in its place. He smiled when he looked in the box, it wasn’t empty after all; Clarence tipped the box out and half a cheese pasty and a frozen mouse fell to the floor. He booted them both into a corner, intending to bin them after Anne had gone. There was little chance of health and safety paying him a surprise visit. In all the years of owning the shop, he’d only been visited once and that was over ten years ago. Most folk tended to forget that their village existed. Then again, considering what he’d heard on the radio this afternoon, he gathered that the authorities would have a bit too much on their plate to be worried about the state of his freezer.

He hurried out and pushed the door shut, Clarence breathed in deep, enjoying air that didn’t burn his lungs.

“Okay, Anne.” He said turning around, “the shop is now devoid of food. Now, are you going to explain why I’ve just emptied all my shelves?”

She took one step towards him, he breathed in again, this time enjoying her distinctive fragrance; he decided there and then that he’d give this woman the shop if he could spend just one night with her.

Anne slowly drew her forefinger down his cheek, stopping at Clarence’s lips, “Because I asked you?”

He jerked his head forward and pretended to bite her finger, enjoying the brief look of surprise that made a tantalizing appearance before a look of annoyance replaced it. Clarence enjoyed that expression too.

He smiled to show that he didn’t mean it. He hoped the woman would forgive his little joke and return the smile. Clarence never became tired of watching her face light up when she smiled. God, she really was such a beautiful lady. He’d been hearing rumours from the few customers he’d had so far today about a certain George Kasnovski wandering around the village with no other than Anne hanging off his arm. That was one rumour that intended to ignore. What a ridiculous notion. George was a decent enough bloke, who’d do anything for his friends but this angel was way out of his league. Besides, the man still grieved for Madison.

Clarence had a suspicious feeling who had stared that one. That fucking butcher, Tom Maryland. That blonde dwarf had been sweet on Anne ever since his balls had dropped, he didn’t think the twenty year age difference mattered. To Clarence’s knowledge, he’d asked her to have dinner with Tom at least five times. She’d turned him down of course. Not that he blamed her, Tom only came up to her shoulders. Tom now thought it perfectly acceptable to go around pissing in the face of any other potential suitor.

The woman nodded briefly before walking out of the back room and into the now empty front shop.

“Anne? You still haven’t told me why I’ve emptied the shop.”

“What about those remaining bits of meat that the butcher couldn’t fit into his freezer? Will there be room in yours?” She said, ignoring him.

Clarence shook his head, resisting the urge to make a crude joke about fitting Clarence’s meat into her. It did make him feel a bit better that she addressed Tom by his trade. “I’m sorry; Anne, but I’ve just no more room in there.”

He stood in front of the woman, feeling awkward when it became clear that she wasn’t going to answer him. “This is about the riots, isn’t it?”

Something on the next level suddenly hit the floor.

“What was that?” she gasped.

Clarence looked up at the ceiling wishing his mother would just drop dead. “Don’t worry about it, Anne it’s just my mum banging on the floor, she probably wants a cup of tea or something.”

“Are you sure?” Anne followed his gaze, “That sounded more like she’d fallen out of her bed.”

She had thrown herself out of her bed. This was his mother’s latest fun game. The first time, she’d done it; Clarence suspected that it had been genuine. It had frightened the hell out of him; he’d called doctor Bishop to get her checked over. Since that time, she’d done this eight times, nine including this one. He’d sort out the attention seeking old bag as soon as Anne had gone, which he hoped would be never.

“Clarence, I really think you should check on her, you know.”

He shook his head, “Honest, she’s fine, mum does this all the time. Now, come on Anne, what’s going on?”

“This plague is raging out of control. I’ve just come back from Ken’s farm.”

He decided not to ask her what she was doing out there when he watched her shiver. The blood drained from her face.

“It’s also here, in Seeton. Everyone is going to panic, Clarence. Once they find out, the first thing they’ll do is strip all the shops.”

“Is it really that bad? From what I heard, they’d got it under control.”

Anne shook her head, “They’re lying. It’s worse than they say. Believe me; I’ve seen what it does to people. There are a few strangers in the village as well. You can bet that they’ll be the first to start throwing bricks through your windows.”

He nodded; Clarence served a blonde, pretty young thing earlier on. She bought all his Steak pies.

“We need to protect ourselves and our stuff. Believe me, Clarence; help will not be coming anytime soon, the others that I’ve spoken to agree. Now, before I do go, do you have anything to cover your windows? A couple of plywood sheets ought to do the job.”

He nodded, “I’ve a few sheets left over from when I converted the loft. I think they’re in the cellar.”

She suddenly bent across and kissed him gently on the lips. “Thanks for doing this, Clarence. You’re such a sweet man.”

He smiled again and this time she did return his smile. “Think nothing of it, anything for you, my dear, you know that.”

“Now listen, Clarence, there’s going to be a village meeting later tonight at around seven. Every business owner in Seeton needs to be there and that, of course includes you, my sweet.”

He scratched his head, “A village meeting? Gosh, we haven’t had one of those for a long time.”

“I’ll pick you up just before seven. I strongly advise you to get the shop secured and then stay inside until I return. Believe me when I say that you do not want to bump into anyone who’s infected.”

He nodded then watched her leave his shop and climb into the cab of a Land rover, there were a couple of men in there with her but the vehicle had driven off before he had chance to recognise them. Still, he didn’t care.

“That was our first kiss.” He said. Clarence couldn’t believe it, after all these years, it looked as though his persistence was paying off.

The floor above his head shook once more.

“That’ll be the reading lamp smashed,” he muttered. “Unless she’s climbed back into bed and thrown herself out again. He wouldn’t put that past her.

“Cut it out, you crazy old cow!”

He decided not to feed her tonight for pulling that stunt. God, he was annoyed. The old bag must have seen Anne enter the shop. Clarence padded back into the back room and opened the stairway door; he pressed his forefinger against the spot where he’d been kissed.

The last time he’d paid a visit to the city, he purposely chose an older woman, one who had a passing resemblance to his girl. He’d called her Anne throughout the entire session. He smiled at the memory, that particular fuck had been just awesome. Clarence just knew that the real McCoy would be a hundred times better.

He paused at the top of the stairs and gazed out of the window. Seeton was a ghost town; he couldn’t believe just how empty the place looked. The only movement he saw was Mrs. Chatsworth, who owned the general store opposite his shop. He watched her, in bemusement as she taped sheets of newspaper over her windows.

“You daft cow,” he muttered.

She must have misheard Anne’s instructions. Well, he wasn’t going to put her right, not on your nelly. That woman could talk for her country, if he approached her, he’d get nothing done. As soon as he’d sort out his annoying mother and had something to eat, Clarence intended to retire to his own bedroom, strip naked and fantasise about Anne for an hour or two.

Clarence then clocked even more movement, this time coming from the graveyard, just behind the church. There was too much distance for him to see clearly, but from what he could work out; Clarence guessed that it must have been a group of older kids messing about. He sighed, they’d been told before about hanging around in there. By how they were acting, the little beggars were pissed out of their heads. No doubt acquired from that Tom Maryland. It was an open secret that the man had a homemade still in his cellar. Another reason why Clarence hated the bastard, he’d never asked him if he wanted any.

He sighed and padded over to his mother’s bedroom door. It just wasn’t fair, why couldn’t she just hurry up and die? That woman had been like a dead albatross around his neck ever since she developed Alzheimer’s. The bitch probably got that just to spite him.

“Okay, mother. You’ve had your fun. It’s time for you to go back to sleep.” Clarence pushed open the door and stopped dead at the sight before him.

He tried to scream and caught his breath. Clarence stumbled towards his mother’s body, surrounded by a lake of deep red blood.

“Mum?” he whimpered. “Please don’t be dead, I didn’t mean it.”

The foul stink of human faeces reached his nostrils. Some part of his mind calmly reminded him that the smell of her crap would linger for days.

He saw a splintered shard of wood sticking out of her chest and figured out just what had happened. She thrown herself out of the bed alright and landed on top of her antique low table. Her weight must have shattered the frail old thing, sending one of the legs through her heart.

“Oh, Jesus, You silly old woman.”

He looked down, watching his tears splash into her blood, Clarence didn’t want his mother to be dead; this wasn’t fair. He suddenly looked up when he heard a single quiet moan.

The old woman slowly opened her eyes. He gasped in utter shock, staring at her blood red eyes. She extended one thin arm towards him and let out a long mournful groan.

Clarence shook his head in disbelief, unable to take this in; her movements became more agitated when he tentatively leaned towards the woman.

Suddenly her other arm snapped up and grabbed his ankle, taken by surprise; he slipped in her blood and crashed down on top of her. An agonizing pain shot through his thigh, he bellowed out and jerked his leg backwards, taking his mother with him. The woman hung onto his leg with a terrier’s tenacity.

“Get the fuck off me! He screamed. Clarence brought his other leg up and snapped it forward. The force knocked her head back against the floorboards, he shrieked as a chunk of his flesh came away too.

Weeping and crying, the man dragged his body through the cold blood, desperately trying to avoid her grasping hands, the impact of her head hit the floor had not slowed her down one bit. He stretched out and lunged for his mother’s wardrobe. As he wrapped his fingers around one of the legs, he screamed out again as she bit into his ankle.

Clarence then felt her grip on his body suddenly leave him but by this time Clarence didn’t care. As his body began to cool, all higher functions shut down, leaving only the insatiable desire to feed.

Chapter Seventeen

George had politely listened to everything that the farmer had to say whilst in the cab of his Land rover. He’d known Ken almost all his life and knew just how pragmatic the man was. The tale he told bordered on the insane yet, it still took the farmer to show them both the evidence before George could really believe him.

“Are you sure that this is such a good idea?”

He nodded, wishing Anne would release her grip a little on his arm. “Why shouldn’t it be? Those things are still miles away from here. Besides, Ken’s ordered his boys over to the railway station to stand guard on the bridge.”

Anne nodded, “That’s a good spot; you can see the whole village from there.”

Her death-like grip eased a little.

“So, there’s absolutely nothing to worry your head over.” He replied, wishing she’d let go of his arm for a moment, He was beginning to lose feeling in the ends of his fingers. George wanted somebody to reassure him. He felt ridiculous walking down the middle of the bloody high street, holding onto a kid’s cricket bat.

Following the white markings down the middle of the road had been one of Anne’s bright ideas. Those revolting things locked in Ken’s barn really had frightened the crap out of the poor woman; he got the feeling that Anne would be nightmaring tonight, that is, if she got any sleep. She now thought one of them would jump out at them at any moment.

George had tried to explain that being mown down by a speeding car was just as dangerous but she was having none of it.

He considered telling her that it should be safe now to walk on the pavement. There wasn’t another building on either side of them for another few metres. This walking in the middle of the road lark was seriously beginning to unnerve him. So far, they’d been lucky; the traffic into the village had been non-existent.

He glanced over to the dry-stone wall on his left then noticed movement at the far end of a field. The fading light made it difficult to see with any clarity, but he sure as hell knew that they weren’t cows. Their apparent aimless shuffling sent shivers down his spine.

The one in that barn acted the same way, until one of ken’s lads got a bit too close to it. The shambling body then let out one mournful deep moan before shuffling towards the astonished kid. Ken pulled him away before the thing could reach him but George would not ever forget those hungry, gleaming eyes following the boy’s progress out of the barn doors. It emitted a single pitiful cry and tried in vain to remove the rough rope fastened around the thing’s neck.

Somehow George knew that if that walking corpse was free, then it would have followed that poor boy until the ends of the earth, well, at least until another person got too close to it.

They were flesh-eaters, more specifically human flesh eaters. The farmer may have managed to capture one of them but not before it had attacked and killed one of Ken’s farm-hands. The farmer would only agree to George seeing the body on the proviso that he wouldn’t repeat his discovery to the woman. He’d nodded, not understanding why he needed to see the remains of the poor boy in the first place. Why hadn’t he called the police?

His words died and stayed dead when he saw the lad. The thing had made a right mess of him. It took George a few moments to place his face; there wasn’t much of it left intact. The poor boy’s head looked as though it had been put through a threshing machine but the damage continued down his body. His chest had been completely ripped open, and the boy’s left arm hung by his side, only fastened by a single bloodied tendon. George almost fainted when the boy open his one remaining eye and attempted to climb out of the old water tank when George looked down.

Anne jerked him out of his reflections and pointed at the village hall’s blazing lights. He turned away from the distant figures and sighed with relief that she hadn’t noticed them too. It was ominous that there were no other illumination in Seeton, at least, not where he could see. Even the streetlights had failed to come on. There were pockets of light beyond the village but none of the telltale lines of white brilliance that marked the signs of the thousands of streetlights. He feared the village would plunge into complete blackness once the sun had dipped beyond the horizon.

George took one last look at those shambling figures in the distance and shivered, wondering how it long would take them to reach the outskirts. He no longer felt ridiculous holding the cricket bat.

“Anne, is something on your mind?”

That was such a stupid comment to make, considering their current situation and how she’d reacted to the events on Ken’s farm but he could think of anything else to say. He just needed to distract her, stop the woman from following his gaze. Christ knows how she’d have reacted if Anne saw those people over there.

George still couldn’t wrap his head around the unshakable fact that they weren’t people anymore, just shuffling dead things, walking corpses. They were zombies, just like in those horror movies.

“We should have looked upstairs, George.”

He hadn’t expected that reply. “You mean at the bakers?”

She nodded.

“I thought we’d both agreed that Clarence must have left early.”

“He said he’d board up his shop too,”

George sighed, “There’s nothing we can do about it at the moment, is there? Look, we’ll ask him when we get to the village hall.”

“I do hope he’s alright. He’s quite sweet on me, you know.”

George knew that already. Hell, most of the single blokes in Seeton had a thing for Anne. She knew it too, he’d watched her flirt around from one man to another in the Rose and Crown, getting free drinks and promising them to do her favours. He’d often wondered he she knew she was really doing it.

George got the feeling that his attachment to Anne would be more talked about than the dead coming back to life. George imagined all heads would swivel when they walked into the hall, he’d just have to get used to the murderous glances from Anne’s favour boys. Is that the reason why she came on to him? George had never shown the drooling tongue like the others had.

After what he’d learnt about her earlier on, he got the feeling that the favour boys had got the best deal, he didn’t really fancy having to eat muesli and quorn burgers for the rest of his life. He may have to pass on that tip to Tom and Clarence, well, maybe not Clarence. He’d never really liked that man; there was something undeniably creepy about the fellow. He always got the feeling that his eyes and smile was saying one thing but his mind was thinking the opposite.

“George?” she hissed, pulling on his arm, Look at that!”

There was a lone girl inside the old telephone box beside the betting office. She had yet to notice that her movements had attracted the attention of one of the dead things. George could not be mistaken; their slumbering gait gave them away.

“You’ve got to do something!”

He looked at the cricket bat, knowing that now the crunch had come, he just knew that he wouldn’t be able to use it. George then glanced at Anne’s imploring features, desperately wanting to just walk in the other direction.

She thrust out both her arms and pushed him forward.

“Come on!” she shouted. “Do something.”

George stumbled backwards, as he turned and put his hand out to stop his face hitting the tarmac, he glanced up and saw with shock that the figure had now chosen a new target. It headed straight for George.

“I don’t think I can go through with this,” he whispered. He’d never killed anything in his life. All he wanted to do was drop the bat, curl up in a tight ball and hope the thing would leave him alone. The thing drew closer, the bat now felt as though it was made from solid lead. He was close to locking up, the contents of his bladder longed to be released. He was ready to run, to flee in the opposite direction without looking behind him.

The figure then stopped and rocked back and forth in its heels.

Albert?” whispered George. “Is that you?”

George leaned forward, feeling his racing heart begin to slow down as the rough features of the village drunk swam into place. Her gasped with relief, no bloody wonder the man was wobbling like a newborn calf. Alcho-Al hadn’t been sober since 1991.

“Christ on a bike, Al. you nearly had a cricket bat wrapped around your head, you daft old bastard. You scared the crap out of me!”

He looked at the bat and laughed, feeling like a complete fool.

“Where’ve you been hiding, anyway? I haven’t seen you about for ages.”

The last George heard was that the drunk had taken to sleeping under the bandstand in the park, but that was weeks ago.

As the man lurched forward, the overpowering stench of wet, decaying flesh caused George to jerk back, gagging. He then saw that the old drunk really was dead; one side of the man’s face was gone, tattered shreds of blackened skin hung down over his exposed upper jaw. He’d been dead for a long time. The wildlife must have been feasting on the body for weeks.

The dead thing then lunged for George; he screamed and brought the bat up above his head. When the thing’s cold, rotting fingers grabbed the front of his coat, George shrieked. Its jaws opened wide and excitedly tried to pull him closer to its open jaws. George closed his eyes and slammed the bat down with all his might.

The wood smashed through the top of its skull like a ripe tomato, showering George with gobbets of stinking, black, jellied brain. The old man fell to his knees and vomited up his last meal.

George tore off his coat and wiped the thing’s revolting mess off his face, knowing that he’d never be able to rid himself of that foul stink. He then threw his coat at the remains before getting back on his feet. George turned away from the rotten corpse and watched the young girl leave the telephone box, look at him and the corpse before crying out and running in the opposite direction.

He looked down at the cricket bat, which was still in his hand. George watched the glutinous filth drip off the end and splat onto the road. He dropped the bat on the floor and threw up again.

Chapter Eighteen

He leaned back against the side of his van, enjoying the peace and quiet. He’d forgotten just how calm the countryside was compared to the city life. His grandmother used to live in a remote village like this one, in the Shropshire hills. Billy used to look forward to his monthly visits to see his old gran.

He filled his lungs with hot cigar smoke then slowly breathed out. Billy grinned, considering that the country was completely fucked, he’d lost his two decades old empire and he was miles from home with only those dorks for company, he felt remarkably tranquil.

“Up and onwards,” he muttered. That was one of gran’s favourite sayings. Whenever something in her life went bad, she would repeat that, shrug her heavy shoulders and just carry on. “What an amazing woman.”

Both Jacob and Craig had taken up surveillance duty, a few metres from the van. At least, that’s the excuse they uttered when Craig had been ordered to park the van five minutes ago. Billy looked across and watched the pair of them, sat on that dry stone wall, sneaking back the occasional glance.

He sighed; no doubt they’d be scheming, coming up with some plan, either that or just fucking bitching about Billy’s decision to get out of Birmingham. He knew for a fact that his paranoia wasn’t attempting to voice his opinion, those two hadn’t stopped whining since they left the city.

Craig was the worse one, Billy watched the man strip down his handgun, and he had even complained about the apparent lack of wildlife, they had not seen a single animal since they’d journeyed from Birmingham, not even a solitary bird. Since when did Craig turn into David Attenborough? The closest he ever got to nature was throwing stones at the ducks in the city’s canal.

Billy glanced up at the light blue sky, seeing nothing but cloud and the occasional vapour trail left from passing aircraft. He had to admit, thinking about it, he’d not noticed any birds around either.

He shrugged, considering what had happened, that was the least of his worries. His earlier thoughts of the authorities quickly gaining control of this disaster may have been a little optimistic.

He recalled that making the mistake of mentioning those very words to the men in the back of the van halfway along the A458. He should have just kept quiet, looking back; he realised that he’d crossed the line of employee and employer. The thought that he could talk to the minders at his own level had been stupid.

They both heard the radio reports too, so why could they not make the obvious connections? The last station to get out a news report before static ate them said that a helicopter gunship had fired a salvo of missiles in a column of refugees near the south coast. The newsreader appeared to think that the gunship was French.

Just how many other countries would have condoned the use of excessive force by England’s closest neighbour?

“None of them.” He said.

They’d be too busy securing their own borders, secretly grateful that they weren’t next door to a pariah country. Billy looked into the sky, wondering if their American cousins were using their satellites to track the infection swarming through the cities. He imagined every one of them gasping in shock at the recently dead shambling through the streets of London, Liverpool, Birmingham and all the other major cities. Those things would be everywhere by now, spreading their tainted sickness to the few terrified survivors.

How long would it take the Americans to imagine the same syndrome spreading through their own cities? How long would it be before those plague pits were consumed by nuclear fire? If they didn’t do it, Billy knew the Russians or Chinese would press that button.

Billy shivered; he gazed back across the landscape, almost waiting for the mushroom cloud to appear on Birmingham’s skyline.

“We’re better off out of the city.” Billy threw his cigar down and wandered over his two men. The village of Seeton spread out before him, “Like a ripe apple, just ready to pick.” He muttered.

“Sir?”

Billy placed his hands on the top of the big man’s head. “Jacob, my friend, we’re about to embark on an exciting adventure. Look down there and tell me what you see.”

Jacob did as he was ordered, “houses and a few shops, sir.” He shrugged. “Was that a trick question?”

“We’re setting up a new base down there. My intention is to ride into that village and inform the inbred locals that I’m their new ruler.” Billy enjoyed the look on their shocked, surprised faces. “If there is any dissent then I’ll just allow my two enforcers to cut off a couple of ears and fingers and perhaps let you rage through Seeton’s womenfolk.”

Both Jacob’s and Craig’s face lit up like Christmas trees. Billy nodded, “The village is small, and it’s remote and should be easy to defend.”

The two minders looked at each other, Billy had the feeling that his announcement had just disrupted whatever plans these two had already discussed. Craig nodded once before looking up at Billy.

“Sir, Forgive us if we seem a little stunned at what you suggest, it just…”

“Yes, you expected us to find this girl, punish the little bitch and get back home in time for tea and crumpets, yes?” He reached across, grabbed the front of Craig’s jacket, and pulled the stunned man off the wall. “Unlike you two dim-bulb halfwits, I have the ability to see beyond the front of my fucking face. There’s over a million people in our city and most of them will now be dead, dead yet still roaming the streets, eager for warm meat.” He released Craig and took a deep breath. “Is that what you really wish to return to? You two fucking clowns couldn’t even deal with one of those cunts, what will you do when there are hordes of them howling for your lovely warm blood?”

Billy saw the man’s hand casually drift down towards the back of his jeans. He wasn’t a fool; Billy knew exactly what the minder had stashed there. He snapped his arm forward and this time, Billy wrapped his fingers around Craig’s throat. He did not intend for this fool to cut short his interesting future by having a pig sticker shoved through Billy’s eyeball.

From the corner of his eye, he spied the other minder, slide off the wall. “Don’t even entertain the thought of coming to Craig’s assistance.”

“I wasn’t, Sir…”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me! Is it not bad enough that I have one Judas in my midst?” Billy turned his attention back to Craig who appeared to be having a little difficulty in breathing. Billy could sympathise, only last week, he had a horrible sore throat, not even his old gran’s hot honey recipe got rid of it.

He eased a grip ever so slightly, just to show that despite Craig’s obvious traitorous actions, his employer was willing to show him a little compassion.

“Now, Craig. Have you washed away all those naughty thoughts yet?”

“Sir?”

Billy spun around, “This had better be fucking good!” he growled.

Jacob nodded then pointed beyond the low wall, “Sir, we’ve got some company approaching.”

Billy dragged the minder over and looked down. “Shit, so we have.”

A group of the dead were following a terrified teenage girl up the grass embankment. Those things had been dead for some time, Billy had trouble working out how they could still be moving, let alone have enough sense to locate and chase their prey. The girl abruptly took her eyes off her pursuers, saw the three men and almost lost her balance.

“Help me!” she cried.

“Jacob? How many of those rotting cadavers can you see?”

“There’s twelve, sir. Shouldn’t we be helping her?”

Billy released the other minder who fell to his knees clutching his throat and trying to cough.

“Did you hear that, Craig?” he asked, crouching down. “Twelve dead things moving very slowly. Look at her, a healthy young girl like that could easily evade their clumsy movements and yet those things are closing in on her even as we speak. Just like you, Craig, she refuses to believe the reality of the situation. Now, that sort of thinking is expected for a civilian but you are a cold-hearted killer.” He paused, “at least I thought you were.”

Billy stood up and snatched Jacob’s pistol out of the man’s hands. He targeted the two closest corpses to the sobbing girl and demolished their faces with two shots. Billy dropped the smoking gun back into Jacob’s hands.

“Craig, just this once, I’ll forget your disgraceful indiscretion. It’s been a difficult few hours and just like that girl down there you too have refused to accept the reality.”

He scooped up Craig’s dropped handgun and thrust it into the minder’s hands. “There are five left each, gentlemen. Head shots only please. Once they’re on the ground, bring that girl to me.”

He slowly wandered back to the van, smiling to himself as the cracks of gunfire shattered the silence. A few moments later, Jacob approached Billy, carrying the dazed girl in his arms. Craig stayed at a respectful distance.

He leaned towards her, “Are you okay, sweetie?” he asked, smiling. “There’s nothing to worry about now. My friends have stopped all those bad men.”

Jacob gently put her down, keeping hold of the girl’s hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s the least I could do. My name is Billy; I hope we will be friends. What are you called?” He laughed, “It seems a bit silly to call you sweetie all the time.”

He watched the big man, run his fingers through the girl’s hair; Billy guessed that the girl must be in too much of a shock to notice.

“Andrea Ellis.” She replied.

He nodded, Jacob had formed an attachment to the girl, his reverent and protective stance really was quite touching. Billy watched Craig trying not to smirk, he’d noticed it too. Andrea couldn’t have been more then fourteen, an age bracket more associated with favourite ex dealer’s deviant behaviour. Even so, Billy intended to make good use of this unexpected bonus.

He kneeled down in front of the girl. “Do you live round here, Andrea?”

“My dad owns a dairy farm, just over a mile from here.”

Amazing, she said that with hardly a quiver in her voice. Kids adapted so quickly. “I’m sure that your parents must be worried sick. Do you want us to give you a lift home?” He smiled, just to make sure that no more bad guys come after you.”

He stood up and nodded at the other minder. “Craig, be a darling and just pop our guest in the back of the van.”

Billy looked down at the girl’s fingers buried in Jacob’s huge hand. The minder understood the message and let her go. He waited until they were both out of range before speaking.

“Jacob, I need to know every single detail about that village, make sure she tells it all. I don’t care how you retrieve the information as long as you’re quick about it. Once you’ve cleaned her out, you may do whatever you like to the lovely Andrea.”

It warmed Billy’s heart to watch the minder moan with pleasure.

“Consider this my gift to you, for staying loyal. Just ensure that the girl dies after you’ve had your fun and makes sure she stays fucking dead.”

Jacob grinned and rushed to the back of the van. Billy grabbed another cigar from the cab and wandered over to the low wall, he gazed down at the village. He knew that he would enjoy his stay in Seeton.

Chapter Nineteen

This was one thing that he didn’t expect, Dean jumped as the pub doors slammed shut behind him, the silence made the sound even louder. He looked around the deserted lounge of the Rose and Crown, not seeing a single soul.

He padded over to the bar, wondering if the pub had yet to open. This was too strange for words. This place was the hub of the community, even as a teen, the Rose and Crown was always packed out on a night and for much of the day too. The closest pub was over five miles away.

“Is there anybody here?”

This was just ridiculous, was this help yourself tonight or something? He let out a heavy sigh; Dean really could not do with this hassle. Where the hell was that stupid bartender?

It was as everyone in the entire village had all done a runner. He’d seen nobody on his journey into the centre, Dean had also noticed a disturbingly large amount of boarded up shops, including the pet shop. He was at a loss at what he could do now. He couldn’t continue without the help of another small animal.

He leaned back against the bar and considered just what choices he could make now, short of breaking into the pet shop and making off with one of their animals, he was at a loss. Dean sighed heavily and gazed into the open fireplace at the far side of the lounge. The sound of crackling wood and the low flickering flames enhanced the old world charm of the pub. This type of pub did not exist back in London, not for at least fifty years anyway. Strange how he’d never really taken much notice of the fire until now, not surprising, considering on every other occasion, the Rose and Crown was full to the brim of Seeton’s finest.

Half a dozen small framed pictures hung above the mantelpiece, each one depicting various rural scenes of Seeton from decades ago. It didn’t astonish Dean to discover images of cows in four of the pictures. He then grinned to himself, maybe he ought go out into one of the fields and bag himself a cow? Seeton had more cows than people. Getting in the first injection wouldn’t be too difficult, those big dumb things were used to people.

He once remembered getting a right bollocking off Ken Ellis when he caught him and Tom in the act of cow tipping. He never did find out just what the farmer was doing hiding behind a wall at four in the morning.

The problem would arise with attempting to administer the second injection after the original solution had killed the animal then brought it back to some resemblance of life. Dean tried to imagine a half-ton animal acting like that little gerbil and threw away his idea with contempt. Without a rifle to administer the second solution, it would be the equivalent of sneaking up on a ravenous polar bear to give it a kiss.

“Way too large.” He muttered.

“Can I help you, mate?”

Dean’s throat almost ejected his insides; he spun around, trying to regain his composure. Judging by the huge grin plastered across the blond youth’s acne ridden face, Dean guessed the kid found the whole situation terribly amusing.

“Sorry about that, mate. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He didn’t look sorry at all. After looking at the boy’s well-muscled arms planted on the bar’s surface, decided not to make an issue out of it.

“I’ll have a pint of that, please,” he said, pointing to one of the pumps. He’d never heard of the make before, not that it mattered. He’d only come in here to see if he could find the owner of that pet shop. After his little scare, he felt he needed something to calm his nerves.

As the young man drew his pint, Dean looked past his bulky body and through the open door behind the bar. The room beyond had been furnished in the same style as the pub the only difference was the large amount of electronic equipment scattered around the maroon room. He then saw what the young man must have been watching and attempted not to smirk. It appeared that the barman had a passion for old cartoons. Dean watched Jerry run along the top of a curtain rail, being chased by a very upset Tom. Dean then saw another cat, curled up asleep on a rocking chair beside the television.

A cat would be just perfect for his needs. There must be dozen’s of felines skulking around the village, maybe he should purchase a tin of cat food and try to lure one back to the house.

“Here you go.”

Dean nodded and handed the man a ten-pound note. He took a sip of his drink trying to remember if his dad’s neighbour’s had any cats. It seemed to be his only viable option, apart from using a cow, what other choice did he have?

“Where is everyone by the way? Is it normally this quiet?”

The barman thrust Dean’s change into his open palm; he got the impression that Dean’s company was not welcome in here.

“They’re having some sort of meeting over at the village hall. He nodded over to the tap room, “One of our rooms is occupied so some fucker had to stay behind to keep an eye on the place.”

Dean looked across at the other room, through the small window in the door; he saw the back of a blonde head, so he wasn’t as alone as he first thought.

“Do you think you’ll be needing anything else? Only, I’ve got some collage work to catch up on.”

Dean shook his head, wondering if this big oaf had realised that he’d left his television on.

“Right,” he mumbled before turning and marching back into the room, he slammed the door behind him.

“What a charming young man.”

He brought the glass to his lips and took another swallow. He pulled a face this stuff was bloody horrible. Dean placed the half full glass back on the bar and headed for the main door. As he grabbed the handle the door to the tap room swung open and a young woman ran out and raced over to Dean.

“What the hell?”

The terrified looking girl collided into Dean and grabbed his shoulders. “Please help me!” she said looking into his eyes.

He blinked in astonishment; this was the same girl that he met on the train. He couldn’t get over her drastic change. A petite rather gorgeous young blonde had replaced that foul smelling vagrant who gave his all that abuse on the train earlier.

“Miss, what’s wrong?”

She just turned her head and pointed at another man leaning against the doorframe. His smiling face held about the same amount of contempt as that barman. The only difference was that this man didn’t have the barman’s toned body to back up his threat.

“This ain’t got nothing to do with you, stranger. Best idea, mate is turn back around and get yourself gone.”

Dean had always considered Seeton to be such a friendly village when he’d been growing up here. Strangers may not have been always welcome but they were certainly treated with a curious amount of respect.

He untangled the girl and slowly approached this arrogant pensioner. He’d had just about enough of Seeton’s older generation today. He was trying to save them for crying out loud.

“Maybe you should be the one to make like a tree.” He growled. Dean stared at him, hoping that the barman wouldn’t choose this moment to make an appearance. He knew whose side the gorilla would take and it wouldn’t be Dean’s.

“This has got nothing to do with you; we don’t tolerate strangers causing trouble in Seeton.”

Dean felt a smile creeping up his face as he realised exactly who’d been threatening him. “Oh my god, it looks like the dirty old man really has turned into a dirty old man.”

Dean laughed, as the man eventually recognised him as well.

“Oh, there we go. The light dawns, now about that tree we were talking about.”

“I ain’t going anywhere, Dean Kasnovski.”

“Yes, you fucking are. Do you not remember what me and Gavin did to you when we found out about you touching up Sarah?”

He heard the girl behind him gasp.

“Those twenty years haven’t been kind to you have they, Albert Hudson? I reckon that another good kicking would just about finish you off.”

The old man pushed past him, glared at the girl then stormed out of the pub. He turned around suddenly needing to down his discarded pint.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

She shook her head; “I don’t think I am no.” she padded over to a padded seat and collapsed into it.

Dean picked up his pint, drank half of it down then took a seat opposite the girl. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

She looked up, I know. I heard the teacher say your name.”

“Oh, okay. I hope you didn’t mind me intruding there.” This girl looked so familiar, yet for all his effort, Dean just could not place her face.

“I thought he was dead, I even saw the gravestone. Didn’t know he had a brother did I? My heart almost stopped when the creep spotted me across the bar ten minutes ago. He even licked his lips.”

It didn’t take a genius to work out what that diseased pervert must have done to the poor girl. She looked a bit too old to be still at school though. Whatever happened must have been some time ago. Oh, fuck! The chances were that Hudson had continued to go about his disgusting ways, despite having the shit kicked out of him.

He looked at the door and then back at the girl, he really ought to be getting back; he shouldn’t be getting involved with anyone else’s problems.

“Do you want a drink or something?” he said. Shit, where did that come from? The words just seemed to spurt out of their own accord.

She finally took her eyes off the battered mahogany table. She reached across the surface and took hold of one of Dean’s hand. “That’s very sweet of you, Dean.” She said, wiping the tears from her face with her other hand. “If you don’t mind though, I think that I’d rather go for a walk instead.”

The girl then smiled, “I’m Alison, by the way.”

The name brought his recall to a crashing halt, “You mean you’re Sarah’s baby sister? My god! You were still in your nappies, the last time I saw you.” He still found it hard to believe that this girl was the same one from the train.

She stood up, glancing nervously at the bar. “Come on, take me somewhere else.”

He followed her gaze and saw the barman glaring at the pair of them, the gym teacher stood beside the big man, smiling.

“This man would like a word with you, Dean; it’s about you and your friend assaulting his father.”

Dean watched in horror as the barman leaped onto the bar’s surface, the girl screamed and dragged Dean towards the doors with the barman right behind them. Dean grabbed his drink has he passed and hurtled the glass at the snarling man. He managed to dodge out of its way but his pause allowed them to push through the doors before he could grab them.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

Dean looked back and watched the huge man and the gym teacher emerge into the warn night air. “We get the hell away from here!”

Chapter Twenty

Emma Chatsworth leaned forward and stretched the muscles in her back. She had pulled something there.

“That’s what you get for going up and down a stepladder at your age, you silly moo.”

She’d get her Jack to give it a rub when he got back. Emma sat back in her favourite chair, trying to remember where she’d put that tube of Deep-Heat.

She gazed out of the bedroom window onto the now quiet high street. Emma had moved the chair closer to the window, a few minutes ago to watch all the ruckus down below. What a performance, all that running and screaming about, those folk ought to be ashamed of themselves, they must have been strangers, the local wouldn’t act in that disgraceful manner. The street was now quiet. Emma nodded to herself, that’s how it should be. Folk at this time ought to be in their houses, getting ready for bed.

That Elsie down at the Rose and Crown must be coining it in. With all her rooms full and with the extra beer money going into her cash register, that woman will be laughing all the way to the bank.

“She’d better spend some of it in here, that’s all I can say.”

It wasn’t just her back that ached; all that movement from climbing those steps had opened the cut in her ankle. It did seem like a daft idea at the time to tape sheets of newspaper over her windows, but Anne had been quite adamant that it had to be done.

When the lady had first entered the shop, telling tales of stocking up, hiding away perishables and protecting the shop, Emma had assumed it had to do with those reports. She’d listened to all that excitable nonsense on the television this afternoon. It was all way too confusing, as ridiculous as it seemed, it almost sounded as if some invading army was marching through England’s cities.

That was just ridiculous; at least, Emma thought it was. She never took much notice of events happening outside of Seeton nowadays. It was always bad news, each and every day, another war, a famine, some earthquake, never any good news. Emma much preferred the daily chats she had with the rest of Seeton’s womenfolk, now they were far more interesting.

She’d turned the television off is disgust, folk ought to just get along with each other. Even so, if we had been invaded, it was a bit of a poor do, she just hoped the army would sort them out before they got anywhere near her village.

She couldn’t work out just who had declared war on England. Emma did recall something about a French helicopter firing loads of missiles at a refugee column. She tutted. That sounded about right. She never did trust those Frenchies. Jack had taken her once to Paris a few decades ago, the only time she’d been out of Seeton. She’d hated every moment. The food was all weird and nobody spoke English over there.

Emma sighed and looked across at Tom’s butcher’s shop. Looking at what he’d done to the front of his shop, she guessed that Anne must have paid him a visit as well. Only he’s used large boards of plywood. That would take some getting off; she hated to think of the damage all those nails would have caused to the frames below. Still, Emma wasn’t going to fret, Tom would soon be in her shop asking for any wood-filler.

He really should have used newspaper. Her mother had done exactly the same during the last war. She had only been a child at the time but that memory of her mum taping newspaper inside and out of the shop windows stayed in her mind. Her mum even had blackout curtains, she had always believed in making sure.

That Clarence hadn’t bothered doing anything to his shop, now which was a bit odd. She’d watched Anne enter the bakers; she’d stayed there for quite some time too. Clarence had a crush on that Anne, everyone in the village knew that piece of not so secret information. She found it sweet but in turn just a little weird. Clarence wasn’t the most stable of individuals in Seeton. There had always been something not quite right about that lad; even Clarence’s mum had said that. Emma would have to pay that poor woman a visit tomorrow. Say what you like about the boy, at least he looked after his mum in her time of need.

Well, as long as they didn’t turn on any lights, they should be okay. Those German bombers probably wouldn’t bother with their village anyway. Emma shook her head, trying to disperse that mental fog that had been slowly filling her mind. No, it wasn’t the Germans this time, was it?

Emma bent down and gave her ankle a good rub, when she pulled her hand away, it surprised her to find the palm of her hand covered in thick blood. She slowly raised the hand close to her nose, drawn by the powerful metallic scent; Emma moaned aloud and drew her tongue across the palm. The exquisite taste of her own life-fluid oozing down her throat was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She didn’t stop licking until her hand was spotless.

She shivered, feeling for the first time since this morning, alert and awake. The true horror of the situation outside and the incident from this morning, slammed into her like a runaway express locomotive. The woman leaped up, stared aghast at the sprawled bodies under her window, then she looked at the ugly gash starting at her Achilles heel and leading up to the back of her knee.

Her moan of despair started at the pit of her stomach and travelled up through her contaminated, changing body until it reached her throat. Emma then fell back down in her chair as the mental fog regained control of her mind.

She couldn’t believe how hungry she was. Emma had already had a spot of supper a bit back, just a couple of slices of toast with a light spread of marmalade. Not too much, mind. It wasn’t healthy to have a large amount just before bedtime.

It was no good, she’d have to have something else; Emma just couldn’t go to bed with this stomach complaining for food, the rumbling would keep her up all night. There was a bit of lime jelly on a plate at the back of the fridge. That would do her; she could also use the last of the vanilla ice-cream in the freezer compartment. She was going to save that for her husband when he came back from his walk..

Emma eased her body out of the chair and hobbled over to the bedroom door. This stomach of hers really was annoying her; she really did need to get it filled up with something.

If Jack still fancied a snack when he came back, she could always fix him up a corned beef sandwich. Emma had two tins left in the cupboard and one hidden away behind her needlework box. Jack was a bugger for helping himself. The man loved the stuff; He also had a tendency for covering the meat in tomato sauce. Emma had no plans on putting any of that into his sandwich. Why Jack insisted on covering all his meals in the stuff was beyond her, he even squirted it in soup.

The image of a white plate covered in the crimson condiment suddenly filled her mind. Emma’s stomach growled. She dragged her hand across the damaged ankle again and moaned in pleasure at the sight of her bloodstained palm. She eagerly lapped the congealing blood off her skin as she made her way downstairs.

By the time she’d reached the bottom, Emma had completely forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.

That dense mist weaving through her mind receded slightly when she noticed a single brass coat-hook. There should be something on there. The old woman giggled, Jack’s bright red tartan jacket wasn’t where it should be. “What are you like, Emma Chatsworth? You really are a silly moo. The coat is on your husband. How could you forget about Jack?”

She’d threatened the man on numerous times that she would throw that battered old thing into the bin. She didn’t care about the sentimental attachment; he looked like a bloody tramp wearing that old coat. In fact, she had thrown it in the bin a couple of times but he’d just gone and fished it back out again.

“He’s taking his sweet time.” She glanced at the wall clock, “He’s been gone simply ages; Jack doesn’t usually take this long. I do hope he’s alright.”

He’d said earlier that he was feeling a bit under the weather, looking back, her husband did look very pale before he left the house. He told her that he needed a bit of fresh air to clear his head.

“It’s all that boy’s fault, we should have called the police.”

Emma sighed, wishing she hadn’t said that. She’d been trying to forget about that boy all morning. They’d both been enjoying their daily walk when he’d jumped out from that bush. She jerked to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, thinking back, that boy had more fallen out of the bush.

“He must have been from the next village, that place was full to the brim with ruffians. They had gypsies and drug addicts in Netherwell.”

That boy had made a right mess of her husband’s hand when he’d grabbed him, the boy must have had a knife in his hand. Jack had tried to fight back but that kid had been like a wild beast. She daren’t think what would have happened if that farmer hadn’t shown up. Emma had seen Ken driving towards them, as soon as he’d stopped the boy; he’d jumped off his tractor and ran over. The big man literally dived on the boy and knocked him to the floor.

That kid must have caught her leg when Ken rugby tackled him to the ground, his long nails cut through her tights and into her skin. It didn’t half sting, Emma had been so tempted to kick that boy in the face for that.

Emma hobbled into the living room, her gnawing hunger intensified when she saw the huge white fridge through the open door. Jack could have the jelly. She needed something more substantial. She rushed into the kitchen, the focus of her desire stood before her. She grabbed the handle and pulled open the fridge door. Her eyes widened at the sight of a small beef joint resting on a plate. She reached in, snatched the meat off the plate and dug her teeth into the red flesh. As the meat juices dribbled down her chin, the old woman pretty much forgot about the pain in her leg. She stood up and took another huge bite. Emma Chatsworth pretty much forgot about everything apart from the raging desire to consume raw flesh.

Chapter Twenty-one

That overwhelming stench of rot still lingered, he held his nose and shut his mouth, yet the smell was still there.

“It’s all in your mind, you silly sod.”

George wiped the condensation off the mirror and stared at the haggard looking old man who looked back at him. He looked as though he’d aged another twenty years since this morning.

“You look eighty and already smell like you’ve been dead six months.” No, it really must be imagining that horrid smell. He’d used enough applications of liquid soap to clean a fucking elephant.

He’d already spend twenty minutes in the wash-room. Anne was probably wondering where he’d got to. George looked up at the closed door, expecting it to open at an anytime. After gazing at the door for a full minute, he sighed and turned back to stare at the sink.

Maybe he ought to just stay in here, he had no desire to stand on that stage and talk to his fellow villagers. He knew that Anne would have no problem in public speaking. That incredible voice of hers could entrance any audience.

The door slowly opened a crack.

“Are you decent in there?”

George grinned, “No, but that didn’t stop you earlier.”

Anne opened the door and padded up to him. She leaned in close and took a deep breath. “You smell like washing up liquid. I thought you’d run off. I got so worried.”

He shrugged, “I told you where I was going.”

“Are you coming?”

He shook his head, “I can’t, Anne. I can still smell that reek.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s gone. You smell fine.” She hurried back to the door and leaned out. “I got you a present.” Anne came back in and threw him a bomber jacket.

George caught it wiggling his nose at the pervading aroma of hay and stale dope-smoke coming off the fabric.

“I can see that look, George Kasnovski. Just put it on, besides, at least it smells better than rotting meat. Now come on, do as you’re told. You’re not staying in here all night.”

He sighed, put the jacket on and followed the woman out of the washroom. George swallowed his heart back down and walked down the corridor, towards the main hall, he’d never seen it so full before.

George entered the hall, thankful that their arrival provoked little reaction. He sneaked behind a group of kids and watched Ken begin his explanation of the events on his farm earlier on. He heard more than his fair share of shocked gasps and quiet whimpers but he knew that most of the assembled villagers would take the farmer’s calm words as gospel. Ken always chose his words with consideration and never wasting his time in giving out misleading information.

Anne squeezed her way through the kids and took his hand. “Are you okay, George? You’re shaking.”

He hadn’t realised. “Delayed shock, I guess.”

Anne smiled. “Don’t you let anything worry you, my sweet. We have everything planned out. Once he’s finished, Ken will ask for volunteers to help him put these things down. We’ll need a few more lookouts too. We’ll soon have our village back to normal.”

She gently rapped her knuckles on his forehead. “Hello? Earth to George.”

He blinked, “Sorry, that vile smell has come back, I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of it.”

“What you need is a cool drink or something to eat. There’s a small spread in the function room.”

He just had to smile at that, the ladies of Seeton didn’t need much of an excuse to make sandwiches, even if was the advent of Armageddon.

“I’ll get you a glass of orange, if you like.”

He shook his head, “Don’t you trouble yourself, Anne, I’ll go, I’m feeling a little claustrophobic anyway.”

George pushed past her and gave the woman a kiss, much to the amusement of the kids. He hurried out of the hall hoping she wouldn’t follow him. The background noise coming from the hall diminished as did his stress and anxiety. When he reached the function room door, all George wanted to do was to just go home, have a long, hot bath and climb into bed with a bottle of brandy, and not with Anne.

He sighed, knowing that would never happen. Daft really, it’s not as if he’s feeling guilty for leaving Anne on her own. He’d done his gallant act and already saved her life. Somebody would look after good old, Anne, he let out a bitter laugh. Hell, the other men would be queuing up. He’d never realised just how manipulative that woman really was until tonight.

The door was already open, wedged in-place with a wooden chair. George guessed that Anne wouldn’t want anyone to hurt once the stampede for food started. Unreal, that woman thought of everything. Before he could step inside, he heard a loud crash coming from the main hall. He snapped his head back, his heart beating double time at the sound of half a dozen screaming voices.

“Oh, fuck, please not them.” George looked into the function room, wishing he could just hide under the table, “Why not, George. You’d only get in the way.”

There was a wooden mop, propped against the wall, George rushed in, grabbed the pole and headed back to the hall.

“You silly bastards,” he cried.

Some idiot had opened a fire door at the back of the building. Several rotting bodies had already shambling through. He saw the nearest one head straight for a young girl, she hadn’t seen them, her astonished face watched the other villagers shrinking back from the approaching corpses. Why was nobody helping her?

George pushed through the panicking throng of bodies, screaming at them to move out of his way. The girl still hadn’t moved! That thing was right behind her, how could she not know about it? George could smell it from where he stood.

“Look out!” he screamed.

He squeezed through the remaining people, grabbed her shoulder and pulled the girl into the crowd; he then raised the mop and swung it into the side of the dead thing’s exposed skull. It just dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. George stared at the blackened body, sprawled by his feet, leaking out thick stinking goo onto the polished wooden floor. He couldn’t believe how easy that had been. George sensed more movement; he looked towards the fire door. There were more of the things coming through. George knew everyone of those dead people, he jumped over the body, desperate to stop any of them from getting to the villagers. He then heard the crack of wood against flesh and saw Anne take one of them out with a broken chair leg.

George then felt the back of his donkey jacket being pulled, he spun around expecting to find one of the other villagers; instead he came face to face with Tom’s dead father. He screamed in disgust as the rotten corpse tried to pull George’s face towards its teeth. George pushed the mop’s blunt end into the thing’s empty eye socket and thrust the pole through the skull. The old butcher suddenly stopped moving, George pulled the pole out from the skull. He looked around the room, relieved to find the other villagers had broken from their paralysis and were now defending themselves.

He ran towards that open fire door, smashing the mop over the head of one of them that stood in his way. This one refused to go down,

“Die, you bastard!” he screamed. George raised the improvised weapon above his head, turned it and drove the blunt end into the man’s forehead.

“You stupid little boy,” he muttered as George reached the fire doors. He saw Harold Dunbar sprawled across the blood-streaked concrete with three corpses gorging on his body. He still had a death-grip on his packet of cigarettes.

“Told you smoking would be the end of you,” he muttered.

George kicked the fire extinguisher out of the way and slammed both doors shut; he turned round and discovered that no more of the things were left standing. Shocked silence hung heavy in the air, he saw disbelief and shock, etched on the villager’s faces as they stared at the maimed bodies of their dead friends and relatives.

Only one person moved; he watched as a weeping man wearing a grey hooded top slowly made his way towards George. The man shuddered to a halt beside the fallen corpse of one of the dead. He looked straight at George.

“This is all your son’s fault, George Kasnovski,” shouted the retired teacher. “I’ve just had to put my brother down because of him.” He took off his top and kneeled down. The man gently placed the garment over the shattered corpse.

The entire gathered congregation slowly turned to stare at George.

“I overheard the pair of them, in the pub, his son and that blonde girlfriend of his. Those two have deliberately brought this fucking virus to our village.”

The mood in the room began to change, he watched their faces change from grief to anger, people whom he’d known all their lives became strangers to him; he then saw watched Anne nodding along with the rest of them.

“This will only stop when we get rid of them.”

George shook his head, not believing he was hearing this.

The teacher then turned and walked towards the crowd, he looked back at George, pointing his shaking hand. “They both have to die, tonight.” the man then walked up to another of the fallen dead, “You’re quite handy with that mop.” He put his foot under the dead thing’s body and flipped it over. “I guess that in the heated moment, you didn’t notice whose skull you’d smashed in.”

George fell to his knees, staring aghast at the broken face of Madison.

Chapter Twenty-two

Dean shrieked in disgust when his clenched fist broke through the dead thing’s rib cage, he felt like his skin had just been thrust into a bucket of cold frogspawn. It stumbled back and fell over a low wall.

The scientist spun around and grabbed the remaining corpse’s arm. Alison thrust her head back to avoid its snapping jaws. Dean squeezed his hand, shuddering as the decayed blackened flesh squeezed through his fingers and fell to the floor in wet splats.

“Get this fucking thing off me!” she said, sobbing.

He heard the other one on the other side of the wall trying regain its balance, Dean knew that his time was running out. He pulled with all his strength and fell back in shock as he wrenched the arm out of the dead thing’s socket. Dean dropped the severed limb and rushed up to the struggling couple, he put both his hands around its neck and yanked the corpse back then swung it round and let go. The corpse collided with the other one and fell back over the wall in a tangle of legs and arms.

Dean wiped his hands down the back of his jeans then took her wrist, pulling the girl away from the pair of corpses.

“Oh god, there’s more of them!”

He’d already seen the corpses shambling along the high street. Seeton’s recent dead must have been digging their way out of the earth for the last hour or so. The virus must have mutated, it shouldn’t be active in necrotic tissue. Despite the improbability, given time, Dean should be able to provide an answer. What concerned him was how the fuck had the virus managed to reach them? The virus was only communicable through contact, even if was now airborne, it still shouldn’t be able to penetrate six foot of grave soil so quickly.

Dean pulled Alison through the village dark high street. He’d rather not even contemplate at the amount of corpses wandering through the major cities. The number combined with the infected and the recently bitten must now outnumber the survivors.

“There’s going to be nobody left to save.”

Alison skidded to a stop.

“What the hell are you doing?” He shouted.

“Payback time,” she muttered, scooping something off the road. “Look what I’ve got.”

Dean stared in amazement at the cricket bat, she held aloft like a hard won trophy. “It’s already been christened, “he muttered pointing to the gunk, drying on the end. It reminded Dean of black treacle.

“Yeah, on him by the looks of it. Come on, Dean, we need to get away from here.”

He nodded, “We’re going back to my dad’s house, at the top of hill,” he replied.

“But that’s where the zombies are coming from!”

There were over twenty of them now, all shambling their way along the road, their direction only changed when they neared Dean’s position. Somehow, the dead things could detect warm humans close to them. This phenomenon baffled Dean; there should be no way that they could. Any first year biology student would say that it was impossible. “Sorry, but it’s our only choice. Better start practicing your swings.”

A few feet from where they stood, a grey-haired woman abruptly stopped, turned and shuffled towards Alison. Aside from her gait, the woman appeared quite healthy. With her neatly brushed hair and that god awful floral dress, the woman looked more suited to be going to bingo. As she neared then saw her dirt encrusted hands and the bite marks around the dead woman’s face, Dean guessed that a fox must have gotten her.

“Aim for the head,” he whispered.

Alison nodded and raised the cricket bat above her head. They both jumped when a loud crack shattered the silence and the dead woman’s head exploded, gushing gobbets of grey gunk into the air.

“What the fuck?” Dean then saw three large individuals, each one wearing dark suits, stood behind the walking corpses. “I don’t believe it, the cavalry has arrived.” The smaller blonde-haired man casually raised his pistol and shot another one as the man stood at the back raised a cane and buried the end into one sneaking up from behind. All the dead had now turned towards the three newcomers.

“We need to get out of here, Dean! Oh fuck, I can’t believe that they’ve followed me here.” She pulled him towards a boarded up shop, “The one at the back, the fat fucker with that cane, well he’s owns half of Birmingham.”

The girl dragged Dean around the corner of the shop, when they were out of sight, she finally released his hand. She slid down the wall, weeping. Alison looked at him, “They’ve come here to kill me.”

He shook his head, not understanding any of this. “What do you mean, he owns half of Birmingham? So he’s a businessman?”

A bitter laugh erupted from her mouth. “Christ, Dean. Have you been living in a cupboard all your life? He’s a gangster, you plant. One of the worst there is.”

“What did you do to him?”

She shrugged, “Does it matter?”

Dean peered around the corner. “They’re coming this way.”

Alison moaned. “We have to find somewhere to hide, Oh god. Please don’t let them get me, Dean! I’d rather be eaten by the dead.”

He picked her off the floor and kissed her gently on the lips. “Don’t worry, Alison, they won’t get you.” He took her hand and led the girl into an alley between the shops. Dean couldn’t see a thing but that didn’t matter, he knew exactly where he was going. “Did you ever play near the shops when you were younger? He asked.

“No, not really, apart from going into the park, I stayed home or stayed at my mate’s houses.”

Dean chuckled to himself. “You mean you plugged yourself into the computer? That’s what kids do nowadays isn’t it. Well in my day, we explored and had fun.”

“That’s just not possible, there’s no way anyone could enjoy themselves in this shit hole. Wait, you do know where you are going.”

“Me and Tom used this alley to sneak into his dad’s shop. You’d be surprised how many people would buy bargain priced joints off a pair of twelve year old kids.”

“You mean Tom used to nick meat off his old man? That’s evil.”

“Yeah, I know. He never did twig either.”

Dean stopped moving when his foot touched something solid; Dean gave it a light kick. “There’s something in my way. I think it’s a pile of wood.”

“Can’t we step over it?”

He cut his reply short when Dean heard the sound of running feet, He turned his head, “They’re close by,” he whispered,

The woman gasped.

“Don’t worry, Alison, it’s too dark, they won’t be able to see us.”

He watched as two of the men ran past the alleyway. The fat man stopped, Dean watched him lean forward. It honestly felt as though he knew they were down here. After what seemed like an eternity, the man looked the in the other direction. He must have satisfied his curiosity and decided that they weren’t down here.

Dean’s sigh of relief stuck in his throat when the pile of wood started to moan and move. Alison’s hand tightened around his, she’d heard it too. He lifted his foot and slammed it back down. Something cracked but thing still moved. He then saw to his horror that the fat man must have heard the sound as well, Dean watched him gesticulating with his arms. He didn’t have a gun but his friends did. A couple of shots down here would finish them both off.

He slammed his foot down once more, feeling as though he’d just stamped on a balloon full of cold jelly. “Alison,” he hissed. “Get ready to run, if anything tries to grab you, kick back, you understand?”

She whimpered. He took that as a yes. Dean saw one of the other men stand in front of the alleyway, before he dragged the crying girl across the moving lump of dead flesh.

Dean soon reached solid ground and dragged the girl further down the alley, he was betting that the crack he’d felt was one of its leg bones snapping, if it was, it should slow it down enough to allow them to escape.

He heard the girl stifle a cry when a single shot echoed through the dark alley. “Just another few seconds, we’re almost there.” He heard footsteps behind them, they were in the alley. Dean put his hand against the rough stonework, feeling for the metal bars across the basement window. It had to be around here somewhere. Dean refused to think that anyone would have blocked it up. His blood then ran cold when he realised that blocking up that window would have been the first job Tom would have done when he took over the shop. The young butcher wouldn’t have wanted the same trick to be played on him.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He feared the worse. There were two men in the alley now from the sound of it, not that far behind either. He then felt the first window bar and resisted the urge to scream for joy. “We’re here.”

He twisted around and put his hands on her waist then gently swung her past him, “You go first,” he whispered. “The middle bar comes out, just pull it up and slide it out.”

As Alison climbed through the window, he looked back, trying to work out where those men were, he then heard one of them swear out loud and a couple of gunshots rang out. Dean guessed that they’d just found the moving pile of wood. Alison was through. He followed her in, watching the two shapes hurry back the way they came. He’d have to remember to thank that dead thing for saving their lives.

He dropped onto the dusty floor and immediately felt a set of warm lips find his. She moved away after a few seconds and groaned,

“Thank you, Dean. I thought we were goners just then.”

Dean led her towards the cellar steps, “I’ll confess that I wasn’t that confident of getting out of there in one piece.”

If Alison’s gangster friends continued travelling the same direction, then they ought to end up near the village hall, which suited Dean just fine, he and Alison would be able to sneak out of the butcher’s front door and get back to dad’s house. They ought to be there in a few minutes.

They both skidded to a halt when the cellar door slowly swung open. Dean stared in astonishment at the diminutive shadow framed in the doorway.

“Tom? Is that you, old mate?”

The man laughed. “Who else would it be?”

Dean then saw the cleaver in the butcher’s hand.

“I had a feeling that you’d pay me a visit.”

“Tom, what are you doing with the cleaver?”

The man looked down at his hand, “Well, old friend, I’m afraid that I’ve got a bit of bad news.”

Chapter Twenty-three

The crack in his new dining table had widened. It had even got worse since this morning. He could now see the kitchen tiles through the twatting gap. Well, there was no chance that he’d let that soap dodging twatter get away with this one. First thing in the morning, Gavin Ellis was going to pay a visit to Huggins Furniture shop and stick his easy payment plan right up that cheating bastard’s arse.

Two hundred quid, he’d paid for his shoddy built lump of twatting crap. That’s nearly a month’s worth of beer money he’d thrown away.

Gavin could picture that smarmy fresh-scrubbed fat face beaming when he’d entered the man’s shop. He’d taken Gavin for a complete ride. Roger Huggins had literally bounded towards Gavin. With his overweight frame, forced into that white suit, two sizes two small, the man cut a rather sad picture. He looked like a silly fat fool.

Looking back should have figured that the image had been just a smoke screen. Roger Huggins was a shark, a predator and a bloody good one too.

Fifty quid per month and only four payments, a complete knockdown price, this was on sale only a week ago and five hundred pounds. We’ll even deliver it for you. A dining table and four chair of this high standard would set you back over a grand anywhere else.

Gavin had nodded along like a complete twatting retard, listening to all of the bullshit flannel spewing out of this gobshite’s mouth and believing every twatting word.

He ran one of his thick fingers along the jagged edge. “He took you for a wild ride, my son.” He murmured.

What pissed him off more than anything was that he hadn’t wanted the bloody thing in the first place. It had been that twatting wife of his who’d begged him to part serious cash for this.

Fallen in love with it, she had. Seen it in the window and just had to have it. What Gavin would have liked to know was what business the bitch had on the other side of the village. The furniture shop was nowhere near any of the other shops. He’d have to remember to ask her that one.

Sarah had even promised him to take real good care of it, to clean and polished the table and chairs every day. Not that Gavin gave a fuck about the house anymore. He rarely spent time in here anyway. He’d rather be in his garage with his motorbikes.

The only occasions he bothered to enter the house was to eat, sleep; clean up before hitting the pub and when the need arose, to give Sarah a good seeing to, either with his cock or fist. Didn’t matter which, both were fulfilling.

Occasion number one had been the reason why he’d pulled himself away from stripping down that Yamaha’s engine. After discovering the twatting crack and the realisation that the fat cunt had sold him a lemon, his appetite had deserted him.

He sighed, thinking that he ought to just pull Roger’s arms and legs off. He then took another look at the damage; he’d rather not allow his mates to find out about this. After a close inspection, he reckoned that the gap should be fixable. He’d take a trip into the village tomorrow and see if that old bag in the general store had any wood filler.

Gavin sure as fuck wasn’t giving it back, he’d just not give that twatter anymore money. He grinned to himself, pleased that he’d come up with a workable solution. He felt rather cheerful now, hell, with the cash he’d saved; he might even get Sarah’s television fixed. He was sick to fuck of her whining on about it anyhow.

With that problem out of the way, he sat down in one of the new chairs, surprised at how comfortable it was, it did occur to him that perhaps the joke was on Roger. What if this dining table set really was worth a couple of grand? He laughed, wouldn’t that be the clincher. Once he’d repaired the damage, Gavin would get it valued, just in case.

He looked under the table, to see if there were anymore cracks, Gavin saw no evidence but he did notice something that made him smile. At the edge of the table lay Sarah’s best jeans. She loved those things. He grinned; they were just what he needed. Gavin slid down the chair and reached out with one leg and dragged the garment across the floor. When the white jeans were under his feet, Gavin wiped both his oil-stained boots on the material.

That’ll be a right bitch to get clean,” he said, grinning.

Speaking of bitches, where the fuck was she with his twatting food? He already told her what time he’d be in for it. Sarah understood what the consequences were for lateness.

“Are you in the kitchen, girl?” he shouted. “Come on, I’m fucking starving.”

He leaned back in amazement; the bitch was actually ignoring him! She had to be in there, he could smell the twatting food. He almost laughed aloud; imagine that, his wife was openly defying him, after all these years.

“Are you going to answer me? Don’t make me come in there, girl.” He had to give her another chance; after all, Gavin Ellis was a big softie at heart. He counted aloud to ten; she always knew that trouble was brewing when she heard Gavin count. There was still no sign of that apologetic face; then it dawned on Gavin that she really was going to defy him.

This was a most interesting development. At any other time, he would have enjoyed employing Mr. Fist and his equally competent brother to search for that bitch’s misplaced respect. Not now though, at least not until his gut was full.

Gavin stood up, grabbed the chair he’d been sitting on and hurled it into the living room. It slammed against the television, knocking it over. It just occurred to Gavin than he’d bought the TV from that moon-faced fat bastard as well. The chair had withstood the assault, he hadn’t expected that.

He stormed past the dining set, heading towards the open kitchen door, making sure that he made as much noise as possible. Gavin needed to know that the defiant blonde twatting bitch knew that her husband was coming in there to have words. He pictured her in there, huddled in a corner, shaking her tiny tits off, whimpering like a scared puppy and desperately looking for somewhere to hide.

“Don’t you fret, my clenched fists; you’ll soon be pressed against her skin.” He just needed to eat something first. The notion that Sarah hadn’t even made him anything had crossed his mind, if that was the case then he’d use her housekeeping and order a takeaway, then he’d beat the shit out of her.

The thought of watching her scared bunny eyes darting from mouth to spoon as he ate helped to calm his foul mood.

The man walked into the tiny kitchen, his snarl fell off his face and he slowly lowered his arms when Gavin saw that his wife wasn’t even in here.

“What the fuck?”

He hadn’t expected that, where the hell was the bitch?

Sarah may be nowhere to be seen but his food wasn’t. He spotted the white oval dinner plate sat on the counter top next to the draining board. Only the edge of the plate was visible. This was fantastic; Sarah had really piled the food on.

“It’s a grub hill,” he said, grinning. “It gets better; I do believe that I can see pie crust underneath the mushy peas.”

This was a pleasant surprise. Gavin loved Sarah’s homemade pie. The woman’s cooking skills were the envy of the village. There wasn’t much that she couldn’t bake, roast, boil or grill. Her kitchen accomplishments were one of the reasons why he’d married her.

He took his favourite spoon out of the cutlery drawer. Gavin had never seen the point of using a fork, any food that the spoon had difficulty with, he just used his fingers. He picked up the plate and carried it out of the kitchen. After buying the table set, he might as well use the twatting thing.

His love of home-cooked food only ignited after his first stay-over at his Uncle Ken’s farmhouse. Gavin had never realised that food could taste so good until he sampled the delights of his aunty Dorothy’s steak pie, followed by blueberry crumble. Gavin’s mum had brought him up on the suspicious delights of tinned food and cheap meals from the local freezer shop.

Gavin’s mouth underwent orgasmic glee as he stuffed it full of pie, chips and mushy peas. The meat in the pie tasted like lamb and chicken. There was never a shortage of fresh meat in their fridge. Tom always looked after his two oldest friends. Then again, the butcher owed him big time for fixing up Tom’s knackered old Land Rover, a few weeks ago. He’d put in a lot of time and effort into sorting out that motor. It was only fair that Gavin should have his pick of the occasional choice cut of meat along with the odd bird throw in for good measure.

“This is incredible!” he shouted, looking towards the kitchen. “You really have surpassed yourself, lass. I’ll tell you what, what say I nip down to the village first thing in the morning and pick you up a new telly?”

He wouldn’t go to that rip off Roger either. Tom told him the other day that creepy Clarence wanted to sell his for a reasonable price. Gavin then slowly put the spoon back on the plate, why the hell was he shouting into the twatting kitchen? For crying out loud, he’d just come out of there and unless the bitch had squeezed herself in the fridge, Sarah wasn’t in there.

“Where the fuck was she?”

Gavin left the table, intending to finish his meal once he’d found his woman. He could not scoff another gob-full until he’d resolved this twatting mystery. Could she have gone upstairs to the bog? Yeah, that made sense. The bitch was always running up and down the stairs with that bladder of hers.

Sarah was always whining on about her waterworks, suggesting that these troubles had started until he’d married her, there had been no direct implication but he knew the bitch blamed him. Admittedly, his fist family had been a little over enthusiastic with her down below bits in the early days of their marriage. Even so, it wasn’t his fault that she’d been born with frail insides.

Gavin stood at the foot of the stairs and heaved a frustrated sigh at the sight of the open toilet door directly above him. She couldn’t be in there. Sarah always shut and bolted the door whenever she paid a visit. Fuck knows why, considering there were only two of them in the twatting house. There had been talk of bringing in baby Ellis into the world but he soon knocked that idea out of her silly head.

“Oh, come on, you silly bitch, where the fuck are you? This has now gone beyond annoying.”

He then heard something hit the floor right above his head. Gavin laughed, “So that’s where you’ve been hiding!”

. Gavin slowly climbed the stairs. “You are so going to regret fucking me off!” he shouted.

It had been a while since her behaviour demanded the full works but this incident was too serious to ignore. After the fist family had finished their dance, their downstairs neighbour would then be called out to play. If the bitch was still capable of moving then he’d get her to make him up another dinner.

He reached the top of the stairs and peered into the bathroom just to make sure, Gavin then padded across to the spare room and placed his ear against the door.

“Sarah, come out right now and I promise that I’ll go easy on you.”

Gavin stepped back, he had no intention of going easy on her but she wasn’t to know that. She’d do as he ordered though, of that he was sure of

Something thudded against the door on the other side.

“So, that’s your reply is it?” He pictured the woman crouched in the corner of the room, surrounded by a collection of small objects. She’d gone through a moment of madness only once since they’d been married. After a rather viscous episode with Gavin’s fist family, she’d run into the kitchen screaming her silly little head off. When he’d followed the hysterical bitch, she assaulted him with an assortment of flying kitchen utensils.

Something else thudded against the door. Gavin folded his arms; the stupid bitch had chosen the wrong room to pull this damn fool stunt. She’d be shit out of luck for decent ammunition in there. Apart from his collection of bike mags, the only other items of significant quantity were her large collection of soft toys. He figured that was what he was hearing hitting the door.

“This is your last warning, bitch.”

Another noise than caught the man’s ear. This one came from right outside the house. Oh, fuck! Some twatter was inside his beloved garage! He’d recognize the distinctive sound of his creaking garage door anywhere.

“I’ll deal with you in a minute.” He growled.

Gavin raced into the main bedroom and gazed out of the window, he was just in time to see his wife emerge from the garage, stop then look up to the window. She saw him and waved.

He backed away from the window. “What the fuck is going on here?” Gavin grabbed the baseball ball that he kept beside his bed and crept towards the spare bedroom. He raised the bat above his head then slowly counted to three.

Once he’d reached his desired number, the man raised his foot and slammed his boot against the handle. The door swung open and a silent cloud of black and grey feathers flew through the doorway and engulfed the shrieking man.

Gavin staggered back, he dropped the bat and fell against the wall. Dozens of tiny pointed beaks belonging to some of Seeton’s missing bird population drilled into the man’s exposed skin surface, transforming his flesh into something that resembled tenderized beef steak.

The man’s cries abruptly ceased when a sparrow flew into his open mouth and lodged itself deep in his throat.

Chapter Twenty-four

Alison had been through way too much weird shit today to be fazed by this short-arsed bastard. Some psycho butcher threatening with a tiny cleaver didn’t even get into her top ten.

“You should have stayed away, Dean, you and your plague.”

“You ain’t making sense, Tom. Look, move out of my way and let us through. I’m in no mood for games.”

“This is no game!” screamed the butcher. “You’ve killed our village with your filthy disease.”

Alison couldn’t take this anymore, what the fuck was up with these people? She ran towards the idiot, screaming at the top of her voice. Alison had dropped the bat in the alley but its absence didn’t make a difference, Tom must have dismissed her as some inconsequential teenage nobody. His eyes turned to saucers, he about turned and ran back up the stairs.

“Fucking coward,” she grinned.

“Jesus, he could have stuck that in your head!”

Alison shook her head, “Who him? The action man of Seeton? Give over. Our Sarah told me all about him, he talks big but he’s just a big pudding.”

She watched the man scurry back towards the window.

“What are you doing?” she hissed. For all Tom’s cowardice, it wouldn’t take him long to figure that he could just finish them both off by standing at the top of his stairs and fling his knives at them. She just hoped that he hadn’t thought of that one yet. Alison gazed up the stone steps; he’d yet to make a reappearance. Alison jumped when Dean tapped her on the shoulder.

When she spun around, he pressed the cricket bat into her hands.

“Now we can go.” He said.

Alison kissed his grinning face and raced up the steps, just aching for that butcher to attempt another confrontation. They both reached the top without seeing him.

“Where’s he gone?”

Dean shrugged. “Who cares, look we have to get to my dad’s house. I need to get this stopped.”

Alison leaned against the back wall and blinked, wait, what he said just then about you bringing this to Seeton. Are you telling me that all this madness is your fault?”

The man shook his head. “Of course it isn’t my fault. I worked on the project but I didn’t release the fucking stuff.” The man started to cry. “Do you think I wanted this to fucking happen? Jesus, you have no fucking idea what stress I’m under here. Millions, maybe billions of people are going through torture because of what I’ve helped to create.” Dean ran up to her and grabbed both her hands. “I can stop this from spreading, maybe even reverse it but I sure as fuck can’t do it in here.”

She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Then Alison took one look at that agonized expression and saw that he believed what he was saying. Even if there was just one grain of truth in his words, Alison realised that she had no other choice, she had to help him.

“Where does your dad live?”

The look of relief on the strange man’s face was tangible. Did he honestly think that she’d abandon him? It’s not as if she had anywhere else to go.

Dean took her hand in his and pulled Alison towards the door that she guessed would lead to the shop.

“What about Tom?” she asked. “He’ll be waiting for us and this time that nutter would have his metal friends with him.”

“I used to have a mate called Gavin back in the old days. Always starting fights he was. Have a guess where Tom was when stuff kicked off.”

Alison shrugged, not sure where he was going with this.”

Dean smiled. “He hid under tables or behind a wall.” Dean grabbed the door handle; he then stared at the girl. “I’ll bet you a tenner that the yellow bozo hasn’t changed. He’s all mouth. He always has been”

Alison sighed and followed him into the back of the shop. She hoped he was right about him not changing. Dean was betting both their lives on it. He stopped before the closed door, tapped the cricket bat with one hand; then grabbed the handle with the other one.

“You were the one who called him a big pudding,” he whispered. “If he hasn’t run off, bop him one.”

Alison grinned. “Bet on it.”

“Are you ready?”

Dean pulled the door open and rushed through, Alison followed close behind, she had no intention of losing him in the darkness.

“I can’t see shit.” She muttered.

“Christ on a bike, he’s boarded up the shop. No wonder it’s dark in here.”

Alison looked over the man’s shoulder and star glimpses of starlight leaking through the gaps in the boards. “What’s he done that for?”

“Hush,” he hissed. “I think I can hear him.”

Her eyes were slowly getting used to the dark room. She found that the stairs had led them directly to the preparation area behind the counter. She put her hand out and felt another wooden door frame next to this one. She guessed that the other door either led to the butcher’s meat freezers or to his living room. Could he be hiding in there? Alison hoped so; she wanted to get out of this spooky shop as quickly as possible without bumping into him again.

The customer’s view of the butchers shop formed in her mind. Her mum used to bring Alison in here every Saturday. She remembered gazing in fascination at the butcher’s assorted collection of silver instruments hung up at the back of the shop. She turned and walked forward two paces. The butcher always hung the largest knife at the end. To the eyes of a seven year old, that knife was huge, more like a weapon that a medieval knight would use to cut down his enemies.

She raised her arm and moved closer to the back wall until her hand made contact with the cold tiles. It didn’t take her propping fingers long to encounter the razor sharp steel blade.

“Bingo!” she whispered. Alison laid the bat down on the wooden block beside her and gently lifted the knife down. If that butcher was still in the shop then he may have second thoughts of tying anything stupid when he saw a mental teenager brandishing a big knife.

Alison turned around; her thoughts of finding another knife for Dean left her when she spotted a larger, moving shadow on the other side of the counter.

“Look out!” she cried. Alison picked up the bat and slammed it down. The counter shattered, spraying shards of glass across the shop. She rushed back to Dean and saw the butcher crawling on all fours towards the door. He glanced back, squealed and threw himself towards the door. Alison guessed that Tom had just spotted the knife.

“Get the fuck away from the door!” shouted Dean.

“Just you wait until I tell the others,” he shouted, reaching for the door handle. “Anne was right about you. The others will sort you out. See if they don’t. Who’s going to pay for a new counter top, that’s what I’d like to know.”

Dean ran towards the man. Tom cried out and pulled open the door. Alison watched in horror as the butcher ran straight into somebody stood right outside the shop. The figure’s arms wrapped around the shrieking butcher and its head dived down and bit into Tom’s face.

The figure then dragged the limb body out into the street, Alison gasped and the starlight illuminated its distorted features. “Oh, Jesus, that’s the old woman from the general store.”

Dean nodded, “Mrs. Chatsworth.”

They both crept up to the open door. Alison raised the knife; she intended to shove the business end straight through her eye.

Dean grabbed her arm. “Don’t.” he whispered. “It’s not her fault.”

The scientist released her arm and slowly edged around the doorframe, onto the pavement. She followed him, keeping well away from the dead butcher’s body and the old woman hung over him. Alison’s stomach rolled over as the ghoul bent down and fastened her mouth around Tom’s. They looked like a grotesque pair of lovers. The old woman then pulled her head back, between her clenched teeth, was the butcher’s tongue.

She turned away and followed Dean away from the shop.

“This is almost over. My dad’s house is at the top of the hill, it’s only a minute from here.” Dean turned his head and looked back, “She’ll be back to normal, Alison. As well as everyone else who’s been infected.”

Alison hoped to Christ he knew what he was doing, she thought they’d been bloody lucky to last this long. Their luck wouldn’t last forever. She glanced around, thankful that the street was devoid of people, living or dead. She hoped it would stay that way.

“Here we go,” he announced, opening the gate.

No lights shone from the windows. Alison took that as a sign that their luck was still holding out. She had no wish to bump into Dean’s old man or, for that matter, any other villager. That teacher had bound to have found other locals by now. Fuck knows what poisonous lies that bastard must have spread. Thinking back to what the butcher had said, said guessed that he’d found at least somebody.

The scientist unlocked the front door and ushered Alison into the dark house.

“Dean, where’s the bathroom?”

He directed her to the foot of the stairs. “It’s the first door at the top of the stairs.”

She gave the man a kiss on the cheek and raced up the steps. She so needed to clean the gunk off her hands and face. The irony of her desire was not lost on her. She’d spent the last couple of years not giving a shit about her body and then, all of a sudden, she meets a man who she actually fancies and all of a sudden she wants to freshen up. Alison entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

“Jesus, did I really think that? Come on, lass. Get a grip. We’re in the middle of Armageddon and you’re getting all hormonal?” Alison turned on the hot tap and splashed water over her face. “You are one weird woman. You know that, don’t you?”

She sighed and left the bathroom wondering when this madness would be over. Alison peered over the banister, trying to catch sight of Dean; then she jerked her head towards the open window at the end of the landing and gasped. Oh crap, there were people in the garden. Alison ran to the window and gazed down the sneering face of the fat gangster stared back at her. He grinned and waved.

Alison ran back to the top of the stairs, “Dean! Where are you?” There was no reply. She saw the front door was still closed. “What are they playing at?” She laughed bitterly, it’s not like they could get away. Alison raced down the stairs, refusing to give up so easily, there must be a back door.

Before she reached the bottom of the stairs, a shadow reached out from behind the coat hooks and grabbed Alison’s slender neck. The ugly face of one of the gangster’s lackey’s peered out from behind a parka.

“Boo.” He said.

The man dragged her down the remaining steps, put his thick arm around Alison and pushed her through a door and into the living room. The other lackey had Dean in an arm-lock.

Stood beside the fireplace were an old man and a middle-aged woman. Alison recognised the woman; she used to teach at the primary school. The woman glared at Alison.

“Come on, dad,” shouted Dean, “Tell this dickhead to get off me.”

The scientist screamed when the man holding him, tightened his grip.

The old man shook his head. “You’ve brought this on yourself, son. You should have stayed in London.”

Alison watched the witch nod her head, smiling. She grabbed the old man’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Hello, Alison. It’s been a while.”

She twisted her head and saw the fat gangster had walked in. The teacher stood behind him.

Alison screamed and spat at the pair of them. The gangster just shook his head; he wiped her saliva off his face then walked between the pair of them.

“Jacob, take them both outside and get rid of them. Be subtle about it please, no gunshots.”

She watched the lackey holding Dean, grin, then he pushed Dean past her and out of the house. The one holding her followed. She tried to struggle but it was useless, he just picked Alison up and carried her out into the night.

“Get the fuck off me.” She growled. “I’ve been infected; one scratch from me is all it will take.”

She then saw Dean, look at her, she thought he was going to tell her that he loved her; instead he just grinned and winked. He then brought his heal down on the big man’s foot. The gangsters howled in agony and let Dean go.

Like a racehorse, Dean jumped away from the gangster and shot across the path and jumped over the gate, into the back garden. The man holding Alison threw her towards the cursing gangster holding his ankle.

“You’re a fucking dipshit, Craig.” He made sure that Craig had her secure before walking towards the gate. “Keep her safe.” He found the catch and opened the gate. “I’m going to kill you real slow,” he said looking back.

The man disappeared into the back garden. Craig stood up, grabbed her hair and pulled Alison’s head back. “You’ve got such a pretty throat,” he whispered.

The man dragged her through the gate. She immediately saw the other one stood outside a large wooden shed. He placed one finger over his lips. Alison knew exactly what that meant. Dean must be hiding in that shed!

She tried to get away from the bastard holding her. Alison had to warn him. For her trouble, she received a fist against the side of her head. The blow knocked her sideways; the man pulled her back upright, Alison’s head spun.

“I hope one of those dead things bites your off your fucking cock.” She snarled at him.

The man giggled. “You’ve got a potty mouth.”

Through her tear blurred vision, Alison saw the gangster open the shed door and gasped in delight as he fell back when a huge, black dog jumped out of the shed.

The one holding her then cried out and released Alison. She turn and saw the gangster on the floor, Dean stood above him, holding a spade he then lifted the tool above his head and slammed it into his face. He dropped the spade and pulled her out of the garden.

“What did you do?”

Dean pulled off a pair of thick gardening gloves and threw them behind him. “Gruff got one of them and I pressed a nettle plant into the other bastard’s face. Come on, lass. Time is running out.”

They ran back into the house, Dean raced up the stairs with Alison right behind him. He turned before he reached the top and pressed something heavy into her hands. She looked down to discover he’d given her a pistol.

“It’s time to end this shit right now.” He hissed. Dean folded her fingers around the gun. “If anyone comes out of that room, kill them.”

She nodded and watched him rush into one the rooms above her. She turned around and gasped. The fat gangster stood at the foot of the stairs.

Alison pointed the business end at the man’s face; he just laughed and put his foot on the first step. There was no fear showing whatsoever.

“Put the gun away, missy. We both know that you won’t pull that trigger.”

He took another step up.

“Look, you have shown that you’re a resourceful girl, so I’ll do you a deal. Put away the shooter and I’ll let you live. You’ve got more guts than I thought.

Alison looked down at that smug face and gently squeezed the trigger.

“At least my guts are still inside me.”

Dean rushed out of the room holding two syringes. He looked at the scarlet mess splattered over the wall; he then gazed at the smoking pistol in Alison’s hand. He smiled. “Good job,” he said, joining her on the stairs. “Come on, let’s get this finished.”

She saw the teacher and the woman rush into the hallway. Sean’s father stood behind the woman, when he saw the mess, he turned and ran back into the room. Dean ran past Alison and pressed one of the syringes into the teacher’s chest. He cried out and dropped to the floor.

The teacher and other two rushed into hallway, Dean pressed first syringe into teacher’s chest and stepped back as he fell to floor.

“What have you done?” screamed Anne.

“Don’t get all moody, you bitch. I’ve got you one as well.” He pushed the other needle into the woman’s arm. She followed the teacher’s example and hit the floor. Dean jumped over the prone bodies and stood onto the steps. He dug another syringe out of his coat pocket; Alison noticed that the fluid in this one was bright green, almost fluorescent. He threw it at Alison. “I’ll let you have the honour. Inject that into the man then step back.”

She nodded and did what he said.

“Don’t just stand there, lass! Get back here.”

She ran to the stairs, turned and watched the teacher’s skin stretch like an inflating balloon before bursting open like a wet paper bag filled with blood.

Dean’s father stood by the living room, his hand over his mouth. She watched him give another syringe to the old man; he held the stuff in his trembling fingers like the green fluid would jump out of the container and eat him.

“You’ve got a few seconds left, dad. You need to inject your girlfriend or she’ll get off the floor and eat you.”

“I can’t do it.”

Dean shrugged. “If you don’t, then you’ll die too. It’s no skin off my nose, you spineless bastard.”

“Anne was right about you, Dean, you are evil.”

The woman raised her head and slowly began to get up, Alison heard her start moaning. Dean jumped over the woman and joined Alison on the steps. She raised the pistol.

“Wait,” he said, shaking his head.

Dean’s dad held the syringe out in front of him; the woman finally got off the floor and staggered towards him. The old man screamed out and pushed the needle into her chest. The woman fell back.

Are you happy now, you fucker?” Screamed the old man.

Dean sighed, “Watch, dad.”

The woman’s skin slowly returned to normal colour, she groaned, and then sat up. “What happened?” she asked.

Dean went up to the confused woman; he pulled her onto her feet and pushed her out of the house.

He glared at his dad then took Alison back upstairs.

“What’s going on?”

He pushed her into a bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. “I designed the solution to be airborne. That vindictive bitch is a walking cure; it shouldn’t take too long to spread.”

“How did you know it would work though?”

He grinned, “I tried it out on the dog when you were upstairs.”

“So is it over?”

He nodded. “What say you and me disappear somewhere?”

She joined him on the bed and stroked his hair. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t give a fuck as long as it’s away from Seeton.

Epilogue

Ralph Kasnovski struggled to keep up with his friends, this just wasn’t fair. They were way older than him, Gary, their leader had turned thirteen; he was almost an adult now. Ralph climbed onto the rusted remains of a burned out van and saw his four friends scampering across the field. Now that he was higher, Ralph could now work out their destination. They were heading towards one of the region’s quarantine zones. They’d been told time and time again never to go near those places.

He grinned; Ralph should have guessed that they’d be making their way over there. Gary had refused to tell him where they were going. They said that he’d tell and had threatened to beat him up.

Well, let them go in there and get all contaminated. Ralph didn’t care. It’s not like any of them were nice to him. The only reason why they let him hang around was Because Ralph’s dad was their district’s cadaver exterminator.

Not that there was much call for his services these days, even so, the other kids all thought his dad was way cool.

“They would say that if they had him as their dad,” he muttered.

Ralph climbed off the van and walked in the opposite direction. He wondered if he’d be able to sneak into the west district. He knew that the district wall just beyond the habitation zone had more than a few missing bricks knocked out of it. Ralph overheard his father complaining that west district were hoarding food again. Apparently, they even had apple trees.

He tapped the dial on his giger armband, gave those other boys one last glance before breaking into a sprint. He’d have to hurry, it would be dark soon, if there were any ground bursters left, the night time is when they came out.

Something stuck out of the ground, caught his moccasin. Ralph cried out and crashed into the long grass.

“That flipping hurt!” he shouted. Ralph gazed at the bright red blood leaking through a large hole in his trousers; he knew his mum would be furious with him. It had taken her a whole week to make these for him.

He examined the ground, trying to find out what had tripped him up, he gasped in surprise when he saw the corner of appeared to be a metal box sticking out of the ground. Ralph had expected to find a rock.

The dirt around the box was soft, if didn’t take him that long to excavate enough to allow to pull the bizarre contraption out of the ground. After walking round and round the box, he eventually identified what appeared to be an opening. This was so exciting! Ralph fell to his knees and with shaking hands; he managed to prise the lid off. His excitement diffused when he gazed inside, the only thing in the box was a dead animal. It looked a like a small rat. He shook his head in puzzlement, it definitely wasn’t a rat, this thing had a furry tail. He thrust his hand in the box.

Ralph screamed in agony when the animal suddenly came to life and bit into his finger.

The End.