The War On Horror

by Nathan Allen

  “Oh, that’s Miles,” Clea replied. “He’s a Scientologist.”

  Miles would later learn that Neil had caught Clea’s attention at one of her rallies. He made an impression by throwing a brick through a Starbucks window, then scaling a power pole and cutting the electricity to a nearby McDonalds store. The fact that this was an anti-censorship rally was irrelevant; Clea like his passion, and decided he’d be a valuable asset for their cause.

  Miles went to the fridge and set about making a ham and cheese sandwich. He discovered that Neil had taken the last of the ham, so he was forced to use tofu as a substitute.

  He heard a car pull up outside the house a few minutes later. He left his sandwich-in-progress on the bench and waited by the front door.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded to know as soon as the door opened.

  Shae let out an exaggerated groan. “Can I at least come inside the house before you interrogate me?” she said wearily.

  “It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

  “I’m well aware of the time, Miles. I was at a group meeting. I told you about it this morning.”

  “You said it finished at eight.”

  “It did finish at eight. Then a few of us went out for pizza.”

  “Would it have killed you to call ahead and let me know?”

  Shae shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think of it.”

  Miles’ impatience was growing, and Shae’s dismissive attitude wasn’t helping. “I sent you about five text messages,” he said.

  “We have our phones turned off during meetings. I probably just forgot to turn it back on.” Miles found this difficult to believe, since Shae could barely go two minutes without looking at her phone. “So if you’re done,” she said, walking away, “I’m going to bed.”

  “Not so fast.” Miles put his arm out to stop Shae from passing. “I want to talk about you skipping school.”

  Shae gave Miles another dramatic eye roll. “Some other time, please?”

  “No, we need to talk about this now.”

  “It’s no big deal. I just missed a couple of P.E. classes. It’s not like it was anything important.”

  “That’s not the point. I don’t want you getting into the habit of missing classes.”

  “This is such a first world problem.”

  “Oh God, don’t you start with that.”

  “Are you telling me you never skipped any classes when you were at school?”

  “You’re right, I did. And look where it got me.”

  “Don’t worry, Miles,” Shae said, pushing her way past. “I’m sure I won’t end up like you.”

  Shae slammed her bedroom door closed for added emphasis.

  If Miles’ experience of raising his younger sister for these past two-and-a-half years had taught him anything, it was that he was being punished for his own behaviour as a teenager. It seemed that all the stress and trauma he inflicted on his parents when he was her age was being revisited upon him tenfold. It was harder and harder keeping Shae on the straight and narrow now that she was going through her obligatory phase of teenage rebellion. Whenever he asked her to do something, she inevitably ended up doing the opposite. If he told her not to drink a glass of liquid nitrogen she’d probably do it just to spite him. He knew this was typical behaviour for her age, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

  But what disturbed him the most was the influence Clea seemed to be exerting over her. Skipping a couple of classes didn’t really concern him all that much. As Shae had rightly pointed out, he used to do it all the time. But it was the reasons behind her cutting class that troubled him. It wouldn’t have bothered him if she was skipping school to go to the mall with friends, but she was doing it to hang out with a bunch of brain dead hippie stoners. He was afraid they were polluting her mind and leading her down a dark path.

  It was fine for people like Clea and Fabian to waste their lives like that, since they both came from wealthy families and could afford to drop out for a few years. Shae didn’t have that luxury. The next few years of her life were vital, and if she messed up now she could irreversibly damage her future prospects.

  He knew he was being overprotective, but he couldn’t help worrying about the people she was hanging out with and the choices she was making. The closer Shae became to Clea, the harder it was for Miles to get through to her. He didn’t know if Clea was doing it deliberately, but she was definitely turning Shae against him. The two of them were forever ganging up on him, and he always felt outnumbered.

  More and more, Miles found himself disturbed by the way guys were looking at her now. It was a subtle thing, but it was definitely there. Their gaze would linger a second or two longer than it should. The endless parade of strange men that Clea allowed into the house, like that sleazy Neil guy he’d just encountered, did nothing to alleviate his concerns.

  Miles returned to finish his sandwich. The doorbell rang a few minutes later.

  He answered and found Elliott clutching the doorframe as if the whole house might collapse if he let go. If he wasn’t drunk, he was doing a pretty convincing impersonation.

  “Heyyy, Miles,” he slurred.

  “Where did you disappear to?” Miles said. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past two weeks.”

  A few days after Elliott lost his job, Miles received a phone call saying he’d been arrested. The police suspected him of being part of an elaborate money laundering scheme after he was caught trying to deposit a fraudulent $200 cheque. Elliott didn’t help matters by being evasive and refusing to answer any questions. It was left to Miles to explain to the police that Elliott was trying to scam some money out of a Nigerian con artist, but it didn’t quite pan out the way he had envisioned.

  “I’ve bin busy,” Elliott said, mashing his words together in such a way that they seemed to form an entirely new dialect. “I needed some cassh.”

  “You have a new job?”

  “Nope.” Elliott produced a small pill bottle from his back pocket containing several blue oval capsules. “I make money with theese.”

  “Oh good, you’re selling drugs. For a minute there I was worried you were doing something irresponsible.”

  “Relax baby, I’m not selling drugs. I’m taking them. It’s medication, and I’m getting paid to do it.”

  “You mean like a clinical trial?”

  “No, they given me theese pills to take, and then monitor how m’body reacts to it.”

  “That’s called a clinical trial.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Aren’t they supposed to isolate the test subjects while they monitor them?”

  “Not thish one. Anyway, thish way I cin do two at once.”

  Elliott fumbled around for a second pill bottle, this one containing round orange tablets.

  “So they’re testing two types of drugs on you?”

  “No, thish one’s for a diffrint trial altogether.”

  “You’re taking part in two clinical trials?”

  “Yup.”

  “At the same time?”

  “I’m tellin’ you, the money’s real good.” Elliott smiled a broad grin, like he was exceptionally proud of himself. “You should do it, too.”

  The frantic rush to develop a vaccine or a cure for the infection meant there was a smorgasbord of clinical trials available for anyone willing to risk their health and wellbeing for some fast cash. The pharmaceutical companies were sparing no expense in their quest, and some were conducting themselves less ethically than they might otherwise have done.

  “But you don’t know what the possible side effects are!” Miles said.

  “No one knows what the possible side effects are, Miles.” Elliott spoke slowly, as if he was explaining something complex to a young child. “That’s why they hafta conduct theese tests.”

  Miles then noticed the small perforations and discolourations dotting Elliott’s arms. He then knew it was this, and not alcohol, that was the cause of Elliott’s odd beha
viour.

  “Have you been selling blood as well?” he said.

  Elliott shook his head. “Yeaah.”

  “How many times have you done it?”

  “I don’t know,” Elliott shrugged. “Three times, I think. Or maybe it was three. My memory hasn’t bin so good lately, f’some reason.”

  “Christ Elliott, you can’t keep doing that.”

  “Sure y’can. You just hafta give a diffrint name when y’go in. They don’t check your ID or anything. Besides, I’m AB negative. They pay me more f’my blood because it’s rare.”

  “Would you close the door please, Miles?” Clea shouted from the lounge room. “You’re letting out all the cold air!”

  Elliott stuck his head inside. “Hi, Clea!” he called out in his friendliest voice. “It’s only me!”

  “Oh God,” Clea said with disgust. “What is he doing here?”

  “Goodness, Clive,” Elliott said. “Your wife seems to be in a bad mood tonight.”

  “Look, it’s probably best that you don’t hang around here too much longer.” Miles attempted to usher Elliott out of the house before his presence caused a further scene. “You’re kind of persona non grata at the moment.”

  “Uh look, Miles, the reason I came here tonight ...” Elliott paused as he tried to rearrange his jumbled thoughts into a coherent sentence. “I need your help with something.”

  “Sure,” Miles said, picking up on Elliott’s sudden downbeat turn. “What’s up?”

  Elliott took a deep breath. “My grandparents are zombies.”

  Miles laughed. This revelation spilled out of him so quickly and without warning that he assumed Elliott was making some sort of joke. But the look on his face told him he was serious. He stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door behind him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Elliott explained how it had happened. Earlier in the day he decided to drop in on his grandparents in the hope of scoring a free meal, having worn out his welcome at his parents’ place. But when he arrived, he discovered that he was too late. Both of them were now undead, sitting on the couch watching Judge Judy.

  “When did this happen?” Miles asked.

  “I just found them today. I went out to visit them, and I–”

  “Wait, you drove out there?”

  “Well I obviously didn’t walk that far.”

  “No, I’m just surprised that you managed to put the key in the ignition, let alone operate a motor vehicle.”

  “So are you going to help me or what?”

  “Help you?”

  “Help me take them to a processing centre, and, y’know ...” Elliott’s voice trailed off before he could utter the words “collect the payment”, but Miles knew what he was getting at.

  “Are you sure that’s something you want to do?”

  “Not really, but if we don’t do it someone else will. I’d rather it be me and you than have some chucklehead from Z-Pro knocking them around and helping themselves to the family heirlooms.”

  Miles sighed. “I don’t know about this, Elliott.”

  “Please, Miles. I can’t do it without you.”

  Miles felt conflicted. Elliott was his best friend, and he was stuck in a desperate situation. But he had already gone behind Steve and Adam’s back once to do a job, and he didn’t think it was right to do it again.

  “I mean that literally,” Elliott continued. “I can’t do it without you. I need a valid UMC licence to take them to the processing centre. Mine’s been revoked.”

  Despite his deep reservations, Miles eventually agreed to help Elliott out. This would be a one-time thing, he promised, and he made it clear he was only doing this due to the exceptional circumstances.

  They made plans to leave first thing tomorrow morning.

  Chapter 17

  Despite its grim-sounding name, Graves End was actually a pleasant, quiet kind of town. A decade earlier it had been a thriving semi-rural community, but that all changed with the construction of a freeway bypass that diverted all the passing traffic. This led to many local businesses closing down and property prices plummeting, as the residents deserted the town in droves.

  The flip side was that the town then became very attractive to retirees. Not only could cashed-up seniors now afford a house twice as big as one in the city for half the price, they didn’t have to put up with any riffraff passing through their town and disturbing the serenity. For those that wanted to be left alone to enjoy their twilight years in peace, it suited them just fine. Thanks to the bypass, Graves End was the kind of place someone could only ever go to on purpose. Nobody ever stumbled across it by accident.

  You wouldn’t need to consult census figures to know that the citizens of Graves End had an average age of sixty-one. You could guess this by the uniform neatness of every one of the houses. Each residence was a picture of homely perfection, with manicured lawns that looked like spongy green carpet and rows of flowers and plants that were so well maintained they almost looked artificial. This level of immaculateness was attainable only to those who were willing to devote entire days to the presentation and upkeep of their abode.

  Elliott pulled into the driveway of his grandparents’ home which, like all others in this Stepford community, was impeccably presented. Only a few stray leaves on the front lawn hinted that something may be amiss.

  They discovered both zombie grandparents inside the house. They were doing exactly what they would normally be doing at this time of day, which was watching their favourite game shows. The TV was on when they turned, which made it easier for Elliott and Miles. They were both able to quietly slip inside without drawing any attention to themselves. From there, it wasn’t too difficult to get them both off the couch and into the back of Elliott’s car.

  “It’s kind of strange that no one reported it,” Miles said as he fastened their seat belts in place.

  “I don’t know,” Elliott shrugged, carefully removing the rings from his grandmother’s fingers and stashing them in his pocket. “People tend to mind their own business out here.”

  A shrill meowing interrupted them. Elliott looked up and saw Smokey, his grandparents’ twelve-year-old tabby, perched on their front doorstep.

  Elliott groaned. He hadn’t thought about what he was going to do with the cat. “Say, Miles,” he said. “How would you like a new pet?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that, Elliott,” Miles replied.

  It was bad enough having a bunch of unwashed hippies and a giant tattooed pig stinking up his place. Miles didn’t really like the thought of adding cat urine to that mix.

  “I guess he’s coming home with me then,” Elliott said with a sigh.

  Elliott moved to pick the cat up, and it immediately bounded away. “Goddamn it,” he said to himself, as the cat scurried under the fence and into the neighbouring property. He wondered if he could just leave it behind and let it become someone else’s problem. But then he thought of how much his grandmother loved that stupid cat, and how she would have wanted her furry companion taken care of if she wasn’t around to do it.

  He climbed over the fence and slowly crept up behind the cat until he had it cornered. The cat tried to run away again, but Elliott quickly scooped him up.

  “Gotcha, you little bastard,” he said.

  Elliott stood back up and found himself face-to-face with a white-haired zombie.

  He let out a tiny high-pitched squeal that he’d be embarrassed about if he wasn’t so petrified. The cat leapt from his arms and scampered up a nearby tree.

  The zombie stared back at Elliott, looking deep into his eyes. Elliott froze for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only about half a second.

  It wasn’t until he realised that the two of them were separated by a thick pane of glass, and that the zombie was inside the neighbour’s house, that his heart resumed beating and he was able to get his limbs moving again.

  Once the shock wore off, Elliott realised
what this meant. Here was another zombie for them to take back. Sort of a buy-two-get-one-free kind of deal, and more money in his pocket. So maybe things were starting to look up for him.

  He hurried back towards the fence, eager to inform Miles of this latest development. He climbed halfway over, then stopped. From this elevated position he could see directly into the backyard of the house behind his grandparents’.

  In there, an elderly zombie slowly pushed a dead lawnmower up and down the yard. His zombie wife was nearby at the flowerbed, listlessly poking at it with a garden hoe over and over.

  He climbed further up, standing on the top railing of the fence. He kept his balance by holding onto a branch from the tree that the cat was now hiding up. From here he could see into all the surrounding houses, where the same incredible scenario played out over and over.

  Every resident in every home was now a zombie.

  Elliott jumped down and hurried back to the car. Miles there was waiting for him. He could tell something was up with Elliott just by looking at him.

  “What is it?” Miles asked.

  “Miles.” It took Elliott a moment to catch his breath and figure out how to put what he had just seen into words. He swallowed hard.

  “I think we’ve hit the mother lode,” he said.

  Elliott’s car crawled slowly up and down the streets of Graves End. He and Miles kept their eyes peeled for survivors, but the further they drove the less likely this seemed. What they found instead was zombies in every direction they looked.

  Elliott’s grandparents were now safely buckled in the backseat. The seat belts holding them in place weren’t quite as secure as the restraints they had in the minibus, but they were effective enough. A zombie possessed neither the motor skills nor the physical dexterity required to undo a seat belt, and the grill over their faces prevented them from biting anyone.

  “Do you think there’s anyone left?” Elliott said as he scanned the area for signs of life.

  Miles shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it,” he said.

  He’d heard of this sort of thing happening before, where an entire town succumbed to an infection, but he didn’t think it was something he’d ever see with his own eyes.