Hell

by G G Garcia

  HELL (August: Book Two)

  By

  G.G. Garcia

  Copyright 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The author uses UK English

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  HELL

  Chapter One

  Monday 3rd August

  Tony Willett’s eyes slowly opened and he gave them a rub with his fingers. He gazed up at the ceiling and remained still for minutes. He yawned and sat up in the bed he had been in for the last nine hours. His eyes narrowed and wondered what day it was.

  “Monday.” He shook his head, knowing that on any normal Monday he’d be going to work at the car factory, but things had changed. He was now staying in a pub, with three other people, and the outside was now a dangerous place to be.

  He swung his legs to the side, rubbed his eyes again, and began to crack his knuckles. He looked around the room and realised he was in John Junior’s room, the fourteen-year-old son of the owner of The Wolseley Arms pub.

  Tony stood up and walked over to the window. The room was situated at the back of the pub, so he knew that the view would be of fields, the river, and the pub’s car park. He pulled the curtains back and could see that it was a beautiful day. Not a cloud spoiled the light blue sky, and he guessed that by the afternoon the temperature would probably reach the late twenties.

  He looked down on the empty car park, and wondered how long it’d be before it was safe to leave the establishment and go back home. But how would he know? His phone was dead.

  In the beginning, most of the information they had been given had come from the TV, but with the power now gone, they had nothing. It had only been a day since the power went and the phones were scrambled, and Tony felt isolated from the rest of the world. He felt alone, and could feel his throat stiffening and his eyes becoming damp.

  Tony could feel his stomach twisting and could hear the strange noises coming from it. He rubbed his belly and then went over to his clothes that were strewn in the corner. He picked the clothes up and gave his black trousers and white shirt a sniff. He twisted his face when his senses picked up the smell of stale sweat, and he decided to see what was in the boy’s wardrobe. Tony remembered that John Jameson’s son was the same size as him and wondered if he had taken all of his clothes with him when they packed.

  Wearing just his boxer shorts, Tony opened the cupboard and could see a pair of black jeans hanging up and numerous T-shirts. He took out a pair of black socks and put on the black jeans. They fitted, and now he ran his fingers through the small selection of T-shirts that were available. He took out a black T-shirt that had a picture of Ian Curtis on the front, with his head lowered and holding onto his microphone. Tony liked Joy Division, so he didn’t mind.

  He took his Armani watch from the bedside table and put it on his wrist, its dark blue face telling Tony that it was nearly 8am.

  He decided to go downstairs and use the public toilets in the bar area, rather than the one that was available in the living quarters. He crept downstairs, walked through the dusky area of the lounge, and walked into the gents’ toilets. He stepped out fifteen minutes later, and began to make his way back to the first floor. He walked into the living room and could see Paul Newbold sitting on the sofa, supping on a coke, and picking his itchy ear with his free hand.

  “Mornin’,” Paul said. “Where have ya been? I thought ya were still asleep.”

  “Went to the little boys’ room,” Tony said in a soft tone. He sat next to Paul and noticed that he was also wearing different clothes.

  The last time Tony had seen Paul, he had been wearing black trousers and a lemon shirt that had been sprayed in blood from the IOs he had killed the day before. Now he was wearing a red chequered shirt and a pair of blue jeans that he took out of John Jameson’s wardrobe before everybody turned in for the night.

  Paul had been sleeping in the lounge area, and Melvin and Lisa were allowed to use the bedroom that John and Helen Jameson used to use.

  “The happy couple still asleep?” Tony asked with a wry smile.

  Paul nodded and looked at his silver Raymond Weil limited edition Beatles watch. “They’re both okay when ya get to know them,” Paul said. “Melvin saved my arse, but his wife is a bit of a loose cannon.”

  “I gathered that, man,” Tony remarked. “Before we went to bed, I heard her call that guy a useless cunt. Jesus, she doesn’t fanny about, does she?”

  “I know,” Paul sighed. “She’s got a bit of a mouth on her.”

  The two sat in silence for a minute, and Tony asked Paul if he wanted a coffee, even though his friend already had a coke. Tony was making one, so he thought it’d be polite to ask if Paul wanted one. Paul had to remind his friend that the power had gone and he would have to boil a pan on the camp stove if he wanted hot water. Tony decided to leave it for now.

  Paul finished his coke and Tony could sense that Paul had something on his mind. Instead of asking Paul if there was anything wrong, he waited for his friend to speak when he was ready. He didn't have to wait long.

  “Not being able to contact my folks is quite frustratin’,” Paul groaned.

  Tony nodded. “Tell me about it. I was wondering if Craig had made it home.”

  “Prick.” Paul shook his head. “Can’t believe he took my car.”

  “I can’t believe Demi just fucked off as well.” Tony ran his hand over his face and added, “I wonder if Demi and Craig made it back.”

  “I reckon they have,” said Paul.

  “Me too.”

  Another silence shrouded the two young men who were now on the landing and Paul cleared his throat. “So ... I was thinkin’...” Paul looked at his friend. “Sometime today I was gonna head home.”

  Tony put his tongue on his bottom lip and thinned his eyes. “Um … I’m sorry, what?”

  “Ya heard me,” Paul said.

  Tony puffed out his cheeks and widened his eyes, blowing out another breath and trying to take in what Paul had just told him.

  Paul was impatient, waiting on a response from Tony, but his friend didn’t give one.

  “Well?” Paul persisted. “What do ya reckon?”

  “Not a good idea.” Tony finally responded and shook his head. “But what about me, man?”

  “Wit about ya?” Paul laughed and said, “Make up ya own mind. Ya either come with me, or ya stay behind here. I’m not gonna force ya into a decision. It’s up to yaself wit ya do.”

  “And you’re definitely going?”

  Paul gave off one nod and said, “Definitely.”

  Tony sat back and rubbed his face, his psyche smothered with confusion on what to do for the best. He wanted to go home, but he didn’t want to die trying to get there.

  “I’ll need to think about it,” said Tony.

  “Okay.” Paul folded his arms, sat forwards, and then stood up. “I leave in an hour. I’ll say my goodbyes to Mel before I go.”

  “An hour?”

  Paul nodded. “I’m going to get somethin’ to eat. Wit ya want?”

  “Nothing, man.” Tony shook his head and was now sick with nerves. “I’m not hungry.”

  Chapter Two

  The twenty-one-year-old female slipped out of the bed, leaving the male there, and crept to the kitchen in her bare feet. She had to go through the living room, with a nice soft carpet underneath her feet, to get to the kitchen, and was now on the hard linoleum floor of the kitchen. This wasn’t her flat, her apartment. It belonged to the man that she had slept with the night before, the same man that she had left in the bed. She could see that the sink was full of
clean water and that the owner of the flat wasn’t taking anything for granted. In the defunct fridge was some food, but most of the space was taken up by bottles of water.

  She took a glass from the cupboard and dipped it into the sink. She took a drink from the glass and gazed out of the window, looking out at an abandoned street. She had been told that the street had been quiet, despite what was happening, and the man had told her that he reckoned the people had simply locked their homes, barricaded their doors, and were waiting for this catastrophe to blow over.

  She guessed that if this epidemic continued, these people would soon be leaving their homes, especially once the dehydration and starvation kicked in. And what would be the outcome of this?

  Would people leave their homes in a civilised manner, come together as a community and work with one another? Or would it be every man for himself and people resorting to violence so they could feed their families, maybe even kill to get what they needed?

  She looked around the dusky flat and Demi Mason was thankful for Henry Brown. Although the pub was a lifesaver, she was closer to her hometown being in Colton. It was half a mile to the outskirts of Rugeley, but another half a mile to get to her parent’s house.

  Demi and her friend Emma both worked in a jewellery shop, the same one, in Stafford high street. Emma was passionate about jewellery, worked at the shop full time, and had aspirations of going up the company ladder and eventually becoming a manager. Demi, however, had other ideas. Demi worked part time at the shop and was there to simply get some money, as three days a week she attended Stafford University and was doing a Sports degree and hoped to be a PE teacher.

  It was Monday morning and she should have been on her way to the university to attend her first lecture of the day. Her day would have involved meeting up with her classmates and going for a coffee in the canteen, chatting about the lectures that they were about to attend.

  Instead, she was stuck in an apartment that was owned by her occasional lover and brother of her now dead best friend. He was also a notorious drug dealer and was living in an area of England where people had been infected and were turning on other human beings, killing many, including her own parents.

  She knew her parents were dead, because she heard their demise over the phone when she was staying at the pub. Her shoulders shuddered as her sobbing increased momentum, and as she wiped her face she wondered how her brothers were. Like most people she had tried to contact, they never answered their phones or her texts, but it was early in the morning at the time. This new world had been six to eight hours old by the time most people woke up and found out that an area of England had gone to hell in a hand basket.

  “You okay?” a voice called out from behind her.

  Demi gasped, but didn’t turn around. She knew it was Henry. She didn’t hear anybody get up.

  She remained gazing out of the window and shook her head. “Not really.”

  “I know,” Henry sighed. “Stupid question, eh?”

  Demi remained looking out of the window and shuddered when she felt Henry’s arms wrap around her and the twenty-nine-year old press himself up against her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him.

  “Um…” Henry removed his hands from Demi’s waist. “I just thought...”

  “Because you didn’t get it last night, you thought you’d try it on this morning?”

  “Suit yourself,” he huffed, and sat down on his couch. “You looked upset, so I decided to give you some comfort.”

  “With your penis?”

  Henry didn’t answer; he just gave off an impatient groan.

  “We’re not a couple,” said Demi. “You made that quite clear months ago.”

  Henry placed his hands on his thighs and remembered the conversation they had had back in April. He and Demi had slept together and he told her that he didn’t want a relationship. He admitted that he liked to sleep with different people, and she shouldn’t waste her time being with him. She had only slept with Henry eleven times since they had that conversation, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself.

  “I want to go home,” she announced.

  “I know you do, Demsy.” Henry nodded. “But what’s the point, eh? You told me yourself that you heard your parents die. I’m not taking you back to that, back to that ... mess. It’ll scar you for life if you see them in that state. You’re staying here with me.”

  The two of them heard a noise coming from the other bedroom, a male cussing, and then a loud fart, making Demi twitch her nose in disgust.

  Henry cackled, “Looks like Maxwell’s awake.”

  Chapter Three

  Paul and Tony had been sitting for nearly an hour, and they sat up straight when they heard a sound coming from their left. They could see a tired looking Melvin Leslie scratching his head and shutting the bedroom door behind him, now making his way to the living room. He clocked his tattoo on his left wrist and released a depressed breath out. Poor Jacob. Fully dressed in the clothes he had on the day before, the fifty-two-year-old man greeted both young males with a nod and sat in the armchair, groaning.

  “Good sleep?” Paul asked him.

  Melvin hunched his shoulders and said, “Kept on waking up during the night. Kept on dreaming about bloody spiders. Feels like I’ve just had a couple of naps.”

  “I suppose with what’s going on, that’s understandable,” Tony said.

  “It’s nothing to do with that,” Melvin huffed. “It’s the frigging hippo that’s lying next to me. Snores like a fucking pig with sinus problems.”

  Tony bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh.

  Paul’s face never changed shape. He was used to the couple by now, and the insults that they threw at one another weren’t shocking or funny anymore. He had become immune to their behaviour towards each other.

  All three males gazed at the defunct TV. If the power was on they’d be watching it.

  “Power still off then?” Mel remarked.

  Both Paul and Tony nodded and could see the middle aged man was still wearing his white round neck T-shirt which had “WARNING: Fart Loading” in black print.

  Tony looked at Paul, raising his eyebrows at his friend, urging him to tell him about his plans on going home.

  Paul shook his head, but Melvin spotted the strange behaviour of the two men and asked them what’s wrong.

  Paul struggled to say anything, so Tony decided to speak up.

  He said, “Paul’s going home.”

  Melvin looked surprised and said quickly, “On foot?”

  “Well, I can’t fly, can I?” Paul laughed. “And I don’t think the buses will be runnin’ for a while.”

  “Holy shitballs.” Melvin never responded to Paul’s sarcasm and surprised Tony by adding, “If that’s what you need to do, then so be it. I wish you all the luck in the world.”

  “What?” Tony was surprised by Mel’s remark and couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Don’t you think it’s a bad idea?”

  Melvin shrugged his shoulders. “Paul’s an intelligent man. And he’s killed a few of those things as well.”

  Paul smiled. “Cheers, Melvin.”

  “But...”

  “But?”

  “But going on foot is a tad insane.”

  “So wit do ya suggest?” Paul asked. “I can’t just magic a car out of my arse, can I?”

  “Get yourself a vehicle.” Melvin said with a straight face. “If I had my own car, I would have given you it, but there’s a garage up the road. If there’re no cars there, then you can check the village.”

  “Going into Little Haywood’s a bit dangerous the way things are, man,” Tony spoke, shaking his head.

  “True.” Melvin nodded. “But not as dangerous as walking two miles to your hometown.”

  Paul nudged Tony and asked him, “If I can get a car, will ya come back to Rugeley with me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Paul gazed at his friend and realised that maybe Tony was fright
ened. Paul was frightened as well, but he was desperate to get home.

  “Okay.” Tony cleared his throat. “I’ll come.”

  “Good.” Paul nodded and smiled. “Because I can’t do this by myself. Ya comin’ with me.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.” Paul smiled.

  “Alrighty shitey, lads,” Mel spoke up and raised his hand. “Take care now.”

  Chapter Four

  Maxwell was fully dressed and sauntered over to Demi and Henry. Neither Henry or Demi greeted the man, or even acknowledged his existence. The thirty-four-year-old portly man was wearing black jeans and a blue plain T-shirt, and he went over to try the TV.

  “Don’t bother,” said Henry. “It’s dead. Phones are still fucked as well.”

  “I know.” Maxwell sighed and sat down on the couch, on the opposite side to Demi. “I’ve got twelve percent left. That’s it.”

  “This is killing our business.”

  “I know.”

  Demi sat and shook her head.

  Noticing this, Henry called over to Demi. “What’s up with you, eh?”

  It took a while for Demi to answer. She scratched at the top of her itchy nose and began, “I’m shaking my head at you two selfish pricks.” She paused, allowing either one of them to speak up, but both Maxwell and Henry remained quiet. She continued, “People are dying out there, being attacked, and you two are worried about losing money. Jesus Christ in Heaven.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Maxwell was the first of the two males to speak up. “When this blows over, things will be back to normal again.”

  “And you know that for sure, do you?” she huffed. “How do you know if your clients and dealers are still alive? And most of your customers could probably be dead or those ... things.”

  “This’ll blow over soon,” Maxwell said with confidence. “You watch.”

  “And what if John Jameson is right with his theory?”