Hell

by G G Garcia

  He stood up and decided to walk around the lounge area of the pub. It was dusky, but he could see where he was going, as the early light was seeping through the closed curtains of the pub’s windows.

  He walked over to one of the windows on the other side of the room and peered out. The window looked out on the front and Paul clocked the main road. He could just about see the two mini-roundabouts that were placed where Stafford and Rugeley Road met, and could see the hump bridge to his left. There was no sign of carnage or any of the infected. It seemed a peaceful day. For now.

  He moved away from the window and decided to check the back of the pub and then drain his bladder.

  He went over to the other side of the room and peeked out of the window that looked out onto the car park. It was clear also.

  Paul put his hands in his pocket and pulled out the set of keys, unlocked the door, and stepped outside into the cool air. He patted his right pocket, making sure his knife was there, and walked over to the fence that separated the car park and grass bank by the river. Paul did ten body squats, trying to get some kind of adrenaline running through his body to keep him awake, and walked back to the main door and went back inside the pub. The body squats hadn’t worked and still desperately wanted to go to sleep, but he made his way to the gents’ toilets after locking the door.

  The exhausted twenty-four-year-old entered the toilet area and went into the first cubicle. He felt a dull pain in his stomach and knew that he needed to do more than drain his bladder. He pulled his trousers and boxers down and defecated brown liquid out of his back passage.

  He had no idea why his bowels were like this.

  He had hardly eaten in the last couple of days and put his predicament down to nerves. He placed his hands on his head and lowered it, feeling the droplets of sweat with his fingers. He wiped his forehead and cleaned himself up once he was finished.

  He then left the cubicle and would have washed his hands, but he checked the sinks to find there was no running water. If this was a proper apocalyptic situation where the whole country—the whole world was in crisis, then the water would still be running for now. There was definite foul play, and the government was the only people involved that Paul could think of that were behind the people of the West Midland’s abandonment and isolation.

  He stepped out of the toilets, pearly beads of sweat still visible on his forehead, and went behind the bar and pulled out a coke. It wasn’t cold, but it tasted good as he drank it down in one and softly belched afterwards.

  He plonked the empty bottle on one of the tables and sat down, groaning as he did this. The coke probably wasn’t the best thing to drink, with the sugar and the caffeine present, but Paul was convinced he would sleep for hours, no matter what stimulants he put into his body.

  He yawned and his thoughts went to his parents and what had happened to Emma on the Sunday morning.

  Then he thought about the ones that he had killed.

  He shook his head and couldn’t recollect how many people he had killed so far. It was crazy, but it’s what had kept him alive.

  Paul dropped his head and let himself go for a few minutes, crying like a baby, and only composed himself when he heard noises coming from upstairs. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat when footsteps made their way down the stairs. A familiar face emerged from behind the bar and Paul smiled as he saw the man that he liked, but he had only known for two days.

  He said, “Morning, Melvin.”

  “Morning.” Melvin smiled and clapped his hands together. “Right, we have three bodies outside to take care of.”

  “Of course.” Paul had forgotten about the three IOs they both killed yesterday evening.

  “Where’re we gonna put them? The river?”

  “May as well.”

  “This is becoming a bit of a habit,” Mel groaned.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  They had been moving for the last five minutes and Demi Mason and Henry Brown had driven around the area of Rugeley to get to Colton, rather than going into the town. The Audi turned right and went by the Hare and Hounds pub that was to their left. The bend in the road straightened up and Henry and Maxwell’s place could be seen up ahead, on the left side.

  He slowed the vehicle down and looked for anything suspicious. The main door was shut and looked undamaged, but the windows looked smashed in. He brought the vehicle to a stop and turned off the engine.

  “Stay in the car,” Henry ordered, taking his gun out of his jeans. Demi didn’t protest. She didn’t want to be treated like some damsel in distress, but Henry was better equipped than her. She had to use her head.

  He stepped out and rubbed his eyes before approaching the house. He was exhausted, but he needed to do this. He was hesitant at first when he approached his main door, but eventually he placed his hand on the door handle and opened it. He looked inside and his eyes couldn’t pick up anything. He blew out a breath, feeling his heart galloping as if he was on a treadmill, and stepped inside with his gun drawn.

  He was in the tiny kitchen and could see that the place was ransacked. He took a look inside the living room and stepped in. He could see the couch had been knocked over, there was blood on the armchair, and three dead bodies were lying by the bathroom door. They all had bullet wounds to their chest. Henry raised his gun when he reached the bathroom door that was already open, and could see another body lying inside. But there was no Maxwell. His friend was nowhere to be seen.

  A smile emerged on his face as the realisation hit him that Maxwell must have fought his way out, hopefully with little injuries. Henry checked the bedrooms and once he realised there was no danger present, he rammed his gun into the front of his jeans and went back outside.

  He walked over to his car and Demi stepped out.

  “So what’s the result?” she asked him impatiently.

  “There’s four dead inside,” Henry said.

  “And Maxwell?”

  Henry smiled and almost chuckled. “He’s not one of them.”

  Demi rubbed her face and groaned, almost looking disappointed.

  “What’s wrong?” Henry was baffled by Demi’s reaction. “This is good news. It looks like Maxwell fought his way out.”

  “I know.”

  “So…” Henry was struggling to find the words. “So what’s your problem? I know you two didn’t get on, but surely you’re not disappointed that he’s alive.”

  Demi opened her mouth to speak, but then paused.

  An angry and impatient Henry snapped, “Come on. Out with it.”

  “What if he’s pissed off that we just left him?”

  “He’ll understand.” Henry narrowed his eyes and said, “Is that what you're worried about? Maxwell seeking some kind of revenge on the pair of us?”

  “No, it’s not that.” Demi brushed her curly brown hair behind her ears and added, “If we bump into him, he might be a bit angry that we left him. He has a gun and he’s a dangerous man.”

  “I’m no shrinking violet, Demsy,” Henry laughed.

  “I know. No offence, but Maxwell has the reputation of being the mad violent one. You were always considered mild mannered and not as hot headed.”

  Henry smiled and yawned, then told Demi that they were going to move the bodies outside. Henry was going to have a few hours of sleep to take the edge off and then go to the pub that Demi suggested.

  “Sorry, Demsy, but I can’t go on without having any sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “And what about food and the ammo for your gun. Are they all there?”

  “Appears so.”

  *

  It took nearly ten minutes to remove four bodies from the place and they were stacked on top of one another at the side of the flat, near the bins. The place stunk inside and outside, but that never bothered them, as they weren’t going to be staying there for too long anyway.

  Henry decided to retire to Maxwell’s room as there were no windows smashed there, and asked Demi to
lie with him in case any trouble popped up. She agreed, but wanted to go to the small back garden and visit where Emma lay. Henry understood, and thought that Demi was saying goodbye to Emma. Maybe she had a strong feeling she would never be coming back to this area, he thought. Maybe she thought she was going to die in the near future.

  Henry didn’t say anything to the woman. He went into the smelly flat and waited for Demi to return. Four minutes later she was back, and Henry locked the door and they both went to Maxwell’s room.

  An exhausted Henry didn’t even take his boots off when he threw himself on the bed.

  Demi stared at him and asked, “You not barricading the bedroom door?”

  “It’ll be fine,” he yawned and then sat up. “We’ll be fine for a couple of hours. He took out his Glock and placed it on the side table to his right, lay back down and closed his eyes.

  Demi didn’t share Henry’s confidence and took a chair from the corner of the room and wedged it underneath the bedroom’s door handle. She went over and checked the windows, then lay next to Henry, keeping her eyes open.

  “Once I wake up,” Henry groaned. “We’ll fill the car with as much as we can, and then get to this pub you were talking about.”

  “Okay,” Demi sighed. “And your ammo?”

  “In the drawer, next to me.”

  Henry put his hands behind his head and released a gentle moan. Minutes had passed and he was fast asleep.

  Demi stared at the ceiling and her thoughts went to her parents once more. They didn’t deserve that kind of death. Nobody did.

  She could feel herself getting emotional and slowly got off the bed, trying not to disturb Henry. She shuffled over to the window and looked out. The street was dead. It was like a Sunday afternoon.

  She looked over at Henry and could hear him snoring already. Probably because he was on his back, she thought. She decided not to move him and let him be.

  She bit her bottom lip like a naughty schoolchild, and crept over to the handgun that was sitting on the side table next to Henry. She took another look at the sleeping male and picked the gun up. She remembered what Maxwell taught her the other night, when he was cleaning his own, and she was dying to mess with the gun.

  She didn’t want to necessarily shoot the thing, but to even check the magazine and chamber a round would have given her a big buzz. She slid her hand down the barrel and aimed it at the window, imagining an IO coming through the pane of glass. She remembered how to take off the safety and guessed that she could put down one single infected individual. No problem. She was convinced of it.

  She stroked the gun once more and gently placed it back on the table, trying to make as little noise as possible so she didn’t stir Henry.

  She walked around the bed and lay back down where she was before. She closed her eyes and surprisingly nodded off herself after twenty minutes.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “You better get yourself off to bed, before you fall down,” Melvin snickered. He then sat opposite Paul Newbold who had been up most of the night.

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “Worse than you could imagine.” Melvin nodded at the empty coke bottle standing on the table. “And that won’t help either. With the sugar and caffeine they put in that stuff.”

  “I do feel knackered, but my mind is buzzin’.” Paul placed his fingers on the side of his head and began to rub his temples. “Gettin’ a painful headache as well.”

  “Your body needs to recover,” Melvin said. “When people are tired or ill, what’s the usual suggestion?”

  Paul wasn’t sure if it was a trick question, so answered, “Get some rest.”

  “Exactly.” Melvin stood up and walked over to the bar. He went behind and returned with a large brandy and placed it on the table. “Have that, and then get yourself upstairs. Your pals are still sleeping, so it’s the spare room for you. No point disturbing them. I’ll hang around until everybody’s up, alrighty shitey?”

  Paul had never drank brandy before and picked the large glass up and gave it a sniff. He twisted his nose and put the glass down.

  “Tastes better when it’s warm, you told me,” Melvin said. “Worked a treat with me the other night.”

  Paul yawned and scratched his head.

  “What did you tell me? Slip your hand underneath the glass and sip it. Keep your hand there and the liquid should warm up.”

  Paul did as he was told and took a large gulp of the liquid, making his face screw up, like a child sucking on a lemon. A noise could be heard coming from upstairs and with the feet pounding the floor and the fact that it sounded like the person was going to come through the ceiling, Melvin guessed that Lisa was up.

  “Oh, well,” Mel sighed and had disappointment scrawled over his face. “She’s still breathing then.”

  Paul released a small chortle, convinced that Mel’s comment was tongue in cheek, and took a second sip of the brandy that was now starting to warm up.

  Paul began, “If ever we get through ... whatever this is, and the area becomes normal again and life goes back to normal, you guys should consider a divorce or at least some kind of separation.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s none of my business, but this bickerin’ between the pair of ya ain’t good for either one. Some of the stuff that comes out of ya mouth is abuse.”

  “You’re probably right,” Melvin sighed and sat back in the wooden chair, folding his arms. “Sometimes I wake up in the morning and touch her head. Every morning I’m disappointed that she’s still warm.”

  “That’s not right.” Paul could see that Melvin’s face was serious and was unsure whether to laugh or not. He had never met a couple like this before.

  “We do wind each other up a lot, I suppose.” Mel tilted his head and a little smile emerged under his nose. “A couple of weeks ago I told her that the best way to get a dishwasher to work was to start kissing the back of her neck. She didn’t take that well.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I was only joking.” Mel raised his hands. “She was in the kitchen when I said it and threw a cheese grater at me, telling me that I was a hopeless cunt.”

  Paul finished off the brandy and said, “Ya have to be the strangest couple I’ve ever met. Have ya two ever sat down and discussed wit was goin’ wrong? Or even went to a marriage guidance counsellor?”

  “We tried to have a heart to heart a few months ago, but it never amounted to much.”

  “Wit happened?”

  Melvin hunched his shoulders and Paul could see a little hurt on his face. Maybe there was still something there. “It just turned into another argument.”

  “Oh?”

  “I said to her that I wasn’t attracted to her anymore, yet in the beginning I always wanted to make love to her badly.”

  “And wit did she say?”

  “She said that I’d been making love to her badly since the beginning.”

  Paul bit his bottom lip, trying to stifle a laugh, and this was noticed by Melvin.

  “It’s okay, Paul,” Melvin said with a smile. “I thought it was funny after a while. Not when she first said it, though.”

  Paul stood up and felt the room sway a little. Melvin could see that Paul looked unsteady on his feet and Mel asked if he was okay.

  “Probably that brandy,” Paul moaned. “Gone right to my head.”

  “All of that on top of being sleep deprived isn’t great for the body.” Mel stood by Paul’s side and placed his hand on his back. “Get your arse to bed. I’ll stay here until everybody gets up. Sounds like the wife is up anyway.”

  Paul rubbed his hair and trudged slowly to the bar. He walked around and made his way upstairs. As his feet reached the landing, he saw Lisa step out of the living room and they both stared at one another. Ever since Paul turned up at their house two days ago, the pair of them had never got on. If it wasn’t for Paul, Mel and Lisa wouldn't have the luxury of being in the pub, but he was certain that she partl
y blamed him for having to leave her house in the first place.

  “Morning, Lisa,” Paul said.

  “Morning,” she mumbled. “Did you manage to stay awake?”

  “Yeah,” Paul lied.

  “Bet you didn’t,” she scoffed. “I bet you got pissed and fell asleep.”

  “Well, I didn’t fall asleep and didn’t drink any alcohol either.”

  “Bollocks.” She began to laugh and walked past Paul and went into the bathroom. “You’re in a pub, you’re a man, and you reckon you never touched a drop.”

  “At least I offered to do it!” Paul yelled as she slammed the bathroom door shut behind her. How you haven’t killed her, Mel, I’ll never know.

  Paul went into the spare room and shut the curtains to block out some of the light that was spilling in. He knew that in a few hours the room would be saturated in sunlight. He kicked his shoes off, took off his socks, and scrunched his feet. He really could have done with a foot massage. He wiggled his toes for a few seconds and then lay on the Queen size bed, fully clothed. He fell asleep right away, but his sleep was shortened as he heard a yell from a male coming from the lounge area, from the ground floor.

  Paul shot out of bed and exited the bedroom quickly. He could see that Tony and Craig were also out on the landing, unsure what was happening, and was about to take the stairs and make the descent. He saw Lisa standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands on hips, and shouted up, “It’s okay.”

  “What is it?” Craig was the first to ask.

  “It’s that stupid bastard of a husband of mine,” she groaned.

  “What?” Craig had no idea what she was talking about, and he was speaking for all three, because they didn’t know either.

  “Stupid cunt saw a spider on the window and nearly shat a brick.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” Paul muttered. “I thought it was somethin’ serious.”

  “Honestly,” Lisa huffed. “He’s about as much use as tits on a fish.”