He was getting nearer to the light and it appeared to be a solitary stone house, sitting in the middle of nowhere. What a bizarre place to stay, he thought.
The rain was still hammering down, and now that he was just a matter of yards away, the brightness from the outside light of the house showed him that it was a guesthouse, and there was a small car park at the side of the place to imply that this place could have visitors.
He approached the main door and never hesitated on knocking.
Chapter Five
There was no answer when he knocked the door, so he thought he'd try the doorbell instead. He used his forefinger to press the silver button and took a step back, patiently waiting for the owner to open the door. He only waited seconds before trying the doorbell again, and this time the door opened.
Gordon Burns was greeted by a man in his fifties. The man had a grey beard, wore glasses, and a large belly hung over his belt. “My goodness,” said the man, who looked aghast. “You look soaked. Come in.”
“Thank you.” Gordon stepped inside, ditching the tyre iron outside.
The man shut the door and looked Gordon up and down. “Where's your car? Did you park at the side of the house?”
“I...” Gordon decided to refrain from telling the owner his story for fear of being thrown out. “I broke down a mile or so away.”
“You poor thing.” He then took a step back and eyed his clothes. “You're going to have to get a shower. We've got some spare clothes in the back room.” He held up his hand and called out, “Angela!”
“What is it, lovey?” The female voice came from upstairs.
“I want you to take care of someone while I get the guests their drinks.” He then turned to Gordon. “We only have three guests with us. We have plenty of room, if you need to stay the night.”
“That'd be great.” Gordon began scratching his head and admitted, “My wallet is back in my car.”
The man gave off a thin smile, but there was suddenly some concern in his face. “We can sort that out tomorrow.”
Angela appeared on the top of the stairs. She looked the same height as Gordon, five-eight, was a thin woman with short grey hair. She smiled and shook her head at Gordon like his mother used to when he was a child, and said, “Right; take your shoes off and come upstairs. Get yourself in the shower.” She then shook her head and added, “Those clothes need to go in the bin.”
The gentleman of the guesthouse introduced himself as Christopher Horton, then told Gordon that his wife would sort him out and he then disappeared. Gordon noticed that Christopher had an annoying grunt before starting some of his sentences, but he appreciated his generosity.
Angela gave Gordon a black bin liner to put his wet clothes in and told him that he can take them home in the morning, but the couple didn't know what had really happened, and Gordon didn't want to say anything in case they thought he was crazy. The last thing he needed was to jeopardise his bed for the night, although guilt did plague his mind a little, knowing that those things were out there and Christopher and Angela had no idea. Obviously, the couple in the morning would want to be paid, so how was Gordon going to persuade Christopher to drive him back up to his car, if he felt brave enough?
I'll tell them in the morning. Whether they believe me or not, I'll tell them the truth in the morning.
He knew that his story would be frowned upon and would sound like a terrible tale to get out of paying for the room, but he was going to worry about that in the morning. He was pretty sure that sleep would be something he was going to struggle with on this particular night, but at least he wasn't spending the night outside, in the rain, with those things out there ... somewhere.
He looked at his phone to see that the battery life was at thirty-six percent, and decided to ask the nice couple if he could use their landline after his shower. Although the emergency services had been rung by the woman in the car, he still wanted to ring the police and tell them what had happened before announcing the ridiculous story to the owners.
He thanked Angela for her hospitality and went into the bathroom, shut the door behind him and stripped. His clothes were sodden and he wrung out each piece of clothing in the sink before putting them in the black bag. He then stepped into the shower and felt the glorious hot jets hit his face. Heaven.
He spent ten minutes in the shower and broke down for a couple of minutes. He could have spent longer but he didn't want them thinking he was taking liberties, and dried himself off with the brown towel.
Gordon looked in the bathroom's full-length mirror. He puffed out a sigh, and although he had more pressing matters to be concerned about, he didn't like what he saw. Gordon continued to glare in the mirror and then a voice could be heard from downstairs, which made Gordon snap out of his daydreaming.
“Quick! Come quickly!” The voice called from downstairs. It sounded like Christopher Horton. Gordon was unsure whether Christopher was talking to him, his wife, the guests, or that he was beckoning everyone. “You have to see this! Jesus Christ. Oh Lord, help us!”
Chapter Six
After quickly putting on his dark attire consisting of a T-shirt and a pair of loose black jogging bottoms, Gordon trotted down the stairs and went into the living room of the establishment. He saw Christopher and Angela sitting on the sofa, holding hands. Another three guests that Gordon hadn't met were standing aghast, their eyes glued to the TV.
Gordon turned to the female guest and asked, “What's happening?”
He was shushed rudely by the two male guests that were standing up in the room, and they replied, “Just watch.”
He did what he was told.
SKY News was showing footage that looked like re-runs, not live footage, of an area in Cumbria that had been cordoned off by the army, and whoever was advancing towards them were getting shot. People fell as they ran towards the army, but because there were so many people running, the outcome turned out bleak for the army personnel. He continued to watch the TV and saw people throwing themselves at the barricade, using themselves as weapons, and it eventually succumbed. Some army personnel were attacked, some ran.
Despite watching the news, it appeared that the people in the newsroom had no idea what was happening.
Although being shushed earlier, Gordon looked at the female to the side of him and asked, “What the fuck is happening? Have these people gone mad?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, I believe they have.”
“Shit,” Gordon mumbled to himself, and now realised what he was seeing on TV could be related to the scene he had experienced himself.
The news then went to footage of a press conference in Salford, where police and army personnel were addressing the public about what was happening and what the public should be doing to protect themselves. Then screams were heard in the background, the camera fell to the floor on its side, and all that could be seen was feet scampering around the floor whilst one particular female fell, inches from the camera, her blue eyes were wide open as if she was dead. Her body then jolted, her eyes quickly filled with red, then she got back up almost a minute later.
Gordon didn't see for certain, but he was sure that the woman was attacking other people. There was chaos for a few minutes, blood fell to the floor and screams filled the room. Everyone that initially fell, got back up, and soon the room was empty as they all fled.
Another clip was mobile phone footage that had been sent into the studio. The person taking the footage appeared to be high up in a flat, and his/her camera was showing a stationary double-decker bus being attacked by six infected people. Once they smashed their way in, nothing could be seen, but the screams were horrendous. A minute later, most of the people in the bus seemed to be infected and were piling out and running down the street as if they had seen something of use to them.
They didn't know whether people were being attacked because of a virus laced in vehemence, for the taste of their blood, or their flesh. It was then confirmed by the pasty-faced anchorman that
they believed that these things were eating people, but the attack was very short because it only took thirty to sixty seconds for the people to change. So as soon as the saliva infects the blood and the virus has overtaken the body, they immediately stop biting and go on to the next victim. It appeared that people aren't fully eaten because of the quickness of the infection, but a horde surrounding one individual could result in total annihilation and no chance of reanimation.
At the bottom of the TV screen, going very quickly across, were the headlines relating to what was happening. Four headlines at the bottom of the screen were as follows: Prime Minister calls for calm—No attacks reported outside UK—EU President wants UK quarantined—Hospital in Newcastle overrun with the infected.
“We need to board this place up,” one of the men said. He then shook his head and held out a quivering hand and introduced himself to Gordon. He was John, he called himself Stripy John, obviously a nickname. John then introduced his friend, James.
The female then quickly told Gordon Burns that she was called Joan. Joan was five-four, had dark features and was plain-looking, but she seemed pleasant enough.
“So what are these things then?” the nervous-looking John asked. “Some kind of zombie-type—”
“They're not zombies,” Gordon spoke up.
Christopher Horton remained sat on his sofa, his eyes looking at the floor, in complete shock. “You don't know for sure what they are. Nobody does.”
Gordon said, “Look, this isn't something out of a comic book. They're humans that have been infected with some kind of virus. They're not the dead rising, and you don't have to destroy the brain either. They're not repulsed by garlic or holy water...” Gordon then stopped talking, as he wasn't sure about some of the stuff that he was coming out with.
“Garlic and holy water? That's vampires,” Stripy John giggled with sarcasm.
Ignoring John, Gordon continued, “They can run really fast and their eyes are red.” Gordon wasn't entirely sure of his last statement. His mind then began to wander about the gowned man. He was certain he had finally killed him when he ran him over.
“How do you know all that? You've only been watching the telly for the last ten minutes,” Joan scoffed.
“He doesn't know,” said Stripy John's friend, James. “Nobody knows.”
The silence suffocated the group and although the TV was still blaring, now showing footage of Glasgow's Central Station being overrun with what the media were calling now, The Runners, most of the people gazed at the floor in disbelief.
“These things...” Gordon cleared his throat loudly, enough to get everyone's attention. “I think they're already here, in the Pennines.”
Chapter Seven
After Gordon had told the small group his story, he ended with the sentence: “So ... does anyone want to ask me any questions?”
The stunned group remained silent, all looking at one another. The scenes on the muted TV were bad enough, but now they had someone in the room who already had experienced these things and had lived to tell the tale.
Christopher grunted and asked, “So you had knowledge of these things before you were attacked yourself?”
Gordon shook his head. “I had no idea what was happening. One minute I was going to the aid of this woman and her poor husband who claimed they had hit a person, and the next this thing came out of the dark and attacked them. They had turned a minute later.”
“Because of this ... gowned man?” Joan queried.
“I know. It sounds like an episode out of the Hammer House of Horror programme, but that's what happened. I saw it for myself.” Gordon scratched just above his thick eyebrows and took a quick breath in. “The man in the gown attacked the couple. Within a minute they had turned and were desperate to get out ... to get me.”
It was now Angela's turn, who squeezed her husband's hand tighter with the horrendous news that she was hearing. “And is this gowned man dead?”
Gordon lifted his arms up and shrugged in unison. His body language suggested that he didn't know. “I hit him with my car.”
Angela began to sob and admitted, “I thought for a second that being out here we would be safe.”
“We are, to a certain degree.” Gordon was trying to put a positive slant on the situation.
“What do you mean?” asked Stripy John.
“Well, if we were in the city, it'd be a fucking massacre.”
“I live in my apartment on the fourth floor.” James looked to be getting angry. “I would have been okay.”
“No you wouldn't,” said Gordon, confidently. “I saw this thing head-butt its way into this couple's car. Even if there was just one of them, your door wouldn't have stayed on its hinges.”
Gordon had asked the owners for a drink of water. He then sat down with his drink and sat in silence as James, Stripy John and Joan were phoning, texting and Facebooking family members. Over a thirty-minute period there was yelling and crying over their phones, but the signals in a place like the Pennines wasn't the best and all struggled with Facetime. The last to put their phone down was James; he was talking to his brother and finished off with, “Okay, bro, this line is getting worse. I'm gonna hang up. There's only twenty-three percent battery left on my phone. Gonna have to charge it.”
After James said his tearful goodbyes to his brother, he disappeared from the living room to go upstairs to his room.
The owner, Christopher Horton, stood up from the couch and announced that he needed the toilet. Gordon was unsure that he actually needed the toilet, or that Christopher wanted somewhere private to cry.
They all sat down when more breaking news appeared, and Christopher refrained from going to the toilet and put the volume up on the TV.
Gordon shook his head. What now?
It was new footage. The footage was from CCTV cameras, and it was showing an incident on Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow's City Centre. The infected were in a group of eleven, running, and one of them had spotted something. As soon as that one individual veered left, they all followed its path and smashed their way, using their fists and heads, through the shop, entering a Holland and Barrett store. They assumed that a human had been spotted and that was the reason for the change of direction. A worker hiding in the shop, maybe. This proved to the group that barricading was going to be a waste of time, which frightened the hell out of them.
The anchorman's lips were moving, but it was hard to take in the information. It was stressed that experts had no idea where the virus had come from, but some experts lambasted this statement and a researcher claimed some people knew exactly how this had developed into such a catastrophe. He told the people on SKY News that he was certain that the virus had come from the research centre in Newcastle, where scientists had been developing a vaccine for cancer on certain animals. There had been reports, denied by the government, that a scientist dressed in a white gown attacked people in the centre a few days ago after being bitten. The CCTV had been disabled. A day later, there were violent riots on the streets of Newcastle and Sunderland that ended in bloodshed.
A minute later, another piece of film had been sent in from a member of the public. It was one of the most frightening pieces of film, probably because it was real, Gordon had ever seen. It was videoed by mobile phone, so the footage was predictably a little shaky. An unnamed person was taking footage of his neighbour running out of her home. Initially the footage that was being filmed was filming the street, but a scream had distracted the phone-owner, and the woman ran out of her house screaming.
It appeared that she was being chased by one of her own children and was eventually taken down in the street by two other 'Runners', as the media were beginning to call them. The shaky phone zoomed in and the woman's throat was ripped out by one bite. Blood poured out of her and Gordon immediately thought she was screwed. The creatures quickly backed away from her, as if she was on fire, and now she was infected. Her body jerked the once and she quickly got to her feet and began running towards t
he next melee. Thirty seconds had passed and the woman dropped to the floor and never got back up.
It appeared that the blood loss from her torn-out throat was the demise for this newly infected woman, and the anchorman informed the public that another infected human had died from being hit by a car.
The newsman read off a few bullet points and told the public that these things can die like normal humans, and that they're infected with something that they have no knowledge of. People who knew what was going on were based in Newcastle's Research Centre, and they were all now infected or dead.
“We're fucked,” Joan cried. “We are all totally fucked!”
Chapter Eight
“Lock the house up,” Christopher said with terror in his voice. “And everybody else should lock themselves in their rooms.”
“Fuck that,” James snapped. “I'm out of here.” He then turned to Stripy John and asked, “Are you coming?”
John shook his head. He looked terrified. He was going nowhere. “Let's not be rash.”
Christopher held out his hand to calm the situation, and grunted before starting his next sentence. “We're probably in the safest place. If you drive back home, you're going to be heading towards a populated area.”
Added Joan, “More people means more of those ... Runners, I think the news called them.”
“Exactly my point.” Christopher nodded in James' direction. “The best thing for us all to do is block the doors and windows, and I'll get my shotgun from the bedroom. Then we can grab some food and water and hide in the basement.”
The Monsterland Trilogy [Books 1-3] Page 3