“Well that just sounds fantastic,” James derided. “And as for blocking the doors and windows—didn't you see those things on the TV? They were head-butting their way through thick glass to get at someone.”
“He does have a point,” Gordon intervened, and looked at Stripy John, Joan and the Hortons. “I've seen it for myself.”
Angela sighed, and trying to stick up for her husband she said, “Well we shouldn't make it easy for them at least.”
“Look,” this time Stripy John was having a turn to talk. “It's not set in stone that these things are going to come here anyway. If we keep the lights off, make sure we're not seen, and not make a noise, I don't see why they'd come here.” His six-foot frame remained standing and he scratched at his short grey hair, waiting for a response.
“According to the news,” Joan began, “they still have human senses, they're just ... I don't know, possessed in some way.”
“Infected,” Gordon corrected.
Christopher added, “So if they have human traits—”
“They are human,” Gordon snapped. “They're just infected. I'm not saying they can drive a car or read a fucking newspaper, but they can run, they can climb ... they can bite. I don't even know why they're attacking others. They don't have enough time to devour another person. You heard the news. As soon as the infection kicks in after thirty seconds or so, they back away.”
“But they do eat us,” Joan said. “Just not much.”
“I suppose it's like a greedy kid at a party,” James began to speak. “A kid takes one bite of a cake, then moves on to the next.”
Gordon laughed, “That's probably the worst analogy I've ever heard.”
“Fuck you.”
“Look.” Christopher stepped inbetween Gordon and James who were seconds from blows. “This ain't gonna help anyone, is it?”
Neither men responded. Just glared at one another.
“We're wasting time squabbling amongst ourselves.” Joan ran her fingers through her shoulder-length, brown hair. “Let's do what Christopher suggested, and hide the fuck in the basement.”
Gordon liked Joan. She was okay-looking—he was hardly an oil painting himself, he knew that, but she did seem to cuss a lot. He had found out that she worked in a shop and he was certain that wasn't the way she spoke to her customers. Gordon didn't know if that was the way she was or the situation itself was making her swear, as they were all on edge.
Christopher showed Gordon and Stripy John where the spare bedding was. They grabbed cushions, quilts, and blankets and brought them down to the basement, whilst the rest were gathering food and liquid. Christopher opened the door that was situated in the kitchen, and the two men went down to the area where it was the size of an average bedroom; a few crates of booze was present and the floor was carpeted.
Gordon was surprised how warm it was in there; he always imagined basements to be dark, cold, and damp places, only fit for rats. It was lit up by a solitary sixty-watt bulb, and it could be bolted and locked from the inside.
As the people started going into the basement, Gordon stepped out and could see Christopher standing in the living room, tears fell from his eyes. Gordon walked back over to the owner and stood to the side of him. Both men looked out of the living room window, into the evening. It was now pitch black outside, but at least the rain had died.
“I think we better close the curtains,” suggested Gordon.
Christopher nodded his head in agreement and sighed, “Please tell me this isn't happening.”
Gordon placed a comforting hand on Christopher's shoulder. “I'm afraid I can't do that.”
“Come on, you daft fucks!” yelled Joan from the kitchen. “What are you two standing around for?”
Both Christopher and Gordon looked at one another and shook their heads. “She's got a mouth like a sewer, that one,” laughed Christopher.
Gordon went over to the window and shut the curtains.
“I'll be just a sec,” Christopher informed Gordon. “I'll need a pee if we're going to stay in the basement all night.”
Gordon nodded and went into the underground room.
Two minutes later, Christopher came downstairs, holding his shotgun.
Chapter Nine
The six individuals—four guests and the owners—made themselves as comfortable as possible. After watching the footage on the TV, everybody agreed that any kind of barricading would be pointless. If those things were out there and wanted to get in, they were sure that they'd get in regardless if the doors and windows were blocked or not. Even the basement door was breakable, it was just well-hidden. It was situated in the kitchen and they hoped, and some prayed, that this was enough to keep them safe if any more of the Runners went in the guesthouse's direction and broke in.
“So what now?” Stripy John asked.
Christopher looked a little annoyed that people assumed he had all the answers; just because he was the owner of the establishment and the eldest, didn't mean he knew what the fuck to do next.
“Just stay here till the morning.” Christopher began scratching his huge belly; Angela's arm was hooked in his and her head was resting on his shoulder. She looked exhausted. “All the lights are off in the house, but if those things get in and we keep quiet, we should be okay. It didn't say on the news anything about their sense of smell; just that they can do what other humans can.”
“I've told you,” Gordon snapped. “The TV said that they are human, just infected.”
“Whatever they are; staying in here is our best option.” Christopher then looked to James, who was still eager to get out of the Pennines. “You honestly think you'd make it home? The M6 will be grid-locked. You'd have to go on foot, and I can tell you now how that'll work out for you.”
“Yeah, well.” James sniffed and sat down on the floor where the rest of the group were sitting, almost in a circle, as if they were about to perform a séance. “I've got a family to get to. Anybody else?”
Christopher Horton lowered his head and breathed out. He held his wife's hand and nodded. “We have family. Thankfully living overseas.”
That was all the information Christopher could reveal before breaking down. As he was being comforted by Angela, his wife, Joan felt that it was her turn to say something. She added, “I never had kids. I got divorced before the subject came up. I'm thirty-four so the boat hasn't sailed just yet.”
Gordon tried to lighten the mood. “Maybe you'll squeeze one out in a few years.”
“Maybe.” Joan smiled, but there was sadness behind the smile. “That's if they can get this mess sorted out.”
A silence enveloped the room and all that could be heard was the odd cough and the occasional clearing of a throat.
Stripy John spoke up. “I've got two daughters. Six and nine. They live with their mum back in Bristol. I still live there, but me and the missus are separated now. I came up here for a break, after losing my job.”
“How are your girls?” Gordon asked. “Was that who you were speaking to on your phone?”
Stripy John nodded sadly. “They're in the attic. It's happening all over the UK.”
“Why do they call you Stripy John anyway?” Joan had asked the very same question that Gordon was going to ask next.
The man gave off an embarrassed grin and shrugged his shoulders. “It's really quite a crap story. About ten years ago, I was working in a factory and there were about four Johns in there. I always wore polo shirts with stripes so...” He never finished his sentence, but he didn't need to.
James pulled out his phone and tutted.
“No battery life?” queried Joan.
“Nearly dead, and I can't get a signal anyway.”
Christopher Horton chuckled, “The Pennines isn't the best place to get a phone signal, especially when you're stuck in a basement.”
“Leave it,” Joan said. “The harder your phone works to get a signal, the more your battery will drain.”
“The charger's in the room.
”
“We'll get it in the morning,” Christopher said with confidence. “Let's just focus on getting through the night.”
Gordon welcomed the quiet that enveloped the group. The bickering he could do without, after the evening he had had. He thought back to his Nan's funeral, and hoped the remainder of his family were okay. It seemed like days since it had happened, but in truth, it had only been hours.
He thought back to the car with the flashing hazard lights. The scene that eventually unfolded was something he would find in one of his worst nightmares, but he was glad it had happened. Everything that took place on that evening, from the attack of the woman, being chased himself, and having to abandon his car and run in the rain, had been a positive thing for Gordon Burns, now looking back.
If he had driven by the stationary car, he would have continued through the Pennines and eventually reached the M6 to a potential macabre situation that would be impossible to avoid.
He would have been infected for sure. He would have been one of those ... monsters.
Although he had experienced a horrifying event, stopping for that car, in the long-term, had saved him for the time being.
Christopher suddenly announced that it would be advantageous if he turned off the basement light, in case something did come in and the small crack of light could be seen in the kitchen. No one protested. He suggested that people could use their phones for light, with what life they had left. Christopher stood up, shotgun in hand, loose shells rattling in his pocket, and turned off the light.
Gordon was glad of the darkness and took up his position where he was going to spend the night and, hopefully, get a little sleep, if that at all was possible. His throat swelled so much, he found it almost difficult to breathe. Gordon tried to keep his sobbing down in volume, but was finding it difficult, and ended up letting go.
For three minutes he cried, and once he was finished, Joan asked if he was okay. Gordon never answered. His swollen throat refused him the verbal access, but he did nod, which was pointless in the dark.
Chapter Ten
Monday 4th June
Predictably, the hours dragged to the early morning, and little sleep occurred between the group. Some dosed off and kept others awake with their snoring. Some cussed in the darkness, whilst Gordon and Joan spent some of the night getting to know one another, by whispering to one another in the darkness.
James had told them to shut up twice, but Joan had told him bluntly to 'eat shit'. Joan had a potty mouth on her, but Gordon thought strangely that it was an endearing quality for Joan, as she wasn't afraid to stand up for herself whoever the individual was.
Gordon had miraculously managed three hours sleep, and his eyes widened once Christopher spoke up. “Right guys. Watch your eyes.”
Because they were in the basement, they were still in the darkness, and they knew what Christopher meant. They covered their eyes in preparation for the sixty-watt bulb the owner was about to put on.
The light filled the room, and Angela and James were still sleeping. It was apparent that each person, with their sheets and pillows, had tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible during the night. Christopher Horton then walked up the steps to the door that led into the kitchen.
“And where the fuck are you going?” snarled James, now awake. His nervousness was making him irritable and he stood to his feet, ready to approach the owner of the place.
“It's morning,” Christopher spoke up. “And we can't stay in here forever. People need to eat, to drink.”
“To go for a piss,” Joan said bluntly, which made Gordon smile.
Stripy John looked unnerved with Christopher standing next to the door, and James wasn't too impressed either.
“This is my place!” Christopher snapped, noticing some of the looks he was getting. “I'm not hiding in my own basement. It's my responsibility to check to see if the place is safe. If it is, then we can go back to the ground floor of the house. For those who still don't feel safe, you can stay down here.”
“It should be safe,” Stripy John spoke up, trying to convince himself. “We never heard anything during the night, did we?”
The group shook their heads. Christopher put his shotgun under his arm and slid back the bolt. “It needs to be checked out all the same.”
Gordon tucked his knife behind his belt that he had taken from the kitchen, and yelled, “Wait up! I'm coming with you.”
With his heart in his mouth, Gordon remained behind Christopher, as the huge fifty-six-year-old gently pushed open the basement door. Both men looked at one another, unsure what to do next. Christopher stepped outside of the basement and into the kitchen. Angela told him that she loved him, but he never responded back verbally, he just looked at her and flashed her a smile. Gordon was next to step out into the kitchen, and he turned to Joan. “I'm gonna close the door now. Make sure it's bolted, just in case...” Gordon couldn't finish the sentence.
“Just in case you two don't make it?” she said.
Gordon half-laughed and shrugged. “I don't know.”
“If your they're still human, but infected theory is true, then you'll know where we are anyway, won't you? If you get bitten, your brain could still remember that we're here, in the basement.”
“I'm not sure it works like that.” Gordon threw his arms in the air, shook his head in defeat and admitted truthfully, “I haven't a pissing clue.”
Chapter Eleven
The two men hesitantly walked through the dusky kitchen and Christopher signalled for Gordon to stop walking. The fifty-six-year old leaned over the kitchen's sink and peered through the blinds, and looked out onto his back garden.
“Anything?” whispered Gordon.
Christopher shook his head. “No, but it's as foggy as hell outside. That's the trouble when you live in a hilly area, even at this time of year.”
He went to grab the doorknob of the kitchen with his left hand, shotgun in his right, and twisted the knob ever so slowly. He pulled the door open and looked down the hallway where the front door could be seen. It was still closed and looked to be still on its hinges.
Gordon's face looked relieved. “I know we never heard anything last night, but at least that confirms that no one tried to get in.”
Christopher agreed, but then held his shotgun horizontally with both hands. “We'll check the place out, just to be on the safe side, then the people in the basement can get themselves a drink, go to the toilet...”
“We should put the TV on. See if this thing is being contained, or if there's been any other kind of positive progress.”
Christopher nodded. “After we've checked the house.”
Once the guest living room was found to be vacant of anything untoward, the two nervous men crept upstairs to check the bathroom and every guest room. Everything was how it should be, and this made Christopher feel relaxed a little. He leaned the shotgun against the wall of the landing, and stepped into his own room that faced the front of the house. He drew the curtains back and Gordon walked and stood next to him.
It was probably a view that Christopher Horton had seen many times before, living in the Pennines, but it made Gordon's spine shudder in fright. It was seven in the morning, and the whole of the Pennines appeared to be suffocated with thick, dense fog. Gordon couldn't even see the road that should have been twenty yards from the place, and with what had occurred the evening before, as well as the images on the TV, it was a chilling sight to behold.
“Come on,” beckoned Christopher. “Let's get the others out.”
They made their way downstairs and Christopher peered through the window, near the front door. “I'll tell the others it's clear,” said Gordon. Christopher never responded and continued to look outside, almost as if he was hypnotised in some way.
Gordon went into the kitchen and knocked the basement door. “You can come out.”
The bolt slid open almost immediately, as if someone was standing behind it, waiting, and the first to come
out was Stripy John. “Thank goodness for that,” he huffed. “My bladder's bursting.”
“Well, hurry up,” shouted James after Stripy John, who was now halfway up the stairs, heading for the bathroom. “I'm bursting as well.”
Angela and Joan were next to come out and Gordon shut the door after them, then they headed for the living room.
“Did you check the whole house?” queried Joan.
Gordon nodded. “Like I said before, we would have heard if any of those things had got in. I was gonna put the telly on, see what's happening.”
Joan smiled. “Good idea.”
“I'll get the tea on, lovey,” said Angela, “then once we've had refreshments we should get back into the basement.”
There was a sudden crash and both Angela and Joan gasped.
Two figures, dressed in green, crashed through the window of the front room and immediately went for the nearest people that were in there, James and Angela.
Both of them screamed as they were taken to the ground and mauled by the two possessed men dressed in green paramedic attire. Gordon knew who they were immediately, and how they had become what they were. They must have been the men in the ambulance that Gordon had seen from a distance when he was fleeing from the scene.
James was holding his arm out in defence, but it was being torn to shreds by one of the infected-looking paramedics. Angela was bitten on the shoulder and was receiving more bites to the rest of her body.
The screams shot fear through everyone else. Some ran, others, like Gordon, were paralysed with fear. The two things that had crashed through the window were on all fours, and stopped biting and chewing and devilishly glared at Christopher and Gordon with bloodshot eyes. Christopher stood open-mouthed once his eyes took in the sight of James and Angela, especially Angela, lying on the floor, covered in blood, twitching.
The Monsterland Trilogy [Books 1-3] Page 4