Frank was the proud owner of a shop specialising in the outdoors, he loved the outdoors. His shop was fitted out with all the latest survival equipment from ropes, tents, clothing, cooking and survival weapons. While his displays in the shop met with all legal requirements, he made some real money from his unlicensed business, nothing too serious just some merchandise for the serious survivalist. The serious survivalist included some of the local police and more pompous inhabitants of the wealthy seaside resort.
Frank always dreamed of living in a tree house, away from society. He and Monroe lost in the woods, waking up every morning to the sound of nature and living off the land. He was going to turn that dream into reality once his daughter had left university and settled into her own family life.
For now he was content to sit on the settee with Monroe her head resting on his lap snoozing away. He had run her legs off on the beach. He would throw the ball, she would chase as fast as she could, retrieve it and bring it back and do it all over again. When she was done chasing, she refused to let go of the ball, that was the signal for nap time. He sat and read I Am Pilgrim while she drooled on him.
His eyes burst open, Monroe jumped, and the book fell to the floor. He gave his neck a rub, a hangover from the unplanned nap. Monroe gave a yawn, jumped down and gave him the look.
‘Toilet,’ he asked her. She wagged her tail. ‘C’mon then.’
He lived above his store and to get to the toilet, which was the garden at the back of the store she had to navigate a flight of stairs. He walked down first, she stopped at the top. Her tail wagged again.
‘Not a chance,’ he said. ‘You got yourself up, you can get yourself down.’ She yawned again. ‘I mean it,’ he said.
As if to acknowledge her failed attempt, she descended slowly. He swore she was the slowest dog on the planet. She waddled outside and crouched into what looked like a yoga pose. She sniffed the air and gave a low growl. Frank felt it also. He motioned for her to come back in. He closed the door and heard a siren wail past, police, fire or ambulance – he didn’t know, and he cared less.
They climbed the stairs together and walked into the kitchen. He put some dried food into her bowl. She sniffed it and looked back at him.
‘You may be slow, but you forget nothing,’ he said to her as he opened the fridge. Her tail whipped back and forth as he pulled the remains of a cooked chicken out.
‘If you shit on this floor, I’m giving up joint custody,’ he said to her. She didn’t take her eyes from the chicken.
Frank left her to it and had a quick shower. He looked in the mirror at his bearded face, more hair on his chin than skull. He was toying with the idea of shaving, but he liked the rough look. He wasn’t a bad looking guy for forty-four years old. He was in good shape, broad shouldered and thick in the arms, all maintained with regular gym and cardio workouts. He stood tall at just an inch under six foot. He liked to hit a bag every morning before taking a run around the lake. He maintained an interest in fighting styles, a remnant of his younger days. He trained in many disciplines of exercise; his stamina was a beast. His appearance said don’t fuck with me, his attitude never allowed it. Some people regarded Frank as brooding, he didn’t smile much, and the same people thought his expression implied he was always spoiling for a fight. In truth they didn’t know him, not really. To them he was just a local shopkeeper, good quality products at reasonable prices but he hadn’t always been a shopkeeper.
In the morning after his workout he would take Monroe for her exercise and then drop her at Kerry’s. He had a good relationship with his ex-wife and her new man Phil. They had made plans to get married, he was hoping to get an invite. He wanted to make sure that Phil didn’t escape. In truth he was happy for them.
He walked from the bathroom into the bedroom, Monroe was already comfortable on her side of the bed. Not much chance of a relationship with her hogging the single bed. He was happy to be on his own. He wasn’t alone and he certainly didn’t feel lonely. He had been on a few dates and had a couple of close encounters, but he liked silence in the mornings, and you don’t get that when another human wants attention, so he gave up on that.
He slid into a pair of Avengers boxers, a Father’s Day joke from his daughter. They were often paired with the Spiderman socks she had also bought him. He got in next to Monroe as she eased herself up on to the pillow. Another siren screeched past, a busy night tonight he thought. Probably some idiots in town creating havoc after the football match. He had no idea if they had won or lost, he didn’t own a TV.
He checked his watch, just after midnight – time for sleep. Six hours till he would be up. The turd that Monroe would leave him in the middle of the kitchen floor would be the least of his troubles.
Chapter Ten
Manchester, Central UK.
Ritchie moved towards them, his eyes darted between the gaping hole in his arm and the people backing away from him. The blood from his wound dripped from his arm, he didn’t know if the stinging sensation was from the cold air penetrating his nerve endings or the infection coursing his veins. He felt despair, lost and lonely. He had seen what had become of other bite victims. He wanted to know how long he had left, or did he really want to know. He needed to say goodbye to his parents, his siblings and his best friend. I hope they’re safe he thought. It won’t be long now if what he had already witnessed was anything to go by.
He knew he was walking; he could see people in front of him and the voices were familiar. Laura’s shrieking voice snapped him back. ‘Stay the fuck away, you fucking zombie.’
Eddie raised his metal bar, ‘Hang the fuck on, it’s still me.’ Said Ritchie in protest.
‘Prove it,’ said Eddie. Laura gave Eddie a look that universally said, you dumb fuck. ’I wasn’t sure, your look and walk…well I thought the bite had changed you.’ Her tone softened.
‘We need to get out of here, we’ve made enough noise to wake the dead.’ Said Eddie.
‘Was that meant to be a fucking joke,’ barked Ritchie.
‘Who the fuck are you growling at.’
‘When you two have finished can we concentrate on the plan of getting out of here. She looked towards Ritchie. ‘Put your dick away Ritchie, it’s hanging out.’
Ritchie fumbled about and fastened his fly. The pain in his arm was increasing, his head felt cold and stuffy like his head was under water.
‘He isn’t coming with us,’ said Eddie as he pointed the iron bar in Ritchie’s direction.
‘You can’t leave me.’
‘I can and I fucking am,’ responded Eddie.
‘Laura, you can’t leave me here, we’re a team.’
‘A team really, not so long ago you called me – what was it again.’ Her eyes wandered as she recalled the insults. ‘That’s it, an overworked and underpaid prostitute, the blow job queen and an attention seeking bitch.’
‘I only meant the last one,’ he said smiling.
‘I’m fucking telling you, you’re not coming with us,’ chipped in Eddie.
‘Hang on, let’s not be hasty,’ said Laura.
‘There is no way a soon to be corpse is tagging behind, ready to make a meal of me.’
She pulled Eddie by the arm away from earshot of Ritchie. ‘You’re right I don’t want him behind me either but if he was in front, scouting the area before we stepped out.’ She let that sink in for a moment. ‘We would be a hell of a lot safer than stumbling blindly around corners.’
He nodded his agreement. ‘Maybe there is a way after all,’ he said to Ritchie.
If he hadn’t already made his deal with the devil the moment his arm was bitten, he’d have sworn he just had. He listened to the terms, he didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to die alone. He took point and they moved.
*
Eddie estimated that they were about a mile away from his place. The streets were quieter as they moved further away from the trouble. They could still here the sirens and occasional scream but that was behind them.
Laura felt as if she were in a nightmare, one that she would never wake from. As she walked behind Eddie, she turned constantly to make sure none of the dead were creeping up on them. It was the first time she had noticed the holdall on Eddie’s shoulder.
‘What’s in the bag?’ she asked.
‘Nothing to concern you,’ he barked back.
‘You got any food or drink in there?’
‘No,’ he responded to quickly.
‘Lying bastard,’ she muttered. ‘Must be something valuable if it’s still on your shoulder.’
‘It’s personal stuff, that’s all.’
‘Like what?’
Eddie turned towards her so fast it caused her to jump. She thought he was going to strike her. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you woman, are you trying to piss me off?’
She gained her composure, ‘OK, take it easy. I just thought you might have some food in there.’
He kneeled down and shined a pencil torch as he rummaged in the bag. He pulled out a chocolate bar. ‘Will that do you?’ he said as he shoved the Snicker into her hand.
She had seen what she needed to see. Her journalist instincts had been right. A silver canister lay in the bottom of the bag. It could have been a flask but the wording on the side made her think otherwise.
‘That’s great,’ she replied. ‘Is that a flask, I’d kill for a drink.’
Eddie stood up, ‘It’s not a flask, just leave it and eat your chocolate.’
‘What does ZRF stand for?’
‘It stands for mind your own fucking business ok.’ If it’s not ok, I can always jog along to my place and leave you and your dead friend to find your own way.’
‘I’m not fucking dead yet,’ snarled Ritchie. His skin had grown paler and his eyes bloodshot.
‘No, the next time you pass a mirror take a good look. You might not be dead yet, but you soon will be.’
‘Fuck you,’ replied Ritchie. The truth had hurt him.
‘Don’t take your anger out on him, said Laura.
‘You’re both giving me a headache. I’ve got a dead man walking in front sobbing like a baby. You at the back interrogating me or talking shit every five minutes.’ He held up his hand to inform them he hadn’t finished. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m curious to see those tits shake I’d fucking leave you both were we stand.’
‘Fair enough,’ she said as she grabbed a handful of his arse. Two can play this game she thought.
Ritchie coughed; a splodge of dark red fluid splattered the pavement. ‘I’m ok,’ he said.
‘No you’re fucking not.’ Eddie pushed him in the back with the scaffold bar. ‘Let’s get moving.’
Eddie had upped the pace and it took them a little over twenty minutes to get to his house. Ritchie looked like shit and he was beginning to smell the same. They went through the same routine on the doorstep. Ritchie pleading, Eddie ignoring and Laura persuading.
After directions from Eddie, Ritchie immediately headed for the toilet. He sat on the toilet and opened his bowels. The pain was excruciating, the stench worse. He did all he could to stop himself from vomiting. He reached for the toilet paper; the roll was empty.
‘Great,’ he said to himself. ‘My final hours and here I am sitting on a toilet unable to wipe my arse.’
‘Ritchie, Ritchie – how are you doing,’ shouted Laura.
‘I’m coping,’ he lied. ‘Fuck him,’ he whispered as he took a face cloth and reached around. The pain caused him to groan. He wasn’t sure but he thought he had ruptured his intestines. Something fleshy was oozing out his body. He pulled up his trousers and reached for the door. His vision had become blurry and his legs unsteady. He swayed through one door and crashed through another. He landed on the floor with a thump.
Laura looked towards Eddie, ‘Fuck,’ he said as he moved towards the stairs – his metal bar ready for action. Laura followed him closely.
Ritchie lay still, the side of his face pressed hard against wooden floorboards. His left arm was trapped beneath his body, the other stretched out ahead of him. Eddie charged through first.
‘Fucking hell, that smell,’ he said as he pushed his nose into the crook of his elbow.
Laura covered her nose and mouth with her hand. ‘It smells worse than rotting shit. Look,’ she said pointing to his pants.
The rear of his jeans had stained a dark red colour. ‘I…I’m still here,’ his voice croaked.
Laura kneeled in front of him, ‘We can’t do anything for you. Do you have any drugs,’ she said looking towards Eddie.
He turned and came back thirty seconds later, tossing her a bag of white powder. ‘Do you have a needle?’ she asked.
‘I stick it up my nose not in my veins,’ he replied.
She threw the bag across the room. ‘Careful,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s two hundred quid’s worth.’ He picked up the bag and pushed it into his pocket.
‘I know what to do,’ she said. ‘Give me the cuffs you took from the dead police officer.’
Eddie smiled, ’Kinky.’
‘Yes but also intelligent.’ She placed the cuff on Ritchie’s outstretched hand. ‘Help me pull him to the radiator.’
‘Fuck that, we’re not keeping a pet,’ said Eddie as he raised the bar to smash in Ritchie’s skull.
Laura leapt to her feet, ‘Wait, he isn’t a pet…more a test subject.’
‘What are talking about,’ asked Eddie.
‘We can monitor him change, that way we can learn a little about what we are up against.’
‘I don’t like it,’ he replied.
‘He’ll be chained up and no bother. I’m sure I can help take your mind off it,’ she said in her sultry voice.
Eddie didn’t need asking again. He dragged Ritchie to the radiator and chained him. Before Laura could speak again, he had her by the arm and into the next bedroom. Ritchie lay helpless on the floor, he fought to keep his eyes open, to stay alive. The infection was stronger than him, it attacked his cells, his nerves and dug deep into his brain.
Eddie did things to Laura she had only read about. Most she enjoyed; others caused her pain. She had refused the drugs, but Eddie wasn’t in the mood to hear her refusal. He put the drug across her nose and placed his hand across her mouth. With each nasal inhale the drug raced to her brain. Before long she passed out.
When she woke her wrist was sore. She began to scream and curse at the handcuff that chained her to the bed post. Eddie smiled as he watched Ritchie, he had been awake for at least thirty minutes. The first thing that Ritchie had done was scream at the shackle that prevented him from getting to Eddie. The second thing he did was start gnawing at the flesh around his wrist. Laura and Ritchie sang the same song, the more she screamed the louder he moaned.
Chapter Eleven
Somewhere, North, UK
Miles Wilson was a complex character, his enthusiasm for violence and torture ensured his reputation arrived long before any physical harm. He held his father responsible for his personality and his tolerance for pain. Miles Snr often beat his son for fun and to exert his power. His father inflicted pain not just on him; he supplied a special kind of hurt against his wife. Young Miles was often witness to the brutality suffered by his mother; his punishment was the follow up. His mother was delicate in all aspects relating to her son, she loved him unconditionally – she hoped he would never turn out like his father. Mary Wilson was a strong-willed woman, Miles loved her back effortlessly – he still missed her now.
Miles was nearing the fortieth year of his life and the third year as a patient in a high security mental hospital. He was going to be a patient for life, so they had said. The term patient was preferred to prisoner; it was intended to give hope. That emotion was lost on Miles, the judge told him he would probably die while incarcerated. The severity of his crimes would not allow for parole, Miles had thanked the judge. He was sent to the hospital for evaluation, he was told to get comfortable.
His five victims had ans
wered for the crimes they had inflicted upon him. He offered no testimony or plea and only spoke to tell the court that the justice he had served had been correct and final. After the initial torture and murder of his victims he always kept a souvenir of his work. He told the police at interview that he liked to look into their souls each day.
If Miles’s first four victims hadn’t earned him a diagnosis of being insane then his last victim would have sealed the deal. After torturing his father for hours, he began severing his head while he watched. His father’s screams were muffled by the scarf he had bought his wife many years ago. He had often dreamt of separating his father’s head from its body.
His father hadn’t taken parenthood or marriage seriously. He liked a drink and most nights he would stagger into the house demanding a hot meal. He smelt of beer, cigarettes and perfume. When Mary questioned him about his whereabouts on the fatal night, she received a bruised eye as an answer. When she cried and pleaded with him, his response was to laugh and tell her he only married her because she was pregnant and now, he wasn’t even sure if the kid was his.
‘Look at it,’ he spat out. ‘It’s weak and pathetic.’
‘He is not an - it, he is your son,’ she replied through sobs.
‘Son,’ he laughed. ‘Put him in a dress, he’d be better suited to it.’
Miles stood and watched it all including another slap across his mother’s face. Miles was seven years old, his teachers said he had an intelligence that was rare in kids his age and he was a watcher they had added. Some other kids liked to pick on him, he sucked it up and waited. When the time was right Miles sought out the biggest bully, Ned also named after his father. Ned was found at the bottom of a flight of stone steps. Twelve stitches in a head wound and a leg in plaster for six weeks. The head wound was caused by the fall, the leg had shattered prior. Ned said he had fell. He hobbled back into school after four weeks, he no longer made fun of Miles and he didn’t even make eye contact with him. When Miles approached him and asked how he was feeling Ned almost fell off his crutches with fear. Miles kneeled in front of Ned and signed his name across his plaster cast, just a reminder. Ned didn’t have another peaceful night’s sleep until it was removed.
The Good, The Bad & The Dead | Book 1 | Once Upon A Time In An Undead World Page 5