The monster man joined the monster woman and the two bent low to look at Alice as she cowered on the back seat, her whole body trembling. The monster man raised his crowbar and brought it down on the windscreen. Not too hard, but enough to leave a crack.
They were going to get in.
They were going to smash the windows and they were going to get in.
They were going to get in and they were going to pull her to pieces like the dead man. She knew this very clearly and wondered how quick it would be and if it would hurt very much. Maybe they would tear her open and scoop out her insides, make room for another demon looking for a warm place to crawl inside.
As the man lifted the crowbar behind his head, ready to bring it down hard on the glass and smash his way in, there was a loud noise and his face exploded outward and splattered against the window. Alice screamed as the man staggered sideways, swinging the crowbar back and forth spasmodically, a hole the size of a fist punched through his head. Another explosion and the rest of his face turned to confetti. The monster man swung out one final time then fell sideways to the dirt.
The monster woman had her back to Alice now and she heard that unnatural animal screech, then the back of her monster head erupted with blood and bone and she slammed back against the car, causing it to rock back and forwards once before she slid down and onto her butt on the road.
The monsters were both dead. All that Alice could hear was her own breathing, short and panicked.
Footsteps approached the car. Trembling, Alice peered through the smear of blood and gore that coated the window to see a figure stop in front. It was a man. A police officer!
‘Are you all right!’ he shouted in at her, all the time looking back and forth, obviously frightened, gun held tightly—
‘My…my dad…He didn’t come back, and—’
Another screech in the night; the policeman stood up straight so that she couldn’t see his face anymore. After a few seconds he bent down once more.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Alice. What’s yours?’
‘Mark. Officer Mark Harvey.’
‘Hello, Officer Mark Harvey.’
‘Okay, I just need to check on a few things; will you be okay here until I get back?’
Alice nodded, relieved to have a police officer looking out for her now. ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘Okay. Good. You’re very brave, Alice. Just stay in the car; stay out of sight and don’t get out until I come back, not for anyone, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Good. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.’
Officer Mark Harvey smiled, and Alice smiled back. He straightened up and made his way around the car, and headed, gun clutched in both hands, towards the bar.
Alice hoped he wouldn’t leave her too long.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bill awoke to find an elephant kicking around the furniture in his head. With eyes tightly shut, he reached out a hand and felt around for the glass of water on his bedside cabinet, almost knocking it to the floor as he fumbled drowsily.
After several gulps of tepid water, he risked opening his eyes and letting the morning in, the morning proceeded to jab knitting needles into his optic nerves. Bill shut his eyelids at supersonic speed and threw the cover over his head.
An hour and change later, he woke up for the second time and actually felt almost human. He threw back the covers and got out of bed, taking another gulp of the terrible water. Once the world had stopped tilting annoyingly he walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains. He stopped, confused, as he found his view interrupted. What was that? There was something on the outside of the glass: thick arcs of yellow, powdery stuff right across. Blossom? Some sort of plant pollen or something. Looked like a basket full of flowers had exploded against his house, good job he didn’t suffer from hay fever. He let the curtain drop and went downstairs in search of bacon.
***
‘Hey there Bill, good morning to you, or should I say: “Good almost afternoon”!’ Aileen, Paul’s mum.
Bill smiled as he dropped his tackle bag and locked the front door behind him. ‘Yeah, yeah. Early starts are for birds, Aileen. I’m a night owl.’
‘An owl is a bird, Bill.’
‘Well you’ve got me there.’
Aileen was almost fifty-five, but blimey if she hadn’t kept herself together. She still shone; those bright eyes full of mischief and her long, thick hair a blonde crown.
Bill had actually had a thing with Aileen fifteen or so years back, when she was between husbands. It lasted for two sweaty months before Bill called time. He could see she was getting a little too attached. It didn’t take a mind reader to see the wedding bells ringing harder and louder over her head with every passing week. Bill liked her, more than liked her, but he wasn’t in the market for another wife, and didn’t feel like it was right stringing her along. Aileen was someone who wanted to be married.
He hadn’t said any of that of course, because why tell the truth and expose yourself? So he’d said he felt like the time wasn’t right for him to have a serious relationship; that he thought she was great, better than great, but his agent was on his arse and he just really needed to focus 100% on his writing right now. Aileen told him to focus 100% on the middle finger she was offering up and strutted out, hips swaying. Six months later she was engaged to Simon Russell, who owned a couple of car lots in the area.
The pair of them didn’t bring it up these days, acted like it had never really happened, but Bill revisited one or two of the nights they spent together when he was alone and looking for something to fill the time.
‘I see your place got covered too, hey?’ said Aileen, indicating the yellow, powdery coating that had appeared overnight.
‘Yeah, a strange one, isn’t it?’
‘Strange, uh-huh, definitely that. Kind of pretty, too, though.’
They both looked up at the hazy yellow sky, no hint of blue shining through.
‘Simon’s already moaning about having to unclog the gutters.’
‘Oh. I suppose I’ve got that to look forward to as well. Stuff looks like it’s everywhere. Must’ve come down in the night.’
‘What d’you think it is?’
Bill shrugged, ‘Some sort of plant crap. Maybe Jen’s flower shop in town blew up.’
Aileen laughed and shook her head. ‘Reason I dropped by, you haven’t seen that son of mine, have you?’
‘Yeah, Paul stopped by on his way to some party last night for a beer and a chat. Why?’
‘Oh, he just didn’t come back yet, and I haven’t been able to raise him on his phone. In fact, seems to be some sort of problem with the phone networks at the moment altogether, nothing’s getting through.’
‘Well, he is a married man off the leash for the week, Aileen. Odds are he drank and danced so much he had to zonk out wherever he found himself and he’s still hiding from the light as we speak.’
‘Yeah, I know, it’s just, I worry. That’s our job as parents, right? For us to worry about our kids and for them not to give a rat’s arse about how anything they do might tie our guts up in knots!’ Aileen let out a long, delightful laugh and Bill found himself joining in.
‘Hey, my daughter decided to sit on top of an explosion and fire herself into a vacuum. I think I win.’
They laughed again. ‘Off fishing?’
‘Nope, just taking my rod for a stroll around town, she gets tetchy if I keep her locked indoors all day. Says I’m embarrassed to be seen out with her. You know how women are.’
‘One of these days you’re going cut yourself, William Reed.’ And her smile shone brighter than the sun that was attempting to crisp what was left of Bill’s hair.
‘Well if you see that wonderful, terrible son of mine, you tell him his mum is furious at him, okay?’
‘Never fear, if we cross paths I’ll send his hungover arse back home with his tail between his legs.’
Aileen laughed, thanked
him, then turned back home. ‘All this yellow. Really is pretty, hey, Bill?’
‘Yeah.’ Bill watched her walk away for a few seconds, then turned away from the view with a little regret on his tongue. Yeah, she really had kept herself together.
Bill picked up his bag and his rod and set off for the Dearnewater, whistling to himself as he walked through a world dusted yellow.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bill pulled the oars out of the water and laid them in the boat. It was just an old wooden rowboat; Bill had salvaged it then spent a month a few years back getting it seaworthy. A lot of days he’d just sit on the end of the jetty, legs dangling over the water, but today was one of those days he felt like getting off land.
There was more of the yellow pollen floating on the lake’s surface. All over, as far as he could see, were dotted large islands of the stuff. In all the years he’d lived here Bill had never seen anything like it. Maybe someone had planted a whole crap load of new plants someplace close? Because none of the usual vegetation had spurted a load as heavy or as yellow as this before. As far as he remembered, anyway.
He cast off, the line arcing overhead as the fly shot out and landed with a satisfying ‘plop’ fifteen feet away. He rested the rod into one of the metal oarlocks, then kept one hand on the rod itself as he stretched out and sunk fully into relax mode. He didn’t care if the fish were biting today. In fact, if they were it would interrupt his semi-slumber.
With one last, curious look up at the weird yellow sky, Bill pulled his hat down a little over his nose to keep the Sun from cooking his face, and before he knew it was even happening, sleep took him.
…
…
…
Bill was drowning. He didn’t know that though, not yet. Maybe he fell into the water, maybe something pulled him in as he slept; it didn’t really matter. He was asleep and he was drowning. But Bill didn’t know, because to him it looked like he was walking down Apoc Hill, down towards the house that stood at the bottom. Yellow burst from its rooftop and all around him creatures danced and sang and cheered.
‘Mary did it. The Hill will crack.’
Bill turned to the man who was speaking. He was yellow, with black eyes; two horns sat atop his head.
‘What’s coming?’ asked Bill.
The man smiled. ‘The world’s sprung a leak. Everyone is going to go crazy, Bill.’
Bill nodded.
‘This time!’
‘This time!’
‘We shall rise!’ said the creatures that danced and laughed.
The Yellow Man pointed down to the house. ‘She’s trapped in there. Maybe something could be done, yet. Something to stop all this…’
Bill looked down towards the house and something cold squeezed his heart.
…
…
The Yellow Man gripped Bill’s shoulders, ‘Wake up!’
…
Bill’s eyes snapped open and he blinked several times in surprise. He tried to breathe but there was no fresh air, only water. His lungs burned, demanded, and his head threatened to make him pass out before he could do anything at all.
Swim, damn you!
Bill kicked out and headed for the light, breaking the surface a few seconds later, gasping, spluttering, coughing.
A scream.
Bill looked around, disorientated, treading water. Where had the scream come from? No time to think about that right now, he had to get to the boat. Arms and legs aching, he swam to his rowboat and, on the seventh tired attempt, managed to haul his old body up and into the thing. He wanted to lay back, to let his body ache for a while, instead he jerked up onto his knees and vomited again and again, a mixture of lake water and the yellow plant matter exploding from his mouth.
Mary did it. She’s trapped in there.
Bill collapsed back into the boat and passed out for a few seconds, so short a time he didn’t even realise it had happened. He checked his watch; two hours had passed since he had lain back to doze. How had he got in the water?
He blinked and saw the afterimage of a house by a hill.
The Hill will crack.
Bill hung over the side of the boat and dry heaved, spitting bits of the pollen onto the water’s surface, his empty stomach a painful fist. However he’d ended up underwater, he was damn lucky he came around when he did. Any longer, he’d have been a goner, he was certain of it. Jesus, would his agent be pissed off then! The thought made Bill laugh, then clutch at himself in pain. He needed to get back home and lie down.
Bill removed the rod from the oarlock and laid it flat on the rowboat’s floor before putting the oars in place and preparing to pull himself back to the jetty.
There! Another scream. It was distant, but a scream nonetheless, no doubt about it. A woman, by the sound of it. The Smiths starting up one of their area-renowned shouting matches over who did or didn’t agree to put out the recycling this week? Some nights he felt sure the pair were actually going to murder each other, such was the pitch and ferocity of their verbal attacks.
‘No, you’ve got it wrong again, you stupid fucking idiot—’
‘Don’t you fucking dare call me an idiot, you fucking idiot!—’
‘Last week, Tuesday, you said you’d put out the plastic, I fucking re—’
‘What is wrong with you? What is fucking wrong with you! My mum was right about you; you’re a waste of good air—’
‘I remember, all right? Unlike you, I haven’t got early onset de-fucking-mentia!’
But soon enough they would quiet down and the next time you saw them they’d be holding hands and lovey-dovey. Whatever works, Bill supposed. Maybe it’s good to blow off steam on a regular basis, keep the coupling on a simmering boil. If nothing else it had gifted Bill some ripe dialogue and characters for his last book, not that those two would ever recognise themselves in the characters. People never did.
Was that smoke? Over to the right, looked like it was a long way off from his house, over towards town perhaps. Thick, grey-black smoke punching up above the tree line. Looked like a lot of smoke, too. Maybe a car crash? Or a building going up, even. Bill remembered the time a helicopter had gone down, seven or eight years ago now. Some rich kid taking his Dad’s helicopter out for a half-cut joyride over the hills and water of the Lake District. Thing hit tail first into the ground just a mile away. Killed his girlfriend, somehow he’d escaped with a few snapped bones, a crispy fried back, and a two day coma.
Where were the fire engines? It was obvious that smoke wasn’t sausages burning on a barbecue. It might be a distance away, but that was something serious. Why couldn’t he hear a clamour of fire engine or police sirens? Maybe he was the first to see it, was that possible? He patted himself down for his mobile to ring it in just in case, but came up empty. Must have left the thing back at the house. Well, he knew he did; never took the thing with him when he took his lady rod on a tour of Dearnewater. She deserved his full attention, after all.
Another scream. Louder now he was closer to shore. It wasn’t the scream of two people having a spit and claw domestic, it was full of panic. Of terror even. Bill felt the gooseflesh begin to spread. What the hell was going on? He had a sudden silly thought, like if this was a Twilight Zone episode, he’d tie up his boat and head into town to find the world had ended whilst he slept in his little rowboat. No, whilst he almost drowned. He’d get to land only to discover the last of humanity being herded into a flying saucer by aliens to take back to their home planet as slave labour. Then, pull back and it’s all in Bill’s head, his drowning, damaged brain throwing up a jamboree of weirdness as it shut down for good.
Not a very good episode, Bill, needs some work.
He pulled the boat close to the jetty and threw the line over a post, making it secure before tossing his tackle bag up, grabbing his rod, and pulling himself up onto the jetty itself. The smoke was thicker now, and the black was overtaking the grey. Where the hell were those sirens? First thing he was going to do w
as call the fire brigade and get them the fuck over there. Fire like that could spread from tree to tree in no time. He shouldered his bag and headed for home.
Another scream, only this time it cut off mid-shriek. That didn’t feel good. That wasn’t natural. You didn’t just pull up halfway through a scream like that, something had made her stop. Bill found himself whistling the Twilight Zone theme.
It was only when he approached his house and stepped up onto the decking that Bill realised he wasn’t alone; there was someone waiting to meet him.
‘Hey, hello? Who is that?’
The person was stood in the shadow, their back to Bill.
‘Can I help you?’
The person took a couple of faltering steps backwards and Bill realised he knew who it was.
‘Paul? Are you okay, there? Your Mum was asking after you earlier—’
Paul turned to face Bill, still shrouded in shadow.
‘You okay? That party kick your arse? Probably not so used to it now you’re a respectable married man and—’
Paul took a couple of slow steps forward into the light and stopped Bill dead. His clothes were torn, his eyes seeming to move in and out of the ability to focus; but it was the blood, that’s what caused Bill to take a step back down from the decking instinctively. Paul was drenched in dark red, his hair matted with it.
‘God… Paul…?’
Paul’s eyes focused on Bill now and he smiled, his bright white teeth dyed a bloody scarlet.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Paul was sat, legs crossed, looking into the middle distance, drenched in blood.
‘Paul? Paul, son, tell me what happened,’ said Bill, still keeping his distance. Nothing about this smelled right or safe. Something bad was happening. Something worse than that even, maybe.
‘Paul, can you hear me?’
Paul’s face twitched and he made eye contact. His face, beneath the mask of gore, was suddenly that of a confused child; the same child that had played tag with Cali right on this very porch all those years ago.
Apocalypse Hill (Apoc Hill Miniseries Book 1) Page 6