Apocalypse Hill (Apoc Hill Miniseries Book 1)

by Matthew Stott

  It was a ten minute drive to the strip; he didn’t pass another person on the way, nor did any traffic pass in the opposite direction. That wasn’t unusual, this was a small, out of the way place, scattered homes. Only reason to come in Bill’s direction is if you were looking to fish Dearnewater. As he looked at the road he could see tire marks across the carpet of yellow dust. So vehicles had moved across here recently. Since the morning.

  Apoc Hill’s strip was short and to the point. There was a pub, a chemist’s, a grocery store, a little medical room that doubled as a local doctor’s and a dentist’s, and finally there was the police station. It served the homes dotted at random across a ten mile radius, population of just a few thousand. A good amount of people just had a place here as a holiday home in the scenic Lakes, away from the noise and pressure of the city. A second house to get away from whatever it was they needed to get away from several times a year. It was a quiet, isolated sort of a place; Bill had always liked that about it. Now it just helped magnify his sense of worry and dread. If he lived in a big city, or even just a normal small town, he’d have his answer by now. There’d either be people or there wouldn’t. Cut and dry. Here in Apoc Hill, it wasn’t as easy. Driving here, not passing anyone, pulling to a stop in front of the police station and the area being deserted? That could be any Tuesday, any month, any year.

  Bill killed the ignition and pocketed the keys. He stepped out of the car and looked around for any movement. Nothing, just the breeze blowing through the trees, scattering more of the yellow pollen as it shook the leaves. Bill turned and entered the police station.

  Now Apoc Hill was a small place, with a pretty reputable sort of population. There wasn’t much need for a heavy police presence, so these days the local station was manned by just two officers, Neil and Mark. The two had worked the area together for close to twenty years now. Bill thought of them as kind of friends. They’d helped him with his work over the years, and he’d shouted them a drink at the pub on numerous occasions by way of thanks. Unless there was something big going down (and there was never anything big going down) one of the pair was always to be found in the station. Sitting legs-up on the desk, drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, watching the TV that was always blaring. One of them was always here.

  Today the station was deserted.

  ‘Hello? Hey, one of you in here? Neil? Mark? It’s Bill. Hello!’ Bill slapped his hand on the reception desk; the sound echoed in the silence. He leaned over and tried turning on the TV, flicking from station to station he got nothing but static. He picked up the station’s phone and tried making a more general 999 call. No good. He dropped the receiver back in place. That’s when he saw the police taser lying on the floor.

  ‘Hey… Neil? Mark!’ No reply.

  Bill lifted the countertop and made his way behind. He stopped by the taser, staring down at it. It sitting alone like that, abandoned, chilled him almost as much as seeing Simon’s foot poking out of the living room. As seeing Aileen with her skirt up, dead in the bath. It wasn’t right. It was more evidence of a world turned upside down. Bill crouched and picked up the taser; it felt heavy and cold in his hand. He stood and tucked the thing into his jeans and headed for the door.

  Outside was still deserted. Next he tried the little doctor’s surgery, but the door was locked. There was blood on the white, closed blinds. If the pharmacy was a bust, he’d have to come back here and break his way in, but he quickly saw he’d have no such issue. The front entrance was propped open by a dead woman, one arm hanging out of the store doorway. She looked around sixty, sixty-five. Bill didn’t recognise her; then again there wasn’t much left of the face to made identification easy. He stepped over her and into the shop, its strip lights buzzing overhead. He found the two employees dead behind the counter. One had been beaten to death, looked like the other had been shot in the head.

  Bill found a sling and replaced his tattered shirt-sling with it, the broken hand complained at being forced into action yet again. Grabbing a plastic bag, he loaded up on bandages and an assortment of different painkillers, swallowing a few to help take of the jarring edge. Next trip was to the grocery store (three dead, beaten, knifed, torn to pieces), where Bill pushed a little cart around, stocking up with a few bottles of water, a crate of beer, and any food that took his fancy. He wheeled the haul back outside and dumped it on the back seat. He moved to take the cart back to the shop, wondered what on earth he was doing, then kicked the thing down the street.

  He put a hand on the car door, ready to leave (for where? Back home? The nearest larger populated area? At this point he didn’t have a clue), as he pulled the door open he heard a glass smash. It was muffled, it wasn’t outside, it was coming from the pub. Bill considered this for a moment. Going investigating like he was Rambo, or James Bond, rather than a soft in the middle, over the hill writer didn’t seem like the smartest idea in the world. Little Richard began to hum from inside the pub. Bill closed the car door quietly, pulled the taser from his jeans, and headed towards the music.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bill took a breath, then slowly nudged the door open. The jukebox was blasting its good time rock and roll as a man in a police uniform swayed back and forth, head back. It was Officer Neil. The place was dimly lit, apart from the brightly shining jukebox, so it wasn’t easy to clearly see everything, but it was obvious something bad had happened here. Tables and chairs were turned over, there were bodies slumped in every direction. Some had obvious bullet wounds, others looked like they’d simply been beaten to death. It looked like a battle had gone down here. A battle that had left one man standing. Or dancing.

  Bill took a step forward; his foot kicked a glass bottle. Neil whirled and raised his gun, pointing it straight at Bill’s head—

  ‘Woah, there! Neil! Neil, it’s me!’

  Neil twitched, stepping forward in little bursts, once, twice, three times, his eyes wild. ‘What’s with the taser? Put the taser down!’

  Bill raised his hand holding the taser in a placating gesture and slowly crouched, placing it on the floor and standing back up. Neil took another few steps forward.

  ‘Show me your eyes, show me your eyes or I’ll put a fucking bullet in you!’

  ‘Look, look, all white, they’re white!’ Bill pulled his bottom lids down, Neil edging his way forward, brow sweating, eyes scrunched to see. His shoulders seemed to relax a little and he nodded, lowering his gun.

  ‘Hi there, Bill,’ said Neil.

  ‘Hi, Neil.’ Elvis was the jukebox’ next selection, Heartbreak Hotel. ‘I love this song.’

  ‘Well, they didn’t call him the King for nothing. Fancy a drink?’ Neil headed towards the bar, waving Bill over with his gun. Bill followed. ‘Make sure you say hello to Mark, won’t you?’ Bill saw one of the corpses was wearing a police uniform, slumped at a table. There was a bullet hole in the back of his head, a trail of yellow drool escaping from his open mouth across the table.

  Bill sat on the stool next to Neil, who poured them both whiskey until it spilled over the tumbler edges and splashed on the counter. ‘Say when,’ Neil giggled.

  ‘What happened, Neil?’

  ‘Oh, end of the fucking world. I think. Monsters walk Apoc Hill nowadays.’ Neil knocked back the drink and refilled. He moved to do the same for Bill.

  ‘It’s still full, Neil, I—’

  Neil poured, not noticing as the whiskey spilled out and out, splashing over the side and onto Bill’s jeans, until he sat the bottle back down. The pair sat in silence for a few seconds as Elvis lamented.

  ‘You know, he was a good man, Bill. Good partner. Good friend. I didn’t have a choice, you understand that, right?’

  ‘I understand, Neil.’

  ‘You didn’t see his eyes. That wasn’t Mark. No. That wasn’t my partner. My friend. That Mark over there? That was a different Mark. Something had moved in. Something evil was living inside of him. I could see it. See the monster hunkered down, nice ‘n warm, inside my fri
end. It’s this stuff. All this fucking yellow shit everywhere. I’m telling you. You can bet on it. So I put a bullet in his head. I pulled the trigger, d’you understand, Bill? I’ve never… I’ve never shot anyone. Not with all my years on the force. Me and Mark, we only had this gun in the station because Nelly Carter handed it in after her husband died. Said she knew he never should’ve had it, but it was a family heirloom or something. Today I used that gun. Shot two people. Shot them dead.’

  Bill thought about Paul. About Bruno.

  ‘Today we both had dear diary days.’ Bill sipped his whiskey.

  ‘You didn’t see their eyes. Mark’s eyes. And no one will answer. I can’t get an answer anywhere. People tearing each other apart here. I did the best I could. You believe me, right Bill? You believe me?’

  ‘Yeah. I believe you.’

  Neil nodded, his eyes wild. He poured another round. ‘D’you remember Crazy Jeff?’

  ‘Sure. Big bushy beard. Never seemed to wash. Inherited a place a mile over from his aunt. Always coming in here, getting drunk, saying the world was about to end. The devil and his minions were about to step up onto Earth.’

  ‘Maybe he was right.’

  ‘Crazy Jeff is crazy, Neil. It’s right there in his name.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t feel too sane myself right now, do you?’ Bill said nothing. ‘And what is this,’ he gestured around at the bodies slumped lifelessly around them. ‘What is all this if not Hell on fucking Earth, Bill? Can you answer me that?’

  Maybe Neil was right. Bill didn’t believe in that sort of stuff, but who knows. He wondered if Crazy Jeff was holed up in his house right now with a big grin on his furry face. He’d told them all. Wouldn’t listen. Now here we are. This is what we get. If Crazy Jeff was still alive, still himself, he was probably the happiest he’d ever been. Maybe the last happy person alive, even. Bill found himself snorting in amusement, and turned back to Neil. Neil had the barrel of the gun between his lips.

  ‘Neil… Officer, what are you doing?’

  Neil looked at him, eyes trembling, tears flowing. He pulled the gun from his mouth. ‘What’s the point? I killed Mark. I killed my partner.’

  ‘He wouldn’t want you to just—’

  ‘I killed my partner, Bill.’

  It was like everything went really fast and in slow motion at the same time. Bill just a viewer before a TV screen, removed from the action. Neil pushed the gun back into his mouth and pulled the trigger. A volcano burst open at the back of his head as the bullet made its exit, dragging behind it a geyser of brain, blood and bone that sprayed out in an expanding cone away from Neil. He tipped back, his eyes rolled up so only the whites were visible, before collapsing back and crashing to the floor, the gun clattering and bouncing once as it flew free of his mouth and headed down. Each fresh noise seemed to echo, to bounce off the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and back around again like a rubber ball. Or maybe it was just bounding around the inside of Bill’s head.

  Bill stood off his chair and stepped back, and back again. His instinct was to run, to get the hell away from what he’d just seen, away from this room full of the dead. Fuck it, there were already flies circling some of the bodies. How did the flies know to get here?

  Neil lay sprawled, his eyes still open and full white, the inside of his head a Jackson Pollock on the floor behind him.

  I warned you? Didn’t I tell you all? Wouldn’t listen, would you? Now this is what you get, all right, hell on Earth. Wouldn’t listen!

  ‘That’s right, Crazy Jeff. But I’m listening now.’

  The front door to the pub opened and two people entered, a man and a woman. Bill thought he recognised the woman. She’d approached him once or twice, even got him to sign a book one time. Said she was a bit of a fan. Had read most of his work. Maggie, was it? Mandy maybe? The two of them stood and looked only at Bill. They didn’t seem surprised or shocked at the carnage within the pub. That the dead outnumbered the living. From this distance, with the pub’s purposely dingy lighting, Bill couldn’t say for sure whether the whites of their eyes were their natural colour or washed with yellow. But he didn’t need to see. It was obvious in the way they held themselves. The way they looked at him and him alone. They were monsters. Bill could feel their wrongness rolling off them; it made him want to throw up.

  Peggy Sue came on the jukebox. Buddy Holly. Bill had always liked Buddy Holly’s stuff.

  Bill dropped to the floor and grabbed Neil’s gun, the barrel was still slick with blood. No time to think about that Bill, gotta get lucky again. Still on his knees, he gripped the gun with both hands (distantly registering the dull pain in his broken hand. The batch of pills he took in the drug store must be doing the trick). The two monsters weren’t stupid. They split apart so Bill would have to make a decision as to where to point, rather than fire at one big target. Right one first. Bill gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger. The bullet exploded from the barrel, the recoil almost causing Bill to reflexively fire at the ceiling as his elbows bent with the force. The bullet caught the charging monster in the neck. He spun on his toes to the side, blood spraying from the arterial vein like the flourish of a red cape, then crashed to the ground, that unnatural screech of fury as he fell and stayed down.

  Left

  Bill turned to the left, Maggie, or Mandy, whatever her name was, she was next. Bill braced himself for the recoil and pulled the trigger: click. Maggie-Mandy kept running. Click-click-click- The gun was empty. Maggie-Mandy grabbed a bottle from a table as she passed and smashed it against the left side of Bill’s head. The left eye’s vision exploded in white light as he stumbled over and to the floor, his head coming to a rest atop Neil’s awkwardly twisted legs. He blinked away a little blood, eyes stinging, and looked up to see Maggie-Mandy stood over him. He was done. He knew it. He could see the taser Neil had made him place on the floor. It was too far away. He’d never reach it. From this position, she’d be on him before he managed three steps. Oh, what the hell. Better to try and reach it than lay here and wait for the monster to decide what she’d pierce his carcass with first.

  Bill took a breath, then pushed himself up and staggered forwards drunkenly, the room tilting and the taser seeming to get further away, like the room itself was stretching. Elongating itself. He’d made it five steps, he felt like giving himself a pat on the back. Did better than you gave yourself credit for, Bill you old son of a gun. It was step six when his legs were swept from under him and he hit the wooden floor so hard he was sure he bounced. He reached out his good hand towards the taser on the floor. He couldn’t reach it. Oh well. At least he’d tried. He rolled onto his back as Maggie-Mandy stood over him, looking down; Maggie-Mandy was holding a broken bottle. He wondered where she’d stick it first? His neck? His face? Maybe she’d try to use it to cut out his heart. So many options, what’s a monster to do?

  Bill waited for her to decide.

  A hand burst through Maggie-Mandy’s chest. The gore splattered down over Bill as Maggie-Mandy turned, arms twitching spasmodically, somehow still alive. The owner of the hand grasped her head and squeezed it so hard it exploded like a melon and she fell to the floor, motionless. Bill could see part of her nose was now attached to his boot. He looked up to take in his rescuer: it was Officer Neil.

  Bill pushed himself away from the undead, impossible police officer that stepped towards him, eyes black; Bill stopped as he felt himself press against the taser he’d placed there.

  ‘You’re dead, Neil. You’re dead.’

  Wouldn’t listen, would you? Now this is what you get, all right, Hell on Earth.

  Bill could feel his sanity shrieking, begging to escape; he held on to it for all he was worth.

  Neil smiled and waved at Bill, his hand covered in gore.

  Bill reached round, shaking, and lifted the taser from the floor, pointing it at the unconcerned thing walking towards him. Neil looked at him, amused.

  ‘We’ll see you soon, Bill.’ Neil crumpled to
the floor, as though his strings had just been cut.

  Bill lay back on the floor and stared at the ceiling. He wondered what Cali was doing right now. Wondered if his daughter was safe. Wondered if anyone anywhere was safe.

  ‘The Hill will crack, Bill.’

  Bill lurched up, hand shaking as he pointed the taser at the Yellow Man, crouched down with one hand on Neil’s hip.

  ‘What’s happening? Have I gone crazy?’

  ‘Hard to tell,’ said the Yellow Man. ‘I think everyone did. The whole world. Or else it will do. Once the Hill cracks.’

  Then they weren’t in the pub anymore, they were stood on Apoc Hill, looking down at the house, yellow pollen shooting like lava into the sky.

  ‘What’s in there?’ asked Bill.

  ‘You already know. Mary. You’ve seen her. She’s waiting for you, Bill. Waiting for someone to come and save her from the monsters.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. This place is dark. It’s… terrifying.’

  The world juddered and Bill was stood in a yellow room; Mary was curled at his feet. He stepped back, panic settling over him, the wrongness of the room flying in at him from every angle like a flock of starving crows—

  ‘No, no, no. This isn’t right, it’s not—’

  ‘You’re going to let her die, Bill?’

  Bill turned to see the Yellow Man leaning against the wall.

  ‘This isn’t right, this isn’t—’

  ‘All because you’re scared? You’ll let her fall because you’re spooked? That’s awfully cold.’