The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin

by Fessey, Andie

  He was about to instruct Nate to fetch his mother, when he made out the silhouette of a figure in the barn.

  “Hello,” he called, “it’s Jake, Abigail’s husband, are you okay?”

  The slowly approaching figure remained silent save for an insistent clicking noise and a low rasping sound, barely audible over the din of the panicking horses.

  The horse in the stall nearest the figure, stood at the rear of its stall, spinning and kicking frantically.

  “Get in the other barn with your Mother Nate,” he said to his son, sensing the figure approaching meant trouble.

  “But why Dad?”

  “Nate, just do it son please, now.”

  Nate ran to their barn, constantly looking at his father, stood in the doorway of the other building awaiting the approaching figure.

  Into the rectangle of light, appeared the sight of shuffling boots, Jake staring as the heels scraped along the floor, the feet barely rising from the ground.

  “Hello, are you okay, do you need any help?” he asked, but the figure did not reply as it slowly broke into the light.

  He stood transfixed, his eyes slowly looking upwards as the figure shuffled closer to him.

  The riding boots trailed a dark line on the floor, scraping upon the ground, as the figure moved closer.

  He watched as something fell from the shadow covered figure, landing on the floor. To his eyes it appeared it was a piece of sodden chop, but as his eyes moved up, the thought rapidly dispelled from his mind.

  The boots covered the figures calves tightly up to the knees, the thighs covered with skin tight beige jodhpurs, a light tan except for the dark patch covered both their front and the figures tee-shirt, well up until its neck.

  It became clearly obvious to him the person was female, her large breasts prominent underneath the sports tee-shirt she wore.

  As his eyes came to rest upon the figures face as it drew closer, he became aware of the feeling of warmth in his crotch, due to the small trickle of urine escaping into his boxers.

  The head of the woman in front of him hung low, he could clearly see the teeth gnashing together behind snarling lips covered in blood and a thick black ooze.

  A piece of what appeared entrails, hung from the side of the mouth, slipping slowly, running down her neck and chest, before unceremoniously falling to the floor.

  Jake could not see her eyes clearly, as the peak of the riding hat she wore cast a shadow upon her face.

  Before he could consider what he was doing, he unlatched one of the two doors leading into the barn, closing it over.

  He quickly moved to the other door, starting to close it, when she pushed through into the morning light.

  Gasping, he stifled a scream, as she pushed through the doorway, the door swinging and knocking him off balance onto the ground next to the net laden wheelbarrow.

  He could now see the blood red eyes of the face peering down at him, her mouth opened into a wide snarl, as he felt the pain in his spine where it struck the ground.

  She stretched down to him with bloodied arms, a groaning, rasping sound emitting from within the depths of her throat, to accompany the chatter of her teeth.

  His inherent fight or flight instincts kicked in.

  Managing to roll out the way, he quickly scrambled from her reach, ignoring the pain in his lower back.

  She reached down to him as he struggled, managing to get behind the wheel barrow.

  Scrambling to his feet and grabbing the handles of the barrow, with no other plan other than to keep the ‘thing’ from touching him or his family, he ran at her, pushing the barrow ahead of him.

  The front of the wheelbarrow connected with the front of her thighs, forcing her against one of the large metal doors.

  The door shook with the impact and to his horror, she now leant across the wheelbarrow arms outstretched, reaching and grasping for him.

  The skin covering her face pure white, speckled with dried blood, veins throbbing prominently beneath. He felt like he would retch staring at her mouth, her jaw opening and closing rapidly as she repeatedly bit into thin air.

  Pushing the wheel barrow with what strength remained in his body, he attempted to keep her trapped against the door.

  He heard a scream from the middle barn.

  “Abigail!” He cried out, turning and seeing her walking from their barn leading the huge, chestnut horse by a lead rope.

  “Stay there!”

  Nate came from behind the side of the horse, both hands straight to his mouth, as if he himself would scream.

  It took a brief second for him to regain his composure, searching around the floor for anything he could use as a weapon, to help his father.

  Becoming agitated, Raven snorted, moving backwards and pulling at the lead rope. Abigail pulled harshly at him and in that instant, heard her husband cry out.

  Pushing with all his might, his left foot slid in a puddle of mud and droppings.

  His legs slipped out from underneath him, causing him to slip, his face hitting the rear part of the barrow, causing a bloody gash on his forehead.

  Finding purchase in her legs she pushed forward, causing the wheelbarrow to knock hard into him.

  “Dad!” Nate cried out.

  He ran to his father as the woman swiped her arms, left and right to free the obstacle from stopping her reaching the man on the floor, holding onto his forehead and attempting to roll away.

  Feeling a hand grab his shoulder, Nate spun around.

  Before he could respond, his mother thrust the lead rope into his hands.

  “Take him,” she said urgently.

  Raven became more agitated, so Nate quickly pulled him away from the entrance, holding the lead-rope attached to his head collar hard to prevent him from rearing.

  Abigail looked around, but could not see anything to use as a weapon.

  “Mum! Behind you.”

  Turning around, she noticed what her son indicated to.

  Located inside their stable block several sweeping brushes leaning against one of the stalls, used to lean against Storm’s stall door to stop him from ‘wind sucking’ on it.

  Grabbing at one, she ran across to where her husband lay on his side, the barrow now atop his legs as the woman stood up, moving closer to him.

  With all her might, she took a wide swing with the yard brush, using it to strike the side of the woman’s head.

  The woman stumbled slightly, then regained her balance and moved again to Jake.

  “No!” Abigail cried, swinging the brush again.

  “Leave my husband alone bitch!”

  The brush hit the woman on the side of her temple, causing a black substance to ooze from the wound.

  Jerking her head and snarling at Abigail’s, one of her arms swiped out, catching the brush and knocking it from her grip.

  She hoped the woman’s attention would be turned away from the body of her husband, currently lay on his side, waving at her to go away.

  “Run! Run love!” He called.

  By the way he lay on the hard ground, clutching his back, she knew it must have gone again. Even if he wanted to stand up to fight, she knew he could not.

  He rolled himself in-between her and the other woman.

  “Jake no!” She cried.

  She took a step closer to the woman, with no idea what to do, but knowing she would willingly die to protect this man, trying through abject agony to protect her.

  The woman swiped her arm at her, Abigail instantly moving from her way, avoiding the blow, but catching herself on the overturned barrow, falling onto her side.

  Slowly lowering herself to her knees, the woman moved closer to her.

  She grabbed Abigail’s leg, catching hold of her riding boot, pulling it to her face.

  Abigail struggled backward, but the woman moved with her, retaining her boot in a solid grip.

  Turning her head, she saw Jake trying to stand up, his face a grimace of pure pain, blood running down it from t
he gash.

  “Abigail, run love!” He called, through a mask of agony.

  Attempting to stand up, he collapsed as a spasm of pain shot up his spine.

  Tears in his eyes, he desperately moved to her, arm outstretched, to clasp the hand gripping his wife by the boot.

  He screamed, watching the women bring her grotesque mouth onto his wife’s calf.

  Nate struggled to keep Raven under control.

  Over a hundred stone of muscle fought against the rope he held in his hands, desperately trying to keep him from rearing.

  It was no good and his attempts were fruitless as the huge horse bowed, then reared onto his hind legs, shaking his head so violently, Nate lost his grip entirely.

  The lead rope fell from his hand as he stumbled against the wall of the block, certain he could hear Storm whinnying within the stables, but the noises from Raven’s mouth were deafening.

  He rolled away as Raven bucked, throwing cow-kicks in all directions.

  Looking to where his parents lay on the ground, he tried to get to his feet to get to them.

  Raven reached there first, covering the distance between the blocks in a split second.

  Lay on the path in front of him were Abigail and Jake and holding onto his Mistress’s boot, her teeth furiously biting down, lay the woman.

  Rising to his full height on his hind legs, he brought his front hooves down upon the riding hat the woman wore.

  She fell on the ground.

  Not stopping in his onslaught, Raven continued bringing his iron shod hooves down repeatedly upon her head.

  The riding hat broke, shattering in pieces and smashed beyond all recognition, covered in deep, thick black ooze and grey bits of cranial matter, when Raven finally stopped his pounding.

  After craning his neck forwards and sniffing at Abigail’s body, he made his way across the car parking area to the coloured horse.

  He now stood with the other horse, munching on tufts of grass as if the last few moments never occurred at all.

  Abigail rolled over, staring into her husband’s eyes, as their son came running to them.

  “Glad you didn’t buy a motorbike now hey love?” She asked, rolling onto her back, staring at the cloud filled sky above.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The short drive to the police station would normally have taken Eve five minutes at the most, but this morning it was a good twenty minutes before they parked across the road from it.

  It appeared not only the increased volume of traffic, but many of the drivers were driving a more erratically than they may usually have done.

  Or it could just be me overthinking things.

  Walking to the Police Station, they were surprised to find the doors locked.

  She rang the intercom, but received no reply.

  She continued to try it as Stumpy made his way to the electronic gate leading to the rear carpark.

  He peered through the bars of the gate and apart from several ordinary looking cars, there were no marked police vehicle in there.

  “How can they not be in here?” she asked, as he returned to her.

  “By the looks of it, they must be all out there somewhere.”

  “We had best try the station in Bootle then.”

  “We may get the same result Eve, if they really are as busy as this,” he said, staring at the heavy traffic on the main road, “I think we should head up to the Waterside Station near the motorway. They’ve holding cells, so there’ll definitely be somebody in there.”

  Returning to her car, they slowly made their way to the main road through the traffic, until passing over a bridge running over the local canal.

  Looking from her window to her right, she saw the massive supermarket she frequented twice a week below.

  “I’ll have to stop for petrol first before we go any further.”

  Turning at the next exit, she cursed as a car narrowly missed her.

  “What the fuck is wrong with people today?”

  She pulled the car into the slip lane at the next set of lights, leading her to the supermarket.

  “Is it just me,” she asked, staring at the vast carpark, “or is something going on down there?”

  He leant over the seat to get a better view, but the lights changed to green and they turned onto the crest of the hill, heading to the roundabout leading to both the supermarket and the petrol station.

  It did appear to him in his brief glance, something was occurring.

  Crowds of people ran across the carpark and cars sped to the exit. Several shopping trolleys lay on the floor, their contents spilt onto the tarmac.

  What the fuck?

  As they reached the roundabout she hit the brakes hard, as a car hurtled from the main car park and shot to the lights.

  “Bastard!” She exclaimed, the seat belt digging into her breast.

  “They’ve just ran through a red light as well,” he said, watching the vehicle turn onto the main road.

  Two more cars hurtled from the main carpark and she judged her acceleration carefully, pulling across the roundabout to the petrol station.

  There were several other vehicles parked up as they pulled up alongside one of the pumps.

  A few of the customers looked in bewilderment in the direction of the supermarket as she opened her door and stepped out.

  Immediately she heard shouts and screams coming from the supermarket, along with the screeching of car tyres and the incessant beeping of horns.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Stumpy asked, climbing from the passenger side of the car and hearing the cacophony of noise.

  Looking at him, she shrugged her shoulders and pointed at the petrol pump.

  Though unable to drive a car himself, he was in her car enough times, to know how to put petrol in.

  Usually when she instructed him to, meaning she could nip off to have a quick cigarette.

  As he placed the nozzle into the car, she walked across to a couple of men stood at a battered old van nearby.

  One stood busy putting diesel into the vehicles tank and the other one engaged in putting a piece of fried chicken into his mouth as he stood on tip toes, attempting to see over the hedge obstructing their view of the main carpark.

  “Alright lads,” she said, nearing them, “any idea what the hell is going on over there?”

  “No frigging idea love,” the larger of the two said, holding a piece of chicken to his mouth and shaking his head, “heard a bit of shouting when we pulled up, but it sounds like it’s really kicking off over there.”

  That must be the understatement of the year.

  She watched across the forecourt, as cars sped around the corner at dangerous speeds, approaching the roundabout and accelerating up the hill.

  “Wanna bite?” He asked.

  “Pardon?” she asked, then realised what he meant as he leant through the vans window, producing a box full of various pieces of chicken.

  Feelings of guilty emotions washed over her, as she realised though she felt pangs of hunger, her son remained missing and the remains of his best friend currently lay in the lounge of the Anchor.

  Having not eaten anything today and though her diet suspect at the best of times, she peered into the box at the pieces.

  With her back to the man finishing placing diesel into the van and currently ogling her backside, she took a small piece of chicken from the greasy box and nibbled at it.

  Stumpy, finishing placing more than enough petrol in her car to get them to the police station a few miles away, walked over.

  “Alright lads?” he said, reaching the van.

  They returned the customary Liverpudlian greeting as he stood next to Eve.

  “No idea what the hell is going over there Eve, but let’s pay up and get our arses up to the Waterside.”

  “You off to the bizzie station then?” Asked the larger of the men.

  “Yeah,” Eve replied, “got pulled for having a broken light and have to produce my bloody document
s there.”

  “Bastards, aren’t they?” the other man said, approaching them, a statement rather than a question.

  “They should be out catching proper bloody criminals, instead of picking on innocent, gorgeous women like you.”

  She smiled, turning to the kiosk, situated at the front of the station.

  Sexist prick.

  The two men exchanged smutty banter between each other as they walked away.

  Upon entering the kiosk, she could see the older of the two women serving behind the counter talking busily on the telephone. Even from this distance, she saw the woman appeared genuinely troubled.

  “Pump four Sweetheart,” she said, to the young girl at the counter.

  “That’s forty pounds and a penny please,” the girl replied, tapping at the screen in front of her.

  She turned, staring at Stumpy.

  “Forty fucking pounds?” She mouthed to him.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he fished in his pockets and produced a penny, offering it in his hand to her.

  Smiling, she took her credit card from her purse and turned to the girl.

  “Here you go love,” she said, passing her card to her.

  “Any idea what’s going on over there?” Stumpy enquired, pointing in the supermarket’s direction.

  “No idea,” the older of the women said, replacing the handset and walking to stand next to her colleague, “but I’ve just had a call from management, to say to switch the pumps off and lock the doors.”

  “Looks like we were just in time then,” he said.

  Exiting the kiosk, they walked to her car.

  Cars still raced from the main car park.

  Entering her car, they saw the figure of a man stumbling through the hedges near the kiosk, walking with a strange, slow gait and appearing lost.

  Slipping, he fell on the grass as the two men from the van were exiting the kiosk.

  The larger of the two noticing he slipped, approached him to help him up.

  As he neared the man on the floor, struggling to stand, Eve saw the man raise his head to look up into the face of this Good Samaritan.

  Emitting a scream befitting a small girl, rather than a man of his huge stature, the large man scrambled to the van, pointing and shouting.

  “What the fuck?” Stumpy exclaimed, moving to the man, currently struggling to stand upright.