“So what happens then?” Natalie asks.
“I’m out on my own.”
“Really? Just like that? Can’t they let you stay?”
“Yeah. But why would they? Wendy’s already got three other foster kids. She’s not exactly gonna want me sticking around. But I’ll be fine. The last thing I want is to be a burden.”
“Have you spoken to her about it?” Natalie asks. “Maybe she just assumes that you’ll be staying on.”
“No, but it’s obvious. That’s what always happens. Out with the old, in with the new.”
“Don’t be so cynical. If Wendy means that much to you, then you should talk to her. I’m sure she’s not planning on kicking you out on the street.”
“Maybe. But the plan was to crash in Ginge’s house until I managed to find somewhere to live.” Another image of Ginge, with his guts hanging out, invades my head. I almost gag. “But that ain’t happening now.”
Natalie puts her hand softly over mine and smiles tightly. “I’m sorry.”
Even after everything that’s happened, even after losing Ginge, and Nathan, I still don’t want to cry in front of her. But I have no choice. My chin starts to quiver, and I break down again, burying my head in my hands, trying to conceal the tears as they flood from my eyes. I feel her hand at the centre of my back, trying to comfort me. It doesn’t work.
I need to get out of this shoebox. Back to my little piss-stain of a foster brother, the annoying grump-sisters—and not forgetting the star of the show: Fuck-Face Phil, the world’s worst parent.
Natalie pulls me in for a hug, but I resist. It’s built into me; I can’t help it. I don’t even care if the others can hear me cry. Let them see my pussy tears. I don’t give a shit! At least I have someone to cry over.
I try to push Ginge to the darkest reaches of my mind; he can sit right next to my parents who never wanted me, and the teacher who called me a nigger. I don’t need those memories; they only hold me back.
So why can’t I stop these tears?
Man up, Alfie!
She starts to shush me like a baby. I want to tell her to stop, that it’s degrading—but for some reason I don’t.
“No, Ted,” I hear Adriana weep behind me. “Don’t leave me. Not now. Please. Wake up.”
My turmoil comes to a sudden halt, and I pull my hands away from my face, my vision fuzzy.
We’ve got bigger problems.
Ted is dead.
16
We surround the couple, watching in horror as Adriana pleads with her husband to wake up.
She’ll get her wish soon enough.
Jonny’s fists are clenched, priming to make his move. Adriana clearly isn’t ready to lose her husband. On her knees, her eyes are streaming, she takes him by the shoulders and shakes. Ted’s body is limp. She feels the side of his neck for a pulse. Doubt if she’s found one. She tries his bound wrist. The same.
“Please, Ted. Wake up,” Adriana weeps. “Come on. Don’t do this to me. I need you.”
I’ve never seen anyone turn before. That’s the kind of stuff they don’t show you in the documentaries. All they tend to show is the aftermath of an outbreak. We never get to see the human side. The government tries their best to downplay Necro-Morbus, to tell us that it’s all under control. And, up until today, it’s worked.
But never again.
“You need to step away from your husband,” Jonny says to Adriana, as if Ted was nothing more than a dangerous animal, about to be let off the leash.
“Go to hell!” she screams at him, her eyes broad with her rage. “You keep away from him! I’m warning you!”
“Look, I’m only telling you this for your own good,” Jonny replies. “He’ll kill you.”
Adriana moves her body directly in front of Ted, shielding him. “You’re not laying a finger on my husband! Any of you!”
Natalie kneels down, bringing her eyes level with Adriana’s. “As much as I can’t stand the guy, he’s right. It’s not safe for you to be so close. He’s infected. It’s only a matter of time before he turns.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass!” Adriana snaps. “You can all get the hell out if you don’t like it!” She points to the door. “This was our room. We let you in. And now we’re taking back the invitation.”
I join Natalie on the floor. “No one’s going to touch your husband,” I say. “There’s no need. All we’re asking is that you move away from him. That’s all, I promise.”
Adriana glares at us, one by one, clearly unconvinced. Her eyes lock onto Jonny’s. I don’t blame her; he’s the only one she should be concerned about.
Natalie holds out a hand in front of the grieving woman, “Please, come away from him.”
Adriana shakes her head stubbornly. “No—you’ll hurt him.”
“How the fuck can we hurt him, woman?” Curtis asks from the floor. “He’s already dead. He doesn’t feel anything.”
The little prick has barely lifted a finger since we got here—and this is his contribution?
Wanker!
“Shut up, Curtis,” his sister snaps. “You’re not helping.”
Curtis sniffs and then shakes his head. “Do what you want then, sis. It’s your funeral.”
“Do you have children?” Natalie asks Adriana.
“Yes?”
“Then you need to stay alive. Otherwise they’re gonna lose you both.”
Adriana lets out a painful wail and goes to hug Ted. “I can’t leave him. He’s everything to me.”
Suddenly Ted’s eyes spring open.
Followed by his jaws.
Jonny leaps over to her and yanks her away, Ted’s teeth missing her by an inch. Clearly disorientated, she struggles to free herself from Jonny’s grasp. But then she sees what’s become of her husband—and she screams in terror.
Backing away against the wall, I stare into Ted’s grey eyes; his teeth snapping at fresh air. He tugs at his restraint, and he wheezes like a dying dog. Natalie scurries away in fear until she’s next to Adriana. I don’t know what’s more shocking: staring into the face of a man back from the dead, or the fact that Jonny just saved Adriana’s life.
We gawk at the Nec, tied to the bar, every one of us unable to say a word. But what is there to say? What magic sentence would somehow make this day, this situation, any more bearable—any crazier?
Natalie tries to hug Adriana as she weeps for her husband, to guard her against the vicious sight no loved one should have to witness. But she resists, pulling out of Natalie’s embrace.
Ted’s cries are getting louder and louder, drawing even more attention to us.
“What are we supposed to do now?” I ask. “The Necs are gonna hear him.”
As much as Jonny’s opinions are usually hard to hear, getting Ted outside is probably our best option. We can’t have a Nec in here with us. He’s gonna get louder the hungrier he gets. We need to move him. But how can we? We’ve already told Adriana that we wouldn’t touch him. But even if she agreed that it was the best solution—where the hell would we put him? We can’t put him onto the corridor; there’s most likely Necs still loitering. The last thing we need is to remind them that we’re still in here. The only other possibility is through the glass. But how are we supposed to smash that without drawing even more attention to us? The window opens a little, but not nearly wide enough to push him out.
We could cut him up!
What—with a flick-knife?
Shut the fuck up, Alfie.
“We need to gag him,” Jonny says as Ted’s howls increase. “And we need to do it now.”
“With what?” I ask, scanning the room for something to use.
I don’t think Adriana even heard Jonny’s proposal through her tears. But he’s right: gagging him is a bloody good idea.
“We could use this,” Natalie offers, picking up a light red cardigan, draped over a stool.
“That’s mine,” Adriana says, sniffing loudly. “You can’t use that. Ted bought it for
me. Find something else.”
“There’s nothing else,” I tell her. “We need to use this. It’s just a cardigan. The last thing your husband would want to do is hurt you.”
Adriana nods, staring at the cardigan. “I didn’t even want to come here today. But he insisted. I don’t even care about bloody football. But one of the companies he deals with owns it, so he dragged me along. He said he didn’t want to watch it alone. So he took me shopping yesterday to make up for it. He bought me these shoes, this dress.” She swallows hard. “And that cardigan.”
Ted lets out a huge cry. I turn to the door, horrified that the sound will draw them to us.
“We’ll find something else,” Natalie says, handing the cardigan over to her.
Adriana reaches for it—but then pulls her hand away, shaking her head. “No. It’s fine. Use it.” She looks at her dead husband. “It’s just a cardigan.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Adriana replies. “It’s just a thing. It doesn’t matter. People matter.”
Natalie smiles, sympathetically. “Okay. Thank you.” She holds each end of the cardigan and then swings it around like a skipping rope, until it becomes thin and long—perfect for gagging a dead man. “We won’t hurt him. We just need him to be quiet.”
Ted’s moans are now deafening shrieks, like a car alarm going off. The sound is wandering. It’s only a matter of time before the Necs are banging on the door again.
Adriana covers her ears and looks away from her husband.
With the makeshift gag held in front of her, Natalie creeps bravely towards the Nec; her hands are trembling, sweat dripping down her face.
“Let me do it,” I say, stretching for the cardigan. “It’s too dangerous.”
She pulls it out of my reach. “No. I want to do it.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll be quicker than you. And you’re shaking. One slip up and he’ll bite you.”
“I’m not shaking,” she says, clearly flexing her arms. “I can do it.”
“Look, I’ve spent years sneaking money out of a comatose foster father’s wallet. I’m an expert at this sort of thing.”
“This is not the bloody same,” she replies. “You’ve never done something like this before. None of us have.”
“Look, just let him do it,” Jonny interrupts. “For fuck’s sake.”
Sighing in defeat, Natalie hands me the cardigan. “Fine, Alfie. Knock yourself out.”
“Thank you.” I take the gag, and I pull on each end hard to make it as firm as possible. As I edge closer to Ted, I start to feel my hands quiver, and my stomach turn with nerves. Maybe I was a little too quick to be a hero. What the hell do I know about gagging Necs? I’m not a bloody Cleaner.
Ted’s dead eyes are now locked onto mine, which makes this all the more terrifying. I’m much more comfortable being the one that no one sees; the one that throws the punch after the fight has kicked off. Not the opening act.
Is it too late to change my mind?
I move the gag up to his face; he snaps his jaws at it. I pull away in fright. One nip and I’m fucked. Why the hell did I agree to this?
Because you’re a macho dickhead who loves showing off to pretty girls—that’s why!
Moving the gag in line with his mouth again, I go in for another attempt. This time, he brings his head forward as he tries to bite it. I pull the cardigan away, chickening out for a second time.
“Come on, Alfie,” Jonny taunts. “Just let him bite it.”
“Shut up!” Natalie snaps at him. “You’re doing fine, Alfie. Be brave. You’ve got this.”
Taking in slow, steady breaths, I try to settle my trembling arms. I can do this. Money from a wallet. Car keys from a jacket. Easy-peasy. I move the gag in range again; Ted’s dark saliva-soaked teeth in full view. Come on, don’t be scared.
Sweat dripping, throat as dry as a bone, I creep a little closer.
Squirming, tugging at his restraint, Ted goes in for another bite.
Oh, fuck!
This time, I manage to get the gag into his open mouth. I quickly wrap it around the back of his head and tie it tight.
“Yes!” Natalie celebrates. “Good job, Alfie.”
I scurry away from the Nec; his cries now stifled by a cardigan. My ass connects with one of the stools, and I sit. Adrenaline still coursing through my body, I stare at the Nec as he twists and rocks his head violently, struggling with his homemade muzzle. I’ve bought us a little time. Not much, but some at least.
Natalie walks over to me and places her hand on my arm. “That was awesome, Alfie. Good effort.”
I wipe the beads of perspiration from my forehead and eyes. “Next time,” I say, letting out a long breath of relief, “I’ll leave the macho stuff to you.”
Natalie smiles and then sits on the stool next to me. “Yeah, in your dreams, Swansea boy.”
17
“You got any of that coke left?” Jonny asks me. But Jonny doesn’t ask for things. He demands. Only a fool or someone with a death wish would say no. And right now, after stuffing that cardigan into Ted’s mouth, the last thing I want is a fight.
Natalie is sitting next to Curtis on the floor, propped up against the wall. He’s sleeping, but she’s fully awake, glaring at me as I reach into my pocket for the coke. Jonny’s bloodshot eyes light up when he sees the half-full bag. “It’s technically Hoppy’s,” he says as he snatches it out of my hand, and then heads back over to the bar.
God knows why Natalie’s obvious disapproval of drugs bothers me. It shouldn’t, not when I’m sealed in a room with a zombie.
But it does.
There’s got to be something wrong with me.
* * *
It’s almost midnight. The only light in the room is coming from the moon and a faint glow from behind the bar. I can’t quite believe we’re still in here, still alive—and stuck with a tied up Nec. Can’t stand looking at him; it’s those eyes, they’re so disturbing, like a creepy doll staring back at you from a dusty shelf.
The phones and the Internet are still down. They’re definitely keeping us cut off from the outside world. I’ve sent countless text messages to Wendy, but they always fail. I don’t even know if she got the first one I sent. I hope she did. Even if I don’t get one back; at least she’ll know that I’m safe.
When the hell are they coming for us? Nothing’s changed since we got in here, apart from the growing number of Necs roaming around the stand and pitch. It’s only a matter of time before they come bursting through that door. Four people and a sofa can’t keep them out forever.
Curtis and Natalie are fast asleep on the floor, against the wall. Adriana is lying across the spectator seats. I think she’s sleeping; it’s hard to tell. Gaping at her degenerating husband must have got a little too difficult. I haven’t heard her cry for maybe an hour. That’s something at least. And I haven’t seen Jonny since he disappeared behind the bar. Well, I can see his feet poking out from the side. Maybe he’s crying for his brother. He needs to get it out of his system. Or maybe he’s just sleeping off all that booze. Not likely, not after he took my coke from me. He’ll probably be up for the next day or two. That’s nothing to him. Just a standard weekend.
The room seems empty without Ginge. I miss him so much already. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet that I’ll never see that face again, never laugh at one of his sick jokes. I want to get out of this place, but without him, without a place to live, a decent job, what’s out there for me anyway? It’s too late to get my life together now. College maybe? No, I’ve got to keep working, especially when I’ll be living on my own. And what the hell would I study? There’s no hope for a dumbass like me. Wendy says that everyone has a talent, no matter how stupid they think they are. I suppose she’s right, but what if your talent is arm-wrestling, or jerking off? Can’t see there being much of a demand for either skill. The only thing I’ve ever been really good at is running, but even that’s not something I could turn into a proper job.
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Life sucks.
I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes. Maybe if I sleep long enough, this will all be over.
In the darkness, I feel someone sit next to me. Who the hell could this be? Surely not Jonny. I open my eyes to find Natalie beside me. A warm feeling of relief spreads over me when I see those pretty eyes. Through everything that’s happened, all the death, all the insanity, I’m glad she’s in here with me.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Nope. Too afraid Ted might escape.”
“He seems pretty quiet over there. I think loud noise agitates them. As long as we keep our voices down, we should be okay.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“What about Curtis?” I glance over to see him snoring away. “He looks pretty cosy over there. Nothing seems to bother him.”
“Don’t let that fool you,” Natalie says. “He’s just as stressed as the rest of us. He just doesn’t show it. When our Grandfather died last Valentine’s Day, he slept like a baby—and no one was more upset than he was.”
“Yeah, I understand. We all deal with things differently.”
“Exactly. I mean, he almost got killed downstairs. If you hadn’t come, then…” She starts to tear up a little, trying to hide it with her hand.
“But I did come, Natalie. And he’s safe now. We all are. Your brother and I might never be best friends, but I’d never wish any harm on anyone. It’s Necs versus us—rival football clubs are meaningless.”
“Tell that to your friend,” she says, motioning with her head at the bar.
I follow her gesture. “What, Jonny? He’s all right; he’s just stressed out too. Like Curtis. The guy had to watch his brother get killed. It was bad enough watching Ginge die. God knows what’s going through his head.”
Natalie throws me a look to suggest that she’s not convinced. “Fair enough,” she says. “You know him better than I do. So how did you meet each other?”
“Through football and Ginge. We all used to drink in The Farmer’s Arms. They’re not so fussy on underage drinking there. I’ve been going there since I was fourteen.”
The Zombie Saga (Book 3): Burn The Dead: Riot Page 8