Holiday of the Dead
Page 37
“Well said, Jack.”
“Something I had to constantly tell any non-colleague in my old line of work.”
Well, that lightens the mood.
VI
“And so we come to this footage now, of the combined force of F-16s and B-52s about to come in, and hopefully they will be destroying whatever remains of the Sombra B virus, the Sombra A virus of course being contained by the widespread vaccination in 2014 and 2015. Now, Guy, I hear there is something different about this mission.”
“Yes indeed, Alan, and it’s the new weaponry in particular, the High Utility Lethal Kinetics, or HULK bombs and missiles. The American military is hoping that this will demonstrate a new paradigm in military power, the stepping stone between conventional ordinance and tactical nuclear weapons …”
The television – we decide that having two on is stupid – continues to burble away, but Guy has to be interrupted and the whole thing is drowned out as the first of the F-16s flies over our balcony, heads off to our left and lets off the first of those HULKs. The missile streaks towards the Burj Al-Arab and hits.
The building flares with an almost blinding white light and collapses forward into the sea, with the wind taken out of the sail on that dhow shape. More jets fly in, singling out specific buildings, the taller skyscrapers and the grander projects that break up the homogeneity of the city.
And then the B-52s drone in, they drop open their bellies and let loose, with steady, metered rhythms, those new HULK bombs. We can feel their detonation resonate through the balcony, and see mushroom clouds sprout up in place of the skyline.
“It’s over, Jack.”
“I know.”
I embrace her and feel the tension slowly leave me.
“Shit, you can really feel the heat from those things.”
She laughs. The whole city centre is pretty much levelled by now, and the parts that aren’t are almost certainly filled with an inhospitable heat. Pundits on the news talk about how Sombra B as a virus should now be extinct, but they’re guessing as much as I am.
Ruta gets up from her seat and heads inside. She pauses and turns. “Can I … can I …”
I start to panic.
“Can I get anyone anything?”
“A diet coke and a kick up your ass,” I reply. Laura laughs again, and suddenly it’s all OK again.
Mostly.
THE END
A DARK MOON HONEYMOON
By
Rob Smith
I
They had been married for twenty-seven hours and nineteen minutes.
It had not been time wasted, Susan thought, alone now in the bed. There had been the ceremony, and she remembered every detail of that, even if Roy claimed it had all gone by in a blur. There had been the post-wedding meal, where the budget-constrained food had been redeemed by some excellent speeches. Mick, the best man, had told some long and rambling joke. It had culminated in the most feeble punch line known to man, at which point Roy had almost collapsed laughing, but other than that the speakers had all done well. The whole evening reception thing had been tiring, and Susan was dimly aware that she had got rather drunk and made a little bit of a fool of herself. But as she’d told her mother, ‘It’s my wedding, and I’ll get absolutely steaming shit-faced if I want to.’ She’d have to ring and apologise later.
By contrast, the night in the hotel had been fairly quiet. They’d not consummated the marriage at that time, if only because Roy was past the stage of optimum efficiency and Susan had developed a very close relationship with the toilet bowl. They’d made up for it since, she thought, looking up at the ceiling and smiling to herself.
It had been so nice of Uncle Ben to lend them his holiday cottage. It had given them the chance to have a half-decent honeymoon. They could have gone for a cheap package holiday abroad, but instead they had jumped at the chance of a week here, rural Wales, as far away from the city as it was possible to be. Both of them loved the quiet little villages, the bleak moors, the cold hills. Roy had been brought up in an area like this, though hundreds of miles further north. Susan was a city girl, but she loved the sense of peace that the hills brought her. It had been a lovely drive up, despite her worries that their old banger of a car would not survive the journey. She’d told Roy that they needed a new one. He’d just laughed and told her that the old thing had plenty of good miles left in it. Maybe that was true, maybe not, but it had got them here. Tomorrow they planned to go walking, following the stream that trickled past the back of the cottage up into the thinly-wooded heights behind. She was already looking forward to that, just as she looked forward to every moment they spent together.
“We ought to get Uncle Ben something nice, to thank him,” Susan mused aloud.
“Yeah,” Roy agreed, emerging from the en-suite bathroom into the darkened bedroom. “Not too nice, though. That shower is a pain in the backside to get working. I bet the old bastard has never had it looked it since he’s owned this place. What time is it?”
“Quarter past seven.”
“No wonder I’m so hungry.” He pulled on a pair of creased trousers and dragged back the curtains. Neither had expected a beam of brilliant sunshine but it was still a little disappointing outside, dull and overcast, with the hills all but obscured behind fine drizzle.
“Typical Welsh summer evening,” Roy muttered.
“Never mind,” Susan said gently. “I’m sure it will be nicer tomorrow.” She ignored his answering look. “What do you want to do about dinner?”
“We could go into the village. There’s a nice café there.”
She shook her head. “I don’t really want to go out. I can’t be bothered to make myself look beautiful.”
“I’d starve to death before then anyway,” he said, smiling as he expertly dodged a viciously flung pillow. “So you want me to go out and get something then? What do you fancy?”
“Anything.”
“Kebabs it is then.”
“Except kebabs. I wouldn’t have thought there would be a kebab shop around here anyway.”
“There must be,” Roy told her. “I haven’t seen a single cat or dog since we got here.”
“How about fish and chips?” Susan suggested. “We drove past a chippy on the way in. It can’t be more than a five minute walk.”
Roy looked out again at the steady drizzle. “Five minutes,” he sneered. “Maybe you should go.”
“Take the car,” Susan suggested.
He shook his head, reaching for his coat. “Fish and chips, yeah? Salt and vinegar?”
“Of course. What are you having?”
“Same, I reckon. Seeing as I can’t have kebabs.”
“I’m only thinking of you,” she protested, and then, glancing down at his increasing-noticeable paunch, “and that.” He followed her gaze and patted his stomach contentedly. Pulling up the collar of his coat, he walked over to her and leaned down.
“You just stay there,” he said, kissing her gently on the forehead. She reached up and pulled his head down for the sort of kiss more befitting a new bride.
“Don’t be long,” she breathed heavily. “Have you got your mobile?”
“I’ll only be gone a few minutes,” he said, smiling as he tapped the phone in his pocket. “I’ve got a great new ringtone on it, though. You’ll love it when you hear it.” He winked, and left the room. A few seconds later she heard the front door slam behind him.
II
Ten minutes later the telephone rang. Susan, newly dressed but still looking like someone who had just got out of bed, raced across the room and lifted the antique-looking receiver. “Hello?” she said brightly.
There was no answer.
“Hello?” she repeated. “Roy?” Through the phone she thought could hear the gentle patter of rain. Susan shrugged, and put the phone down.
Almost immediately it rang again.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s only me.”
“Did you just ring?”
/> “No. I’m outside the chip shop. Is something wrong?”
“Just a wrong number or something,” she said lightly.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if the phones around here are a bit missed up,” Roy told her. “We used to have problems at home. I’m only ringing to see if I can get a signal. Plus I wanted to make sure you’re alright, all alone there.”
“Fine,” she told him. “You’ve only been gone ten minutes.”
“I know,” he said, and there was a pause. “You realise this is the first time we’ve been apart since we got married?”
“Go and buy the food,” she told him firmly.
“OK. Bye.”
III
Quarter of an hour had passed when she heard the front door open. “I’ve got some plates ready in the kitchen,” she called, rinsing the last of the toothpaste from her mouth and wiping it with a horribly brown-hued towel.
There was no answer.
Susan draped the towel over the radiator and walked out of the bathroom back into the bedroom. “Roy?” she called. Outside the rain was still gently drumming against the window.
She slowly opened the bedroom door, and looked through it into the living room. The kitchen door was slightly ajar, and she could see the plates and cutlery that she had laid out on the table. There was no sign of any food, and no sign of Roy. She sniffed. The room smelt of disuse, of being left empty nine months of the year. She could faintly smell the air-freshener she had sprayed about the room on their arrival. There was no hint of the distinctive odour of fish and chips.
“Roy?” she repeated, quietly. There was a slight tremor in her voice, she knew. Her heart was beginning to beat more quickly. She felt cold, the fine hairs on her arms rising in sympathetic unison.
From the part of the kitchen that she could not see, behind the thin wooden door, there came the faintest of noises.
Susan stepped forward, very slowly edging towards the kitchen. Another noise came, causing her to breathe in sharply. She reached out with one hand and gently pushed the door open.
There was a flash of movement, and suddenly there were hands upon her, tightly gripping her waist. She screamed.
“Got you!” Roy shouted triumphantly.
“You bastard!” she shouted, punching his arm with as much force as she could muster.
“Steady on, it was just a joke.”
“You almost scared me to death!” she snapped at him, her eyes flashing with anger.
“That was the idea,” he said, slightly defensively. He kissed her, despite her best attempts to turn her head away. Then he began to laugh.
“It’s not funny,” she told him, trying to stifle a smile that was half-amusement, half very genuine relief.
“It is,” he disagreed. “But not as funny as what just happened to me.”
Susan looked around the tiny kitchen. “Where’s the food?” she demanded.
“That’s what’s funny,” he told her, continuing to laugh. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”
It took Roy a few moments to compose himself, while Susan watched him, still a little angry but mostly just bemused by his behaviour. She probably should have guessed that it was him waiting to scare her, she decided. It was just the sort of thing Roy did. Once he’d bought an empty fish-tank and told her there was a pet tarantula in it. When she said she couldn’t see it, he had very convincingly panicked and told her it must have escaped. She hadn’t been able to sleep that night. He hadn’t been allowed to sleep with her that week.
“OK,” he said finally. “I just went into the village and found that chip shop. I rang you just before I went in, yeah? Just to make sure you weren’t scared on your own. If I’d known just how jumpy you were …”
“Get on with it.”
“So I go into the chippy and I ask the bloke behind the counter for fish and chips twice. And do you know what he says to me?”
“No,” Susan replied, trying to sound bored. “Enlighten me.”
“He says, get this, I can’t give you fish and chips twice, or the zombies will get you!”
“What?”
“That was what I said. I asked him what he had said, and he repeats it.”
Susan looked at Roy, and his giggling face. “Don’t joke around,” she told him sternly. “I’m not in the mood.”
“No, honest,” he replied, somehow managing to look hurt and amused at the same time. “That’s what he said. He can’t give me fish and chips twice because the zombies will get me. He repeated that twice. I thought he was joking but he just wouldn’t budge. In the end I thought sod it because there was a queue forming behind me.”
“OK, whatever,” she told him exasperatedly. “What are you going to do about dinner?”
“I asked some woman, there’s another chip shop a mile or so up the lane. I just popped in on my way past to tell you about this. It’s pretty weird. Maybe they just don’t like the English.”
“Maybe they just don’t like you,” she suggested. “Go and get my fish and chips.”
IV
The smile was gone when he came through the front door again.
“What’s up?” Susan asked, sitting up in her seat when she saw his expression and his empty hands.
“OK, once was funny.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I went up to that other chip shop, and asked for fish and chips twice. It was a woman this time, but she said the same thing.”
“What? That rubbish about zombies?”
“Yeah.” He put on a high pitched voice. “I can’t give you fish and chips twice, love, the zombies will get you!” He shook his head. “This is probably some local wind-up trick. I bet your bloody Uncle rang them up and arranged all this.”
“I doubt it,” she said firmly. “Uncle Ben is a right sweetie but he has no sense of humour whatsoever.” She looked at him closely, still suspecting that Roy was winding her up, but the look of annoyance in his eyes and the low rumble that came from his stomach at that moment suggested otherwise. “Did you try ordering anything else?”
“No. I want fish and chips. If they don’t want my custom, sod them. I’ll go somewhere else.”
“Roy, don’t get stubborn about this.”
“I’m not getting stubborn.”
“You are,” she told him gently.
“I’m not,” he replied, not quite so gently.
She put her hands up, placating. “All I’m saying is I’m happy to have something else. A fishcake, maybe. I’m not sure I could eat a whole fish anyway.”
“That’s not the point,” he said sharply. “Where are the car keys?”
“Why? Where are you going?”
“Llannisa … Llanas … whatever it’s called. The next village. There’s bound to be a decent chip shop there.”
“Roy,” she began, then saw his look. “OK, have it your way.”
“I won’t be long. Where are the keys?”
V
Despite the fact she was waiting for it, and that she had deliberately sat by it, the ringing of the phone still caught her by surprise.
“Any luck?” she said as she picked it up.
There was only silence at the other end.
“Roy?” she called. “Can you hear me?” She listened carefully. Again there was no reply – just the sound of rain beating against something. Then the line went dead.
She put the phone gently down and dialled 1471, hoping to find out the number. The emotionless, disembodied voice of the computerised operator told her the number was unavailable.
Susan cursed aloud, and put the phone down, harder this time. She still suspected it was Roy playing silly buggers, just as she still had a faint suspicion that this whole thing with the zombies was just a wind-up on his part. But then again, Roy liked his food, enough so that he would have ended the joke a while ago in order to get some grub down him. Maybe she was being unfair to him. Maybe it was Uncle Ben developing a sense of mischief late in life.
She picked up
the phone again and clumsily called Roy’s mobile number, unused to the obsolete manual dial. The number rang seven times before it was finally answered.
“Hello?”
Roy’s voice, sounding annoyed.
“It’s me. Where are you?”
“I’m in the car. I’m getting a bit pissed off now.”
“Why? Don’t tell me you’re getting the same thing there?”
“You guessed it,” he replied shortly. “The same old shit about zombies. I’ve already tried two places here. The last place had a girl behind the counter, only about eighteen. When she started to talk about zombies I got quite annoyed, and a couple of blokes in the queue behind me told me to get out. I was going to kick off but I’m too bloody hungry.”
“Roy, just forget it. I’ll have a battered burger or something.”
“No!” he almost shouted at her. “You’re having fish and chips. I’m having fish and chips. We’re having fish and chips twice if I have to go behind the counter and serve them myself. OK, I can see another chip shop. I’ll call you soon.”
“Don’t do anything stupid and get yourself hurt,” she half-hissed at him.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he replied firmly, and hung up. She didn’t care much for his tone of voice. She glanced at her watch. They’d been married for twenty-eight hours and thirty-six minutes, and they were having their first argument.
The phone rang. Answering it only confirmed her suspicion that there would be no one there.
VI
It was dark outside now. Susan stood by the window, looking through the rain towards the shadowy bulk of the hills. She could see lights in the village, though she could not make out the individual buildings. Occasionally a car came down the lane, past the drive of the cottage, and with each new set of headlights she prayed that it was Roy. But it never was.