by Ian Woodhead
Dominic threw both bolts back, Talbot roared and ran at him, and he grabbed the handle and opened the door. Dozens of the things spilled into the vestibule, they climbed other each other to get to Talbot; the big man spun around and ran for the door but it was too late, a young boy and a blonde woman climbed onto his back, biting him like mad dogs.
Talbot fell to the floor as more and more piled on top of him. He then saw one of the things look directly at him; it moaned then shuffled toward him, Dominic sobbed as more of them took an interest in him; he realised that he didn’t want to die. He ran into the lounge, he looked back, and saw half a dozen had followed him in. They were already by the stairs, he couldn’t escape. He was doomed. Dominic closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.
A pair of hands fell upon his shoulders and dragged him back. Dominic smelt disinfectant and the subtle odour of male pee. He opened his eyes to see the singer smiling at him.
“That man was saving me for later.” He leaned against the toilet door and shivered, “I heard him inside my head, and he told me that he planned to share me with your boss. I’m so glad they are dead.”
Dominic took the singer’s hand and gently squeezed; he felt a delicious thrill when the man squeezed back.
“My name is Andrew and so I’m happy you’re here with me.”
Dominic gazed into the man’s eyes, he smiled. “So am I.”
The End
For NOW
So, what happens next?
In the next episode, we’ll be joining the residents of Greenacre Rise. This is a Victorian cotton mill, that’s been converted into luxury apartments. It’s just one mile from the Breakspear estate, the main source of the infection.
Just like Walking with Zombies, we’ll be introducing a new set of characters. Don’t worry though, I haven’t forgotten about the lovely Dominic. He will be coming back!
Infected Bodies
Chapter one
He reckoned that it would only take ten seconds to reach that door if he sprinted. Arthur Mainwright peered around the rusted oil drum. He saw the open door at the end of the cellar, a ten-second dash to freedom. He sighed; it might as well be ten miles. Arthur might be able to manage a laboured jog, but anything faster was out of the question.
His pursuers had run him into the ground. Arthur crawled forward a couple of inches and scanned the area. It appeared deserted; the little bastards must have slithered back into their hidey-holes. He wanted to believe that they’d taken advantage of the open door and moved further up into the main building. The corridors would be empty at this time. He nodded to himself and licked his lips; they’d find nobody else to attack and perhaps escape from the apartments.
“And all fall into the canal and drown.”
Arthur then noticed a flash of naked thigh under the legs of a lump of old machinery. His heart sank; they may not be visible, but they sure as hell hadn’t buggered off.
He took a deep breath, wincing at the deep ache in his lungs. He remembered the high-pitched growling, the tiny arms whipping out from under the ancient workbenches. Most of all, he remembered the expressionless features on their faces just before they ran at him with those nasty little clawed hands and their teeth snapping like mad dogs. He wished he could turn back time, instinct told him that he was going to die down here.
His coffee would be stone cold by now. It had only been ten minutes since he’d slipped back into his dark grey boiler suit and picked up his keys. They were still there. He saw the huge metal hoop dangling down on the other side of that door. Arthur couldn’t believe that he’d broken his own cardinal rule. Those keys stayed by his side at all times. They were his badge of office. The residents placed their trust in him not to lose them.
This vast basement was the only area in the old mill untouched by the developers. No doubt they would have transformed this into a batch of overpriced apartments just like the rest of the building if they hadn’t run out of money. Apartments? What a crock of shite, they were just posh flats, no different from where he used to live back when he had a young family. Arthur had moved out of his parent’s house straight into Breakspear Estate’s just built tower block back in the early 70’s. Unlike this lot, none of the tenants had two farthings to rub together; even so, they didn’t go around doing drugs and stealing cars like the kids did nowadays. They also looked after each other, kept an eye on each other’s kids.
The rich buggers living here should have taken a page out of Arthur’s past; if they did then he wouldn’t be in this desperate pickle.
Arthur had answered the door to a distressed woman earlier this evening. It took him a moment to place her face, and then it clicked. It was Mrs. Soaper. Her husband owned the bar. He only remembered because she lived next door to the strange, huge breasted blonde woman on the floor above him.
She’d told him that her daughter, Lucy, had disappeared. It shamed him to admit that he’d given the woman the usual platitudes about the kid had probably gone exploring, or she was playing with friends and had just forgotten the time. He wasn’t sure why she’d come to him in the first place, his job was to look after the building, not babysit a load of snotty nosed brats. The woman had gone and he’d forgotten all about the incident until he’d sat down with his coffee. Arthur had suddenly sat bolt upright, remembering his search around the cellars the night before. After putting the task back for weeks, Arthur had finally decided that he really ought to check the place out. After spending one fruitless hour down here, he’d come back up with nothing but a claw hammer and a couple of screwdrivers. Arthur had thought back to when he left the cellar, he couldn’t remember if he’d locked the doors.
He had to get out of here. Ten seconds wasn’t long in his mind; he was already through that door, slamming it shut and turning the key. Hell, they were only a couple of brats, if they tried anything he’d boot them across the cellar. Arthur readied himself, time to go.
His left hand brushed against a cut off piece of copper piping, Arthur choked back a terrified sob as it rolled across the floor. He silently groaned when one of the pursuers uncoiled and slid out from between two grey filing cabinets.
How the fuck did he manage to fit in there?
The little boy’s head jerked to toward the pipe, his movement more reptile than human. Oh hell, now that he had a good look, Arthur recognised the lad.
The caretaker had caught the boy mucking about behind the trade bins a couple of weeks ago. The lad’s parents had moved into the last vacant apartment last month, much to the annoyance of Arthur. He’d been using the apartment to kip whilst looking for another place to stay after his sister had kicked him out of her flat.
Arthur was rubbish at guessing ages, but he reckoned that the kid couldn’t be older than ten. He’d perched his bottom on the low brick wall with his back to Arthur. He couldn’t see what he was doing, but he was a kid playing about in a restricted area so he had to be up to no good. As Arthur crept closer, he saw the look of intense concentration on the boy’s face. The caretaker stood behind the boy and finally saw what he was doing. He’d filled a plastic vending cup with dead bugs and dropped them one by one onto a spider’s web.
The little boy shrieked when Arthur placed both his hands onto the kid’s shoulders and demanded to know what he was doing. Arthur remembered the boy begging him not to tell his parents. His tears and snot streamed down his face, he hadn’t the heart to march him home; he just told the kid to bugger off.
The old caretaker retreated behind the oil drum when the boy reached down to pick up the copper pipe. He slid the pipe onto his index finger, smearing the green blemished metal with blood. That was Arthur’s blood on that pipe. He looked down at his arms, wincing at the damage the boy had caused. Arthur could still feel that strong, little pair of talons raking along his forearm.
The boy dropped the pipe and took a step toward the oil drum; Arthur whimpered, he couldn’t help it. The boy lowered his body to the grease stained concrete floor and pushed the pipe along wi
th his nose.
Arthur watched, horror struck as the metal pipe rolled up to the oil drum and clanged against the metal. He saw a shadow pass over his head, the man swallowed before turning to look. One of the other children stood beside his work boots, a girl, with long, matted brown hair; he reckoned that she was no more than eight. He could smell the fabric conditioner emanating from her navy blue summer dress. She leaned towards him and showed Arthur her bloodstained teeth. That wasn’t his blood in her mouth, only the other boy had done him damage.
The little bastards must have known where he was all along and were just playing with him. Despite their diminutive size, Arthur still felt like a cornered mouse surrounded by three hungry cats.
The boy stopped by the drum; he’d been joined by the last of his stalkers, a blonde child, younger than the others, wearing a pair of Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas.
He gazed at their dead faces, unable and unwilling to believe this was really happening. Kids nowadays were little devils, but they didn’t behave like this.
“Oh God, please leave me alone!” Arthur gasped. “I haven’t done anything to hurt you.”
Arthur heard the oldest boy growl; after a moment, the others joined in. The two boys crouched and tensed up. He shut his eyes and rolled into a tight ball. Moments later the children dived onto his back. Arthur howled as their teeth and nails ripped through the material and into his tender flesh.
Chapter Two
The youth stumbled over his unfastened white trainers and fell onto the cobbled path. He managed to avoid serious damage to his face by cushioning his fall with his arms. The youth scrambled to his feet and limped away, occasionally glancing behind him.
Alex Winters followed the hooded youth dressed in designer sports clothes until he disappeared from her sight. The tripled glazed window muted nearly all noise from outside entering her apartment. Just for this occasion, she considered that to be an irritation. She so wanted to hear what the heathen had been muttering as he hurried along the dark canal path. Was someone chasing him? It seemed unlikely; judging by his working class attire, it would be more probable that he would be the one to do the chasing, not visa versa.
She pressed her face against the cool glass, eager to see if that drug addled, godless scum did indeed have a pursuer. After a couple of moments she moved away from the window. Nobody had given chase. It was more likely that he was fleeing from someone he’d just mugged or raped, maybe even both.
“They are all heathen, sinful animals,” she whispered.
Alex brushed aside the insane behaviour of the beasts outside. She pitied them, they knew no better. That youth had hobbled in the direction of the Breakspear estate. Alex nodded just once. The imp was skulking back to the pit.
“One day that evil place will be cleansed by holy fire,” muttered the woman. “All who oppose the might of our Lord will burn.”
Alex padded over to her dressing table and sat down in front of her mirror. She unhooked the comb and shook her blonde hair out of the tight bun. As strands spilled over the shoulders of her dark business suit, she sighed in relief. Glad to be free of that restrictive apparatus.
Her chosen career in amongst the godless horde demanded that she put aside her own beliefs; allowing her true nature to become known would mark her as an aberration. It was safer to become the pretender and graze amongst the injection-moulded drones that infested the office building where she worked. The time was not right for them to see the bright, cleansing light. Let them wander through their dull, spiteful, and wretched existence while they still could.
“My mind is as calm as a placid lake.” Alex shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and held it for ten seconds before emptying her lungs. Her mind was anything but calm.
Flushing out the daily work related trivialities became harder the higher she progressed up the corporate ladder. Removing the chaff used to be a simple task when Alex was only a junior clerk. She swam with minnows, with only the sharks above her to worry about. Now she herself had become one of those sharks and those minnows below her were now more like piranhas.
She took several more deep breaths. Alex imagined that each one excised a few more toxins. The endless meetings, the time sanctioned agendas, the backstabbing and malicious gossip. It all dissipated, leaving her feeling purified and ready to continue her true calling.
Alex opened her eyes. The reflection of a twenty six year old woman stared back at her. With her high cheekbones and fine features, coupled with intense green eyes, many male heads turned as she walked past. She grinned, exposing her brilliant white teeth. Alex was fastidious to the point of obsessive about how she looked. She wasn’t vain, nor prideful. Her good looks were just another component in her personal arsenal to gain promotion. With promotion came more money, it was as simple as that.
As for the empty-headed females whom she tolerated whilst at the office, now they really were sinful shallow creatures. Their destruction could only be a good thing. Alex would consider it a pleasure and a great honour if the lord allowed her to extinguish their sinful lights.
Alex smiled at that glorious fantasy before glancing at her watch. It was almost eight, the first of her flock would soon be arriving. Alex slipped out of her mundane work costume and padded over to the wardrobe. Although within the space of an hour she’d be spending the rest of the night bereft of fabric just as God intended his first children to walk the Earth, Alex still had to greet her congregation in robes that cemented her status as their high priestess.
Her thoughts of which robe to don halted as bright, blue flashing lights illuminated the interior of the apartment. She turned and hurried over to the window, curious to see just what sins her godless neighbours had committed this time.
It wasn’t unusual to witness the authorities hurtling toward the estate of wickedness. However, to see such a concentrated number of patrol cars meant a crime more serious than the usual misdemeanour of drug taking and violence. Perhaps the pressure cooker in that satanic pesthole had finally blown. Alex smiled at the pleasing thought of those animals slaughtering each other.
“If only it were true,” she murmured.
After a few fruitless seconds of gazing through her window, eager to see what had attracted their attention, she sighed and walked back to the wardrobe. Alex decided to wear the deep crimson robe tonight. The deep folds adequately covered her full figure. Alex found it advantageous not to allow her congregation’s simple minds to be distracted during the first ceremony.
She glanced at her door at the sound of two hesitant knocks.
“My, my, Dennis Knowles, you’re an eager bunny tonight.”
It had to be him; there was no mistaking his tentative knock; a tentative knock to go with the man’s tentative personality. Gavin Knowles lived at number forty seven, two doors down and across the corridor from Alex.
He may be the meekest of her congregation, but Gavin was certainly her most loyal follower. Mr. Knowles acted as her eyes and ears around the apartments. The man’s nondescript appearance helped him to blend in to whichever room he entered. She valued his valuable gossip and in return, Alex ensured that the man was well rewarded. Due to his valuable insights, she’d been able to ascertain which occupants had been the most suitable to show the light. Her outer circle now numbered twenty, with three more waiting in the wings. Two of them were female. She’d never had another female explore her body before. Alex shivered in delight at the forthcoming prospect.
The man knocked twice more. Alex smiled, it must be important for him to dare knock more than once. She dimmed the lights down to their lowest setting and swiftly opened her door.
“Mistress!” he gasped. “You scared me.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing,” she replied.
Alex ushered him in then gazed along the bright corridor, noting number forty five’s door stood ajar. There appeared to be a small crimson stain close to the silver handle. Could it be paint? She involuntary shivered before closing the door, “Why th
e urgency, Gavin, what is troubling you?”
As the man composed himself, no doubt mentally rehearsing his already prepared speech, she studied him. Gavin was certainly more distracted than normal, that fact made manifest by how little attention his eyes had given to her breasts. The top of his scalp glistened with sweat; had he been running too? She unfastened the robe, opened the folds and gently placed the palm of her hand against the back of his head then pressed his face into her cleavage.
It surprised Alex when he pushed back, that was most unexpected.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” he said, “I mean no disrespect, but I fear that The Reckoning that you’ve prophesied may be amongst us.”
The chill returned and travelled down the length of her spine; for the moment, Alex couldn’t decide whether it was dread or elation.
Gavin kissed the back of her hands, “Forgive me, mistress, but may I be permitted alcohol?”
Alex slowly nodded. She fastened her robe then replayed his previous words. If that statement had come from anyone else’s mouth, Alex would have dismissed it as sheer fantasy. Not from Gavin though, he’d never knowingly lie to her. She watched him rush over to her drinks cabinet. His shaking hands couldn’t even screw the top off the bottle. Alex hurried over, took the vodka bottle out of his trembling hands, and poured the man a large one. After a moment’s hesitation, Alex poured one for herself.
“Are you now ready to elaborate?”
The man threw the liquid down his throat, coughed, then nodded. He looked down at the floor, sobs wracking through his body. He grabbed the bottle from the table and swallowed down another mouthful of the fiery liquid.
It started about an hour ago. Edith, my wife.”