Dead Bones - Six Pack. The Ultimate Zombie Collection
Page 32
“I know who your wife is, Gavin.”
“Sorry. Well, Edith was getting ready to settle down to watch her usual rubbish on TV, when all of a sudden she said she felt all funny. Then without warning, the woman just slid off the sofa onto the floor.” He looked at Alex. “She just died, Mistress. I checked everything— her heart, her pulse. There was nothing.”
“I hope you rang for the ambulance.”
“I was about to, honest, when I heard her groaning.” He looked into her eyes. “She was dead and yet the woman still moved.”
She sighed, not knowing what to say. Gavin worked as an assistant mortuary attendant at Saint Luke’s Hospital. He saw corpses every single day. If he said that his wife was dead, then it must be true.
“Have you told anyone else of what you’ve seen?”
He shook his head, “I’ve seen nobody else; not alive anyway.
Gavin then drank the contents from her glass too. “She chased me through the apartment, Alex. In the end, I had to tie her up in the bedroom. I looked into her once gentle eyes and saw only hunger. Hunger for my blood. I’ve seen the signs. They are everywhere. I have heard screaming from all floors, noises uttered from the mouths of the dead, and blood.” He shivered, “There is blood staining the walls and floors throughout the building.”
Gavin then threw himself to the floor, he gripped the back of her ankles and sobbed into Alex’s feet. “I don’t know what to do, mistress. Please, I beg you for guidance!
Chapter Three
Craig Philips glanced back with irritation. His sister had made no attempt to catch up with the rest of them.
“For crying out loud, Stacy, will you get a bloody move on?”
She abruptly skidded to a halt and glared at him. He sighed, waiting for the inevitable hands thrust on hips routine. Where did this attitude appear from, and why did she have to pull it now?
He felt his temper rising, “Catch up, right now; I mean it, or I’ll push you into the water.”
He sneaked a look at his two companions, they seemed to be as bemused by his sister’s aggravating behaviour as he was. Craig didn’t have a clue who they were, he’d only met them tonight. The two men were his assistants, here to help Craig and Stacy complete their task.
Of course, Craig wasn’t an idiot, their main job was to ensure that Craig kept his promise; if he blagged on the deal then either James or John would probably break his neck.
One of the muscle bound brain donors sighed. He couldn’t remember which one he was supposed to be. Craig was pretty sure that the other gorilla, the one with the blonde crew cut and wearing those vile lime green trainers was supposed to be John. John stood by the side of the canal, staring across the dark water at a pair of ducks.
“I wanna go home,” said Stacy. “This fucking headache is killing me.”
He cringed, it must be bad if she was using the ‘f’ word. Craig remembered uttering that same word once and his father had knocked seven shades of stuffing out of his skinny frame.
John or James sighed again and gave him a look that translated as – she’s your baggage; sort her out, or we’ll sort you out.
Craig hurried over to Stacey and got down on one knee. He didn’t have a clue what was wrong with her. Could she be coming down with something? That made sense, it wasn’t often that Stacey got sick, it was him who was usually the poorly one. But when she did get a bug, it knocked her out for days.
Maybe it was that other thing, that hormonal stuff that girls her age went, though. That made more sense. Their mum always acted like this when the painters and decorators moved into her naughty bits.
“I wanna go home,” she repeated.
“I know you do, sweetheart but we have to get this over and done with. I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?”
Craig glanced over at the two Muscle Mountains; the other one had now joined Green Trainers at the side of the canal. He was probably explaining why those two birds weren’t sinking.
“If we don’t do this tonight, then those two nasty men will drown me in the canal, and even worse, they’ll steal my car. I daren’t think what they’ll do to you.”
He knew for a fact that if he didn’t give them what they wanted, then they would definitely confiscate his classic 1964 VW beetle, lovingly resorted back to its original condition, and sell it.
Craig turned and pointed at the mill complex just beyond the canal bridge. A private company had converted the derelict building into a bunch of ultra swanky apartments, all very expensive and all very desirable.
He doubted that the developers had considered what the locals would think of having a bunch of middleclass tossers moving in on their patch. Craig certainly knew that they wouldn’t be informing the clients that they were moving next door to the roughest housing estate in the north of England. At least that’s what the local press called it. Craig had lived on Breakspear Gardens all his life and he didn’t think it was as bad as they made out.
Craig placed his hands on Stacy’s shoulders, “We’re bound to find some tablets in there, sweetheart. It’s a well known fact that people with money are all a bunch of hypochondriacs.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that they always pretend that they’re ill.”
“I’m not pretending,” she replied, looking a little offended.
Craig stood up and took her hand, “I know you’re not, sweetheart. So will you help me out?”
She bit her lip and nodded, a flicker of a smile appeared on her face, “Although it would be funny to watch them throw you into the water.”
“You watch your mouth, you little pain,” he said, smiling back.
He looked over at the steel railings welded to both sides of the stone bridge archway. There was a tiny gap right at the top, and if someone could squeeze through that and climb down the other side, it would be just a simple matter of pulling a couple of bolts back.
The developers hadn’t been allowed to use padlocks due to healthy and safety reasons.
The longer Craig stared at it, the more convinced that they had been correct; oh, this was going to be a disaster. He wondered if the two bicep busters shared his thoughts, too, and whether they’d kill him as soon as Stacy failed or wait until they’d reached the estate.
“What do you think, Stacy? Are you willing to give it a go?”
She stared at the fence for a moment before slowly nodding, “I’ll give it a shot,” she whispered. “I’ve crawled through smaller gaps.”
The two men returned from their stint of duck watching and stood on either side of Craig. He was trying not to breathe in the men’s toxic after-shave fumes as watched his sister climb up the fenced off archway.
“This had better work,” said green trainers. “We have been given specific instructions by Mr. Crowley on what to do if you don’t get us in there.”
Stacey was almost at the gap as she clambered across the metal fence like a spider on a web; then again, this was nothing compared to what she had showed Craig earlier this afternoon.
Stacy had spent the whole day pestering him, wanting to show Craig her new trick. She’d waited until dad had gone to work before calling him out into the garden. She stood him in the far corner of the lawn and begged him not to move. Before he could react, she’d managed to clamber up the drainpipe and onto the roof. Stacey had stared down at his stricken face, then told him off for moving. Stacey ran up the tiles and disappeared over the top.
By the time Craig had run into the front garden, Stacey was halfway down the wall. He had no time to give her a good bollocking as he was distracted by the sound of slow clapping. Craig turned around; his heart started to beat faster when he saw an old man stood be a BMW, grinning at Stacey.
Craig had totally forgot about him coming round, he owed this man a lot of cash. Everyone on Breakspear knew that Bernard Crowley would lend anyone any amount of money. Craig also knew that his interest rates were extortionate, but he just had to have that Beetle.
John or James grabbed his arm and squeezed. He didn’t dare yell out in case he alarmed Stacey.
“I hope you’re praying.”
“Okay, I get it, if this doesn’t work, you will keep my car.”
They both laughed, “Who’d want that pile of shit? Oh no, if this doesn’t work then we get to keep your sister. Her supple little body will keep us entertained for weeks.”
“You go anywhere near her,” he growled, “and I’ll …”
Green trainer fastened his huge hand around his neck, “You’ll what, hit us with a cushion? Stop your whining you little bitch, or we’ll make you watch us fuck her to death.
The other man slapped green trainer’s hand off Craig’s neck, “Fucking hell, she’s done it; she’s gotten through that pissing gap.”
Craig watched her climb down the other side.
“Make sure you act happy families,” whispered green trainers. “One hint of what just transpired here and I’ll ventilate you.”
He nodded. Craig had already decided that these two lumps of butcher’s waste wouldn’t live to see another dawn. Nobody threatened his sister. His mate, Darren Belmont, told Craig that he knew a lad on the estate who had a small cache of weapons hidden under his stairs. Darren was a bit mouthy, especially when he had a few lagers down him, but he wasn’t one for lying. Craig had already decided to ask Darren to get him a piece. He’d show these obese clowns that you didn’t mess with a Philips.
Craig painted a grin on his face and calmly waited for the two men to remove themselves from his personal space. He noticed that his minders had also changed their expressions, but the light cast from the old streetlamps on the road above made their faces look grotesque.
Stacey would know something was wrong, she wasn’t an idiot.
The gate slowly swung inwards as Craig watched his sister shiver before waving at them. The two men rushed towards her with Craig struggling to catch up.
“That was just awesome,” said green trainer, he looked at the other fridge in a suit. “I had doubts when Bernard told me about this human fly he’d discovered.”
He patted the top of her head, “You’re going to make us very rich, little girl.”
Craig slapped the gorilla’s paw away and stood between her and him. The amused glint in green trainer’s eye pissed him right off. Craig guessed that as far as green trainer was concerned, poor little Craig was about as frightening as a gerbil. That was okay, Craig could bide his time; as soon as he got that gun off Darren, he’d show them just how sharp a gerbil’s teeth really were.
“Can we go home now?” said his sister.
Green trainer pushed Craig into the waiting arms of his colleague and crouched down in front of her., “I’ve got a better idea, Stacey. If you promise to stop whinging on, then my very large friend will promise not to pull your brother’s arms and legs off.”
He stood up and leaned toward Craig. “By the way, don’t even think of running off. Remember, I know where you live.”
Craig nodded, determined not to let this lump of rotten meat intimidate him. The other man let him go and pushed Craig forward. He hurried over to his sister who didn’t seem in the least bit bothered about green trainer’s aggressive behaviour.
“Just out of interest, how do you two experts propose to get into the main building? I’m sure they’ll have lots of cameras and locks on the doors. Do you have a magic key?”
Green trainer turned, he stuck his hand into his jacket pocket. “You must have read my mind,” he replied, grinning. “Our boss has many friends who owe him favours and this,” green trainer pull out two keys fastened together on a metal loop, “is our magic key. The mucky one opens the outside door that leads into the old basement, and the clean one will get us into the main complex.”
Craig yelped when a hand slapped down on his shoulder, as the other man twisted him round.
“And this is my magic key,” he reached into the inside of his jacket pocket and showed the astonished boy a large, black automatic pistol. “This key will open most locks in there. We’re about to welcome our neighbours to Breakspear. Won’t they be happy?”
Chapter Four
This day would go down in the annals of time as being the most horrible day ever. Marcus Fowler had thought his already bad week couldn’t get any worse, just what did he do to piss off the queen of fate?
A very important client, who may or may not be sleeping with his boss depending on who which office gossiper you listened to, had filed a complaint about Marcus on Monday. She had the nerve to call the software update on her company’s computers that he’d completed the week before…a bug filled shoddy piece of crap.
His boss, Andrew, had of course, taken her side, That alone had annoyed Marcus. Andrew knew how ancient that company’s systems were, it was him who’d completed the assessment. His boss also knew just how much time and effort Marcus had put into getting their systems up to scratch.
Andrew had called him into the office this afternoon and silently handed him a very thick grey, folder. After flicking through the wad of typed notes, he’d thrown the folder on the desk in disgust. That horrible woman had only gone and had his work analysed by her own in-house team, no doubt the very people who had buggered up the systems in the first place. The folder contained dozens of pages full of typed notes suggesting ‘improvements’.
In retrospect, it may not have been the brightest of ideas to tell the boss that there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going back there; he also said that Janice’s head was stuffed full of donkey shit. No, it wasn’t a good idea, especially if he really was boning the bitch.
He slammed his head back against the chair and shut his eyes; he thought that chilling out in front of the box would help him forget his work troubles. Andrew had suspended him for a few days pending an investigation; he wasn’t particularly bothered, he’d been thinking of looking for alternative employment anyway. He needed a better-paid job; this place was costing them a bloody fortune to rent.
The football had indeed helped him forget his work troubles, but it sure as hell had not chilled him out.
No way should that ref had allowed that goal, the bastard needed a pair of glasses. No, fuck the glasses; he needed a new set of eyes. Marcus kept his own eyes shut whilst the adverts came on. The chances of United getting moved up this year were dramatically dwindling down to nothing. Half time already, and City were already two up. Oh, this was a disaster.
He gazed at his denim wallet on the table. If this carried on he’d be thirty quid down at the end of the match. Money he couldn’t afford to lose, particularly if Andrew was going to show him the door.
The guy who owned the Mill bar had bet him that City would trash his team. Marcus and Bonzo had emptied a few bottles of expensive red wine by the time the bar owner mentioned the wager, but even so, at the time Marcus thought his team could still pull out a rabbit.
“I don’t believe this, that filthy whore is at it again.”
His eyes snapped open. Marcus looked away from a talking dog trying to sell him car insurance toward the apartment door. He ran his appraising eyes across his girlfriend’s bare legs, along that tight, brown dress covering her well-proportioned torso until he reached the back of her head. Marcus tutted and expelled a noisy sigh.
Not that long ago, Linda would have given him a right bollocking for making that noise, but that was the old Linda. The girl whom he’d fallen in love with was now hidden deep inside this strange woman. Maybe not that strange; Marcus remembered another woman who displayed the same traits as Linda, her own mother. His darling young wife now acted just like her own mum.
He looked past her silver-streaked, short hair, and to her eye pressed against the spy hole.
“You won’t believe what that sl
utty woman was wearing when she opened the door to Mr. Baldy.”
Unlike his wife, he didn’t really care what his neighbours got up to behind closed doors. His fraternising with his fellow occupants stopped with the occasional nod and hello. Marcus didn’t even know their names despite living in close proximity for over a month.
Linda’s pet name for that statuesque blonde who lived across from them had been spat out of his wife’s lips on many occasions.
Marcus knew who she was all right. He’d have to be as blind as that ref not to notice that one. You could have gotten lost down her cleavage. He’d often wondered what she was like between the sheets; from Linda’s accounts, she had men knocking on her door every night
Marcus grinned. He’d stake more than thirty quid that she was a right little minx in bed. Now that was one bet he’d like to wager with Bonzo.
He gazed with yearning at Linda’s beautiful legs; she was his little minx until a few months ago. As each day passed, it became harder to remember the old Linda.
Everything was just peachy until that tragedy befell Linda’s mother just a few days after they’d moved into their new apartment. A white BMW mounted the pavement at the same time her mother had just left Top Shop. The poor woman never stood a chance.
The police found the burnt out remains of the car a couple of days later, sat in the middle of a playing field, still smoking. They never found the driver though. Personally, Marcus didn’t think they looked hard enough, the little bastard was bound to live on that rough estate behind their apartments. Where else could he have lived?
Her mother’s death hit Linda bloody hard. He expected a couple of weeks grieving, but he thought she’d be at least back on the recovery road by now. He couldn’t understand why she was acting like this. It’s not as if they’d been that close. Linda had told him many times that her mum was off her rocker and needed putting in a home. He sighed again.
The match would be back on any second. Marcus stood up and padded over to Linda, wondering if he ought to give her a hug or something. She’d been doing this curtain twitching now for almost a week now.