Rhos Meadow

by Lex Sinclair

  I hope the surgeon I spoke to and the other scientific experts have found an antidote to this disease... or whatever you want to call it. It’s like cancer on steroids. Otherwise this diary isn’t so much something to get me through the days ahead but my last contact with a world far beyond the realm that I used to call home. Now I call it the town that belongs to the dead.

  I can see Rhos Meadow and everyone in it - the infected and the uninfected - being quarantined. What will ensue then is anyone’s guess. They could see in the military to shoot everything that moves. Or they could come and rescue the last remaining survivors and drop a B-52 on the town, obliterating every last trace of Rhos Meadow and surrounding areas.

  In two days time it’ll be Christmas Day.

  More like Judgement Day.

  Diana finished reading the last sentence and took a sip of her Pepsi.

  ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

  Diana regarded her daughter with a solemn expression. ‘Nothing, I guess. But the gentleman who wrote this had the same trouble we are in. I can relate to it, that’s all. I wish I couldn’t.’

  Tulisa sipped her Pepsi and took another bite out of her sandwich. Diana felt the corners of her mouth curling upwards. Here they were in this godforsaken town cut off from the outside world, blinded by the fog, hiding from the infected, and Tulisa sat opposite her like any child would on an ordinary, peaceful day eating her food. Tulisa’s pure innocence and the sensitivity she possessed kept her placated when everyone around her was going insane.

  ‘Jack say’s if you’re gonna read the rest of it now’s the time. Sooner or later the police guy will have to awoken and we must destroy the infected. Jack say’s we need to make a big noise so that the military and government people will know.’

  Choking back tears, Diana said, ‘Tell Jack that whatever happens to me and Eric I want him to look after you.’

  After a few moments Tulisa said, ‘Jack’ll try and save us all by guiding us. But it is up to us to save ourselves in the end.’

  ‘I wish I could see him.’

  ‘When the time comes, Mum, Jack say’s you shall see everything.’

  ‘How did you ever grow up to be so brave?’

  Tulisa smiled radiantly. ‘I learned from the best.’

  14.

  THEN

  December 25, 2014

  Alan tapped the red button on the side of the binoculars that belonged to Greg. He perched himself on a straight-backed wooden chair in the spare bedroom in Bobbie and Abigail’s home and. The zoom-in mode transported him within several feet of Greg, Mary and Bobbie. They’d drawn straws to see which three would risk their lives and cross the main road towards the Texaco garage convenience store.

  Abigail waited on tenterhooks downstairs, nerves in tatters. She watched their progress from the living room window and would throw the front door open when - if - they made it back to the sanctuary with provisions.

  Although Alan silently thanked God for not drawing one of the shortest straws he didn’t want to be watching from the confines of a locked farmhouse as his closest friends placed themselves in great peril.

  The odds on them surviving were stacked towering against them. If they wanted to persevere and be patient then they needed food and drink to keep them going. It wouldn’t do any good staying indoors out of harms way if they were going to starve to death in less than a week.

  Through the lens of the binoculars, Alan watched as Greg followed closely behind Bobbie and Abigail as they hurried across the street onto the Meadow garage parking bay. The convoy of caravans and cars sat idly. Their once gleaming bodywork had now been reduced to rusting boxes of metal, dirt obscured from the plumes of dust swirling in the shrieking wind.

  Tony would’ve never have let that happen if he were alive, Alan thought.

  Tony Little who a couple of years earlier had been seen by Greg and Bobbie digging up a corpse only someone whom had buried the body would have known was there. Tony had evidently killed and buried the corpse. Only, like something out of and EC comic book from the 1950’s, when he dug it back up the corpse still had life in it.

  Alan fought back the bile rising in his oesophagus and returned his full attention on the figures crossing the filling station and disappearing inside the store. He wiped a film of sweat off his furrowed brow. Then he took a sip of water.

  The silence didn’t do anything to abate the anxiety. The silence possessed a foreboding ambience that froze the marrow. The silence had a supernatural eminence that could only be felt on a subliminal level, creating a profound trepidation Alan couldn’t explain. Its presence enveloped him and Rhos Meadow, shielding it from all tranquillity; an invisible bubble ensconcing around the small town from the world beyond.

  The thunderous blast that shattered the silence sent Alan toppling backwards off the chair. He crashed to the floor, paralysed with fear. In the next moment, he leapt to his feet and rushed to the window. He bent and blindly grabbed the binoculars and focused on the Texaco garage store. The binoculars were useless in his trembling grasp. He willed himself to stop shaking but had lost all control of himself.

  The blast that had resonated from across the street was the sound of Greg’s shotgun going off. If the gun had been fired, something unforeseen had transpired. Something Alan didn’t dare think about. And yet, it was the not knowing what had happened that caused his body to shake and his mind to become disarrayed. The whirlwind of panic assailed Alan similar to how he’d envisioned that little girl assailing Harold Banks.

  ‘Alan. Did you hear that?’ Abigail shouted.

  ‘Don’t open that door whatever you do,’ Alan bellowed. ‘Not until they get back.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  In spite of the ludicrous question, which Alan had no answer to, he shouted, ‘Could be Greg had to shoot one of the infected; had to happen sooner or later. Stay alert. They’ll be back any time now.’

  He listened to Abigail’s footfalls moving away from the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Please be all right,’ Alan murmured.

  He used the cuff of his shirt to wipe the beads of sweat from dripping into his eyes. Then he almost head butted the windowpane at the sight of the convenience store flying open.

  ‘Oh fuck, no,’ Alan whimpered.

  The harrowing sight of Bobbie half carrying, half walking Mary across the street while Greg watched their backs was surreal. Alan had to remove the binoculars and peer out the window with his own eyes to believe what he was seeing.

  Greg pivoted like a trained soldier and darted across the parking bay. A figure donning a white apron sprayed the rectangle window with red fluid then moved out of Alan’s peripheral sight. Greg used his right leg to kick the Meadow Fish Bar & Restaurant/Café open. A brilliant white flash ignited from the shotgun before being consumed by the inexorable dark.

  A couple of minutes later Greg emerged. The barrel of the shotgun coughed blue smoke. He opened the weapon and an empty shell popped out. Greg reloaded and buried the butt of the shotgun into his shoulder and jogged across the road.

  As Bobbie and Mary drew closer Alan could see all too clearly the crimson liquid pumping out of the vicious neck wound. The red fountain stained Mary’s white hood sweater. Her pallid face had shrunk around prominent cheekbones. Bobbie struggled with exertion to carry Mary whose strength ebbed as rapidly as her life fluid poured out of her.

  Alan dropped the expensive binoculars and darted for the door. He cornered the banister faster than Usian Bolt and flew down the stairs. Abigail stood in his way and he shoved her to the floor towards the front door. There was no time to deliberate his actions and the risk he put himself in. Alan no longer cared about himself. Mary was dying. Bobbie was struggling. Greg had to be overcome by shock and grief. If more of the infected saw them they wouldn’t make back inside.

/>   ‘What the hell happened?’ Alan cried.

  The ragged pieces of flesh around the neck wound flapped in the breeze.

  Together, taking an arm each, Alan and Bobbie got Mary up the path. The front door opened and Abigail swayed on her feet, eyes rolling.

  ‘Ab, get a bandage or something to staunch the flow. Now.’

  Abigail held onto the doorframe in a white-knuckle grip. She snapped out of her dizziness, whirled and darted up the stairs. Her heavy footfalls shook the stairs. Alan and Bobbie dragged Mary into the living room and gently lowered her onto the sofa.

  Immediately, Bobbie slapped his hand over the gushing wound and pressed hard. Alan ran to the kitchen, drew cold water from the tap and filled the glass. He returned and brought the rim of the glass to Mary’s lips. She sipped the water, drinking greedily. Bobbie backhanded the glass, knocking to the floor and spilling a pool on the carpet.

  ‘What the fu -’

  ‘Our tap water is contaminated, remember? You’re making it worse givin’ her that shit.’

  Without answering back, Alan bent down and took the glass back to the kitchen. He filled the glass with Diet Coke.

  Greg slammed the door shut behind him, threw the bolt, dropped the shotgun on the floor and rushed over to his wife. Mary guzzled the Diet Coke until a coughing fit assailed her.

  The sound of Abigail’s footfalls thudding on the stairs preceded her. She threw the safety pin on the floor in haste and wrapped the roll of bandage around Mary’s neck. Greg lifted Mary’s head off the sofa. The white bandage instantly turned scarlet.

  ‘You need to keep pressure on the wound, Bobbie,’ Abigail said. ‘The bandage itself won’t stop the blood.’

  Alan averted his gaze from Mary’s snow white face. Her head lolled onto Greg’s shoulder. The tightly wrapped bandage would only soak up so much blood for so long. Inevitably, Mary’s neck wound would need to be treated. Alan was no doctor or surgeon. However, the fact hat it was her neck and the wound was so deep meant it had to be fatal. Eve if they did have a signal and could get her to a hospital on time, the likelihood that Mary would survive was astronomical.

  ‘Guys, what he hell happened?’ Alan said in a hoarse voice.

  Mary’s eyes slowly blinked and then closed.

  Greg and Bobbie exchanged a look of despair.

  ‘You saw us going into the store, right?’ Bobbie asked.

  Alan nodded.

  ‘When we went inside we grabbed a basket each and started roaming the store for provisions. About a minute into doing this we heard a creaking sound. At first I told Greg it was just the wind outside. Nothing to worry ourselves over. Then we heard a muffled scream coming from restaurant/café next door. It must’ve been one helluva scream if we could hear it through the walls.

  ‘I know this sounds callous but I wanted to ignore it and get outta there. In hindsight that’s what we should’ve done. But Mary said it could be someone we knew who needed our help and were all alone. Greg’s always said she’s too good for herself. But as Greg had a weapon and whoever it was desperately needed our help we acted on our conscience. Or rather we acted on Mary’s good conscience.’

  ‘But I didn’t see you coming out until the sound of the shotgun going off. When you were carrying Mary.’

  Bobbie nodded. ‘Yeah. We went the back way. There’s a storeroom which was open. If you go in there and follow the shelves to the far wall and turn to your right you’ll see the fire exit. Open that and you end up in a hallway. Ignore the fire exit and take the door on your left and you’ll find yourself in the back of the fish bar and restaurant. That’s what we did.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ Abigail wanted to know, sitting down next to Alan.

  ‘D’you remember our reaction to 911?’ Bobbie asked both Alan and Abigail. ‘Remember how you came over Alan with the news. We turned the TV on and watched the second plane fly right into the tower. The orange-red explosion that rocked us out of our seats, as though we’d been hit. Then the collapse of the trade centre towers and mushroom clouds swarming over all those innocent people, blocking out daylight.’

  ‘Yeah. I remember,’ Alan said.

  ‘I remember saying to you that the people who were there at the time; their lives would never be the same thereafter.

  ‘What I saw in the restaurant/café changed my life for good. I have never been so frightened in all my life. Not purely because of the macabre I saw before me with my own naked eyes but the surrealism of it all. The shock that makes even atheists pray to God. I kept saying in my mind “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. How can it be? It’s too horrific.” My conscience reminding me that it was real. It was happening. And it was happening to me. And what I saw was too horrific. But I saw it nonetheless.

  Bobbie didn’t speak for a couple of minutes.

  ‘You still haven’t answered the question?’ Abigail pointed out.

  ‘I’m wondering whether it’s a good idea to tell you or not. Some things are best not knowing. I understand now why men and women who come back from war don’t talk about what went on over there. Some things are best not knowing.’

  ‘Just tell them and get it over with,’ Greg said.

  Bobbie threw his hands up in the air as if to say “fine”.

  ‘We saw...’ He paused, taking a deep breath. ‘We saw Dennis Wilson, Sara Banks and Brenda Davies kneeling on the ground bent over something we couldn’t see at first. Greg took the lead. A shattered coffee mug was on the floor. Greg’s foot inadvertently kicked a shard across the linoleum. They turned and stared at us at the same time. They -’

  ‘They’re infected. Their eyes were swimming in dark blood,’ Greg said, seeing Bobbie struggling to tell the story.’

  ‘Brenda got up and rushed at us. Greg swung the shotgun like he was batting for Boston Red Sox and cracked her on the side of the head with the stock. She staggered into the counter and slapped the floor hard. She got up and ran out of the place.

  ‘As they got up we could see what they were huddled over.’ Bobbie stopped and rubbed his hands down his haggard features.’

  ‘What they were huddling over was the remains of Caroline Jacobs,’ Greg continued.

  ‘Remains?’ Abigail asked.

  Remains it was,’ Bobbie said. ‘Sara, Brenda and Dennis had pried open her ribcage with inhuman strength. They’d been devouring her insides like starving children in third world countries discovering chocolate cake. We’d interrupted their meal.

  ‘Greg trained the shotgun on Dennis. Dennis stood still, chest going up and down. He was still chewing chunks of intestine and other pieces of flesh. To say it was grotesque would be an understatement. I mean this was Dennis Wilson we were staring at. Nice as pie Dennis. The nice guy who’d cooked our food in that stifling kitchen all day, six days a week. If he wasn’t working in the kitchen you didn’t see him. Probably too exhausted to do anything besides go home at the end of a long day and collapse on the sofa.

  ‘The difference between us and them is we care. Greg couldn’t bring himself to shoot Dennis. Mary and I understood. I’ve never shot anyone, neither has Greg until today. It’s as if there is this invisible barrier preventing you from doing such a thing because normally it’d never cross your mind.

  ‘Meanwhile, behind us - unbeknownst to us - Brenda Davies had skulked back into the room. She leapt on Mary and sunk her teeth into her neck. Mary screamed and flailed, doing her utmost to get Brenda off her back. I grabbed a bloodied kitchen knife and rammed it into Brenda’s back without thinking. Brenda groaned, released her vice-like teeth from Mary. Mary collapsed into one of the booths. I staggered over a saucer and landed painfully on my rump. Brenda towered over me, blood dripping from her mouth. Her eyes were black and glinting with a malevolent fervour. I couldn’t move if I wanted it to, and had I been on
my own I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.

  ‘Brenda’s head explode in a fountain of red mist, bone and ragged flesh. I instantly closed my eyes and shuddered at the cold blood drenching me.’

  ‘That must’ve been the gun shot we heard,’ Alan said.

  ‘Greg ran at Dennis and smashed the butt of the shotgun into his face. Dennis got knocked back several yards, grunting and grasping his shattered nose. Then we helped Mary to her feet and got the hell outta there. Greg went back in when we were outside and shot Dennis in the skull, obliterating the left side.’

  Greg, who had been cradling his wife’s limp head in his hands, looked up at his friends and said in a hollow tone, ‘Mary’s dead...’

  ***

  Abigail shook her head in denial. ‘If she’s dead how can she still have a pulse?’

  Greg glanced at Bobbie and Alan, pleading with them that they weren’t thinking what he was thinking. Alan removed his glasses. His eyes seemed to shrink. When they met Greg’s gaze they expressed a profound sorrow. Bobbie nodded once, knowing what Greg was thinking.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Greg whimpered.

  ‘What? What is it? Someone tell me,’ Abigail cried.

  ‘When Mary wakes she’ll no longer be... Mary,’ Alan said, fighting back tears.

  Bobbie put an arm around Greg who started sobbing. ‘You know what has to be done,’ he said. ‘To keep her memory alive and set her spirit free you must do it. Mary would’ve wanted you to in these circumstances. You know that deep down, don’t you?’ Bobbie rubbed Greg’s shuddering shoulders using as gentle voice as he could.

  After a minute passed, Greg nodded in acquiescence.

  ‘I don’t want to do it here,’ Greg said.

  ‘That’s fair enough,’ Bobbie said. ‘Where’re you gonna do it?’

  ‘Our house. Mary loved our house. If it came to this, then that’s what she would’ve wanted.’