Blood Crazy

by Simon Clark

  She kissed my face and throat and chest, moving hard now, panting. My hands caressed her breasts, tanned golden by day after day of sunshine.

  ‘Don’t leave me, don’t you ever leave me, don’t, ah … Nick, don’t leave me … promise.’

  ‘I promise … Ah … I’d be mad … to leave … this … You are BEAUTIFUL! JESUS …’

  Ten minutes later we lay still, limbs and bedding tangled, watching the dust motes ride the sunbeams.

  ‘It’s better, isn’t it, Nick?’

  ‘It gets better every time.’

  ‘No …’ She giggled. ‘I’m not talking about sex now. The community’s better now Boxer’s in charge.’

  ‘Don’t you miss the awesome powers you used to wield on the Steering Committee?’

  ‘No. Power seems attractive when you haven’t got it. When you have it, it brings problems, loads and loads of problems.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Jealousy. Some people, Nick Aten, resented being told what to do. Don’t pull a face, it’s true. And there was responsibility for people’s lives and well-being. We lost people on the way here. If we’d been smarter and more experienced they’d still be alive now …’

  ‘You’re thinking of Jo and the others in the mini-bus?’

  ‘In fact, they would still be alive if we’d listened to you, Nick.’

  We talked for a while. The situation did seem better; we were even relieved that the summer-long party was over; it had, maybe, been a kind of wake for our past life, family and friends who had been obliterated on that day in April.

  Sarah stroked my stomach thoughtfully. ‘Dave Middleton’s happier now; things aren’t being run exactly the way he wants but at least there’s some kind of order, the community’s working again. And he was right, you know. One day we’re going to have to learn to survive properly and that means planting crops, looking after live-stock, even making our own clothes and tools.’

  I grunted. Sarah’s gentle stroking was more interesting than what she was saying.

  ‘The only person who’s still cheesed off,’ she said, ‘is Martin. Did you hear about when he went to Boxer to ask for people to be assigned for research? What he got were Boxer’s boots to polish. Six pairs. Nick, are you listening? Nick … Ahhh! Not with your tongue – it tickles …’

  Shrieking with laughter, she pulled me over her. We rolled onto the floor laughing.

  We were still making love when we heard the gunshots.

  Someone was shooting rats, or crows, or tin cans – who cared. Sarah’s long legs were wrapped around my back. This was my universe beneath a cotton sheet – a place full of heat, excitement and endless delight.

  * * *

  The hammering on the door came fifteen minutes later.

  ‘Nick! Sarah!’ Dave’s voice came through the door like a bullet. ‘Get downstairs as quickly as you can! Something terrible’s happened.’

  ‘What’s wrong? Dave, what is it?’ called Sarah as she pulled on her T-shirt. Dave was already gone, hammering on other bedroom doors down the passageway.

  As I dragged on my jeans the feeling hit me as bright as the bloody sunshine. ‘The shit’s just gone and hit the fan again.’

  We stood under the apple trees looking down at him.

  Dave pointed with a stick. ‘Eight, nine … ten. Holy Father, the poor boy. There’s another one. Eleven bullet wounds.’

  Whoever had shot Boxer had done a thorough job. He lay flat on his back looking like he’d been dipped in blood. One bullet had drilled through the back of his head, straight through his brain to partly erupt from his forehead. The bullet looked like a brass stud set in the skin.

  ‘Creosotes?’ asked Simon, his face as white as paper.

  Dave shook his head. ‘Murder.’ He covered the body with a blanket. ‘One of us did this … Simon. Bring a couple of the older ones to move the body to the stables. We’ll bury him later. Billy … Christopher.’ Two twelve-year-olds came forward. ‘Please go round everyone in the community and ask them … No, tell them … They must assemble on the driveway in front of the main entrance at eleven o’clock sharp. I’m going to make an announcement. Janet, will you please run down to the village and ask Martin and Kitty to join me in my office. Thank you.’

  At ten to eleven we were all waiting. Martin stood at the front, near the steps up to the main entrance where Dave would make his speech. Sarah had already guessed it would be a belt-tightening, shoulder-to-the-grindstone sermon, followed by an announcement that there would be democratic elections for a new Steering Committee and leader.

  No one talked. The sun climbed higher. It grew hotter. Sweat began to run down my forehead.

  Dave Middleton appeared. He held out his arms in the communal embrace we knew of old, his expression serious.

  He opened his mouth – but he never got a chance to speak. Out from the hotel swaggered Curt and Jonathan. Curt pushed Dave firmly forward down the three steps to the driveway.

  Dave turned annoyed but he shut his mouth when he saw Curt carried the Kalashnikov and Jonathan a pump-action shotgun.

  Curt shouted, ‘Listen. We’re going to cut through the crap. Someone’s topped Boxer. We’re going to find out who did it – and believe me they’ll wish they were never frigging well born.’

  Jonathan smirked while Curt talked.

  Curt lifted up the assault rifle so everyone could see it. ‘Until this is sorted out, me and Jonathan are taking charge. Get it? From now on – we’re your bosses.’

  They’d wasted no time in breaking into Boxer’s gunroom. Or maybe they just took the key from his body.

  ‘Jonathan’s going to read out a list of names. Those people come and stand behind me. The rest can piss off. Ah-ah … When I give the order, boys and girls.’

  Jonathan read out the names. Sarah caught my eye as two dozen delinquents, bullies, morons and good-for-nothing shits who had caused all the trouble in the community lined up behind Jonathan, smug grins twisting their faces.

  ‘And just to remind you we mean business.’ Curt pulled back the bolt on the Kalashnikov. ‘I’ll give you to the count of three to get down on your knees. One, two—’ He pulled the trigger blasting a stream of bullets low over our heads.

  With the explosions hammering our eardrums we scrambled on all fours across the dirt to hide in the bushes.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tyranny

  The long, hot summer ended with a bang. The afternoon they buried Boxer the mother of all thunderstorms battered Eskdale. Rain turned fields to mud; rivers ran down the roads.

  The following morning, the first day of October, as our new masters slept off the effects of the wake they had held for Boxer, I walked through the orchard under a sky full of cloud mountains. With me were Martin Del-Coffey, Sarah, Kitty and Dave. Our expressions were just plain worried.

  ‘I really thought the community was coming together again.’ Dave lightly rubbed the blister on his cheek where Curt had stubbed out his cigar after Boxer’s funeral. ‘Boxer maintained discipline. Everyone was back at work again.’

  I said, ‘Boxer could crack heads but he wasn’t bright. When you’re leader you have to keep looking back over your shoulder to see who’s coming up with the knife.’

  ‘So now we have these two gentlemen.’ Del-Coffey sniffed. ‘You know they’re petty tyrants. All they’ll do is run this place to gratify their own perverted appetites.’

  Dave shook his head; inside he was hurting. ‘Jonathan … I can’t believe it of him. He was actually in the choir of St Timothy’s. He taught at Bible study classes.’

  ‘This last few months has changed people,’ said Sarah. ‘By all accounts Curt had been in trouble with the police over the last few years: Nick’s told me if there was a fight in a nightclub Curt was often at the back of it.’

  ‘But he always disappeared as soon as the fists began to fly,’ I added. ‘Now he’s developed into a real hard nut.’

  Sarah looked at each of us sharply.
‘I don’t think we’re under any illusion who murdered Boxer yesterday?’

  Del-Coffey looked round uneasily as if the apple trees had fruited ears.

  Sarah drove on. ‘Curt and Jonathan did it. They lured Boxer down here, then shot him. They had this takeover planned.’

  Kitty said in her soft Asian tones, ‘And from what I have seen they are quite shrewd. Immediately they have recruited those who might pose a future threat to them and are buying their loyalty with possessions and power. And from what I have heard on the grapevine Curt is going to create a harem for himself.’

  Del-Coffey picked an apple from the tree. ‘And these girls are going to have no choice in the matter. You can add rape to the crime of murder.’

  I suddenly felt uncomfortable. ‘Hey, hold on. Is this a meeting of the Steering Committee or what? You are talking as if we’re actually going to do something about all this. You know there’s no cops we can go to; we can’t stick those guys in jail.’

  ‘That’s exactly what we’re saying.’ Dave’s red-rimmed eyes fixed on me. ‘Nick, we have to take back … no, seize, grab onto control of this community and never let go. If we don’t, all we can look forward to in the short term is torture and slavery from those thugs … In the long term we’ll die – you can be sure of that. If we’re not farming the land within the next twelve months we’ll die of starvation.’

  ‘And death might come faster than that.’ Del-Coffey bit into the apple. ‘Tell them, Kitty.’

  ‘Martin and I have continued to study the affected adults we call Creosote. There are small groups moving round the area. Everyone has seen the photographs Martin has taken. Some of the individuals have been identified as mothers and fathers of members of our community.’

  ‘But they don’t pose a threat, do they?’ I objected. ‘The most they’ve done is watch their sons and daughters here at the hotel. At the moment that seems as life-threatening as mummy and daddy walking down to school at play-time to watch their kids playing hopscotch.’

  ‘But don’t you see, Nick?’ Sarah sounded exasperated. ‘There is some instinct that drives our parents to find us. And to watch us. We all know what happened six months ago. Martin and Kitty believe it will happen again. Only this time it won’t be a frenzied, mindless attack. Nick, our mothers and fathers are studying us … Then they will work out a way of finishing what they started.’

  ‘So,’ said Dave, ‘what we need to do is this: we will—’

  ‘Dave … Not that way. Keep away from the hotel.’ Del-Coffey cut off towards the bottom of the orchard. His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘In a day or two our new bosses are going to get very paranoid. Every time they see more than two people talking together – the way we’re doing at present – they’re going to suspect we’re plotting a coup d’état.’

  Sarah glanced back at the hotel. ‘And that’s exactly what we’re going to have to do.’

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I think we’re being too hasty here. Why not give it a week or two? Curt might settle down once he sees being boss isn’t so easy.’

  Del-Coffey bit off another lump of apple. ‘We can’t wait. One. I’ve seen enough of those two to know they’ll be first-rate tyrants. With Curt’s sadistic streak that’ll make life unpleasant for us all. Two. If Family Creosote walk up to those gates now, there’s damn all we can do to stop them killing every single one of us.’

  Dave said, ‘This is what we do, then: we remove Curt and Jonathan as leaders. Then we appoint a new leader. Boxer, for all his faults, showed us the way. We need someone who’s not afraid to discipline wrong-doers fairly but firmly – very, very firmly.’

  I asked, ‘Who will be leader?’

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,’ said Dave. But I noticed he and Del-Coffey looked at one another as if sharing a secret.

  ‘Then,’ said Del-Coffey, ‘we have to turn the hotel into a fortress. We’ve got the ten-foot walls and the gates. But we need to dig a deep ditch around the outside of the walls, then beyond that security fencing topped with barbed wire. Probably an electrified fence would be pretty useful, too. Around the perimeter we will have watch posts. We will have a team of armed guards, trained to deal with any Creosotes should they attack. Within the compound will be—’

  ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute.’ I held up a finger. ‘I know I’m thinking a lot more slowly than any of you. But you said we had to remove Curt and Jonathan as leaders. It might seem a minor detail but they’re armed to the teeth – so are their bodyguards. We’ve no guns, so how do you propose to do it?’

  They looked at me as if I’d poured cold water on a flawless plan. I was sorry about that. But I remembered Boxer’s bullet-punctured body. And I wanted to stay alive.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Harem

  Twenty-four hours later Sarah was still mad at me. She came back into our room, slamming the door. Her eyes flashed, her hair swung about her shoulders as she paced the floor.

  I sat up in bed and groaned. ‘Look, when are we going to stop this argument? What do you expect from me? I’ve listened to what you, Del-Coffey and Dave Middleton have said. Okay, kick out Curt and Jonathan, appoint a new leader. I agree, but how the hell do we do that? Those guys are armed and dangerous. Why not give them a few weeks? With experience they might turn out to be good leaders.’

  ‘Not if you heard what I’ve just heard.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Do you know what happened this morning? No, you lie there in bed and rot. I’ll list them for you. One: Martin Del-Coffey has some drums of fuel in his garage. Those two bastards said that they wanted them. Martin asks why. And do you know what they did, Nick? Broke two of his fingers. He didn’t even say no, they couldn’t have the fuel. He only asked why.’ She paced, punching one hand into the other. ‘Two: young children have been beaten for not keeping quiet outside our new leaders’ rooms. Three: at this moment, Curt is sitting in the dining room writing a list. It’s a list of girls’ names. Now, listen to this … Curt intends to personally make all the girls on the list pregnant. He’s decided we need to increase the population of the community – but with good, strong blood – his blood.’

  ‘Christ, he’s mad.’ I sat up in bed. ‘What are you doing?’

  Sarah began to pile her clothes into a suitcase.

  ‘Wait … Sarah, are you on the list?’

  ‘I’m right at the top. He says he’s got a hard-on, and it’d be a shame to waste it.’

  I stood and stared at her. The blood roared in my ears.

  She looked at me, waiting for a reaction. Then she sighed and went to look out of the window, arms folded.

  ‘No, that’s not fair, Nick. I tried to provoke you into actually doing something about those two.’

  ‘There is no list?’

  ‘Oh, there’s a list all right … I’m not on it. Do you know why?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Those two have obviously taken a shine to you, Nick Aten. You’re allowed to keep me as your own personal plaything. Kitty’s on the list, though. And I imagine in another two or three years so will my sisters. As Curt put it this morning, “when girls are old enough to bleed they’re old enough to butcher.”’

  ‘It’s sickening.’

  ‘It is, but until someone does something about those two we’re just going to have to grin and bear it.’

  ‘Where are you going, then?’

  ‘I’m moving in with Martin and Kitty. It’s not as far away from here as I’d like but it’ll have to do. Any time you want a chat you know where I’ll be. Bye.’

  I dressed and went outside. A cold wind blew and I knew we’d seen the last of the summer. Someone had rigged up the sound system’s speakers under tarpaulins and the music still blasted as loud as it had done through those hot summer days and nights.

  It was like walking through a deserted funfair. The music still plays. Only there is something mournful and lonely about it now.

  Curt and Jonathan – an
d their bodyguards, now known as the Crew – were lining up cars on the drive. They were planning a couple of hours chasing one another across country. No doubt firing their Uzis at the sky as they went.

  Sarah had said the two thought enough about me not to turn me into one of their slaves as they were doing with the rest of the community. I had got on well with them over the last few weeks, we’d had some good laughs together. But there had to be more to it than that.

  I had the answer two minutes later.

  One of the Crew was a car short. He saw Slatter sitting on the Porsche on the lawn.

  The Crew member, looking like a rebel warrior with shades and bandanna, shotgun cockily over one shoulder, swaggered across toward Slatter.

  I knew what the bodyguard intended. He’d go across to Slatter and tell him to shift off the Porsche.

  Anyone else would have jumped off the car as if it was hot enough to sizzle steak.

  Slatter’s eyes came down from where they had been gazing over the treetops. He didn’t move, he didn’t say anything, he just stared with those two laser eyes at the kid.

  You could see the kid just droop – his shoulders dropped, the shotgun hung down limp in his hands. He tried to treat it lightly with a nervous laugh, but you could see that Slatter had scared him.

  ‘I’ll go get the Audi,’ he shouted back at his mates, then walked away from Slatter as quickly as he could.

  Over the last few days I’d kept an eye on how people reacted under the new leadership – who were the lickspittles, who kept their mouths shut, who complained too much and who was likely to rebel.

  Slatter was a hard case; he wasn’t afraid of the terrible twosome like we were. Then, neither would Slatter side with them, nor would he try to oust them, so they knew he wasn’t a threat.

  At that moment I saw how they viewed him. To Curt, Jonathan and their cronies Slatter was a god. Okay, he was a Dark God, a Savage God, but a god all the same. They could have shot him as easily as they would a sheep. But we lived in superstitious times. They would have been too afraid of his ghost stamping up the stairs for them at the dead of night.