Their eyes met for a second and he saw she’d have no problem doing what he’d asked. There was still enough hate in her to power a city. He took the towel away and she upended the bottle over what remained of his ear.
‘Aaaarrgh! Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIIIITTT.’
The exposed flesh turned white as it fizzed. He forced the urge to hit her back down again. They had to concentrate on getting out. But it did cross his mind to wonder again why he’d come back for the bitch.
Never mind, Kev, just keep it moving.
He dropped the tea towel and when he looked at her again, she was crying.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t want us to hurt each other any more, Kevin. I’ve had enough. Enough for a lifetime. And I . . . I can’t believe you came back. I know I don’t deserve it.’
‘We’re not out of this yet, Tammy. The whole town’s infested with these things.’
‘The whole t -’
The sound of smashed glass and something heavy landing on the kitchen floor came from downstairs. It was a terrifying sound. The sound of an intelligent action, part of the landfill creatures’ plan.
Kevin took her hand.
‘Come on, we’re leaving.’
He ran from the bathroom to the spare room. He looked down into the back garden but couldn’t see anything out there. From the front door came the sound of writhing, moaning creatures on fire and the smell of burning plastic and charred meat.
He led Tammy to the top of the stairs. At the back door, he heard the lock being turned and the handle being pushed down. He cursed himself; in his haste, he’d left the rake in the kitchen. There had to be something in the house he could use. If the creatures weren’t very strong, keeping them at a distance would be enough. Perhaps they could reach the recess under the stairs. Then he could use the sweeping brush to keep whatever was in the kitchen at a safe range until they got out.
He descended the stairs more cautiously than he’d come up them, bringing Tammy by the hand behind him. Smoke was seeping in around the frame of the front door. It smelled like the paint and wood had caught fire; the whole house would catch soon. He didn’t plan to hang around long enough to see their home go up in flames.
At the bottom of the steps, he looked over the rail and into the kitchen. In the middle of the floor, surrounded by shattered glass, was a flower pot. It had also smashed when it hit the floor, scattering compost and jettisoning a geranium. But there was no movement in the kitchen and no sound inside the house other than his own breathing and heartbeat.
He motioned to Tammy that it was safe to move and together they stepped down into the front hallway. He signalled for her to stay behind him and then edged forwards towards the door of the storage recess under the stairs. He had to turn his back on the kitchen to open it. Even though he was stealthy, the hinge creaked because the wood had warped. It took three tugs to get the door open. Inside it was too gloomy to see what he needed.
‘Where’s the broom?’ he whispered. Tammy shook her head then remembered.
‘Outside the back door.’
‘Shit. There must be something else in here.’
Tammy leaned across and flicked the light switch for him.
Vacuum cleaner. Dustpan and brush. Bleach. Feather duster. Flimsy plastic mop.
‘Come on, come on.’
Then he saw the tool box.
‘Thank you, Lord.’
He crouched down to unsnap the latches. Inside was the nearest thing to a weapon he was going to find, his claw hammer. As he reached into the tool box he heard Tammy’s scream cut short. He leapt up with the hammer in time to see Tammy being dragged into the kitchen by her throat. Not all the creatures crawled any more. Not all of them were slow and small.
The thing had raised Tammy up off her feet and she was already struggling to stay conscious. She had both her hands around the creature’s arm, trying to lift herself out of its grip. The thing was hanging her alive. It had five arms and stood on two legs like an inverted centaur. A long, fat tail whipped wetly across the kitchen floor leaving smears of excrement. It was only when one of the thing’s free arms extended towards Tammy’s belly that Kevin finally moved. The arm ended in a pair of secateurs.
He swung the hammer down onto the arm holding Tammy and felt something break inside it. Tammy fell to the ground and staggered back against the wall. The limb that held her came away from the landfill creature, spilling stinking brown blood onto the tiles. Still the hand gripped her but now she could fight to tear it off. The landfill creature turned all its attention towards Kevin, reaching out with its remaining four arms. Scissors, pliers, meat cleaver and secateurs.
Kevin smashed the hammer sideways against the secateur arm but it was more resilient. The creature moved towards him, dragging its heavy tail. It didn’t really have a head, just an opening above what passed for its torso. Kevin could hear the shearing of blades coming from inside it. It walked on mostly human legs that appeared to have been cut into dozens of pieces and stitched back together with twine and green garden wire. He struck at it again, this time breaking the pliers hand so that it hung uselessly. The creature let out a moan of pain and misery.
With a grunted scream, Tamsin tore the dislocated hand and forearm from her throat and threw it across the kitchen. It fell into the sink where both of them could hear it scrabbling to escape. Edging around behind the thing, Tammy reached for the biggest implement in the wooden knife block, her Global carving knife. The blade was twelve inches long and sharp enough to cut bone. She moved into position behind the thing and lunged.
The creature screamed again, a howl of torment and frustration. It tried to turn towards Tammy but its tail slowed it down. Already she’d lunged again, this time with more confidence. But the deep thrusts seemed only to cause further leaks from the thing’s body, not real damage.
‘You’ve got to slash it, Tammy. Tear it open.’ She nodded.
Kevin swung the clawed end of his hammer across the flank of the thing, opening up skin and plastic to reveal a mess of cobbled organs and rubbish.
It was then, perhaps knowing that it would not survive, that the thing’s chest split to reveal a human head with the eyes missing. Those eyes, he now realised were set inside the creature’s shoulders. Despite the wet mess inside the creature they both recognised the face.
The head hissed one word,
‘Sssssssinners . . .’
Tammy’s eyes widened in recognition and then she lashed out with total fury, sweeping the blade from side to side and opening the thing up again and again. The screams of protest became weaker. Kevin tore at it with the claw hammer. The thing lost its physical integrity and began to fall apart, dropping dead parts to the tiles. It collapsed to the floor, sighed and was still.
Panting, Tammy spat on it.
‘Trashy bitch.’
In the sink, the creature’s still-living hand still flailed and tried to climb out. Kevin picked it up with a pair of barbecue tongs, threw it into the microwave and slammed the door.
‘How do like your garbage, Tammy?’
‘Cremated.’
19
There was something very sick, something cowardly, about watching it all from the bedroom window. But Ray couldn’t pull himself away. The scene outside was so similar to Revenant Apocalypse it wouldn’t have surprised him to discover a film crew parked up the street shooting a scene for the movie version of the game.
Accepting it was not a game took bollocks he wasn’t sure he possessed. If he wanted to survive and keep Delilah safe too, he knew he had to sharpen up, start taking it seriously. He had to come up with a plan. But from the safety of her bedsit, he was still removed enough to live in a bubble. Almost. The screams from the street and nearby houses were real. The creatures from the landfill were real. Their hunger was real.
; But it was so tempting to roll a joint and take a step back even farther from it all. That would be the simplest, easiest thing to do. And maybe, if they stayed very quiet and locked and bolted everything, the creatures would leave them alone until the government sent in the troops.
Delilah seemed to sense his thoughts and she pulled him away from the glass.
‘Let’s find something to fight with.’
‘We’re not going out on that street, D.’
‘No, but they might come in here. I want to be ready.’
He didn’t want to accept it but he knew it was true. He pulled on his Converse All Stars and tied them tightly, tucking the spare lengths of lace away inside them. If he was going to run, he was going to run fast. No silly mistakes. Delilah was pulling on one of her long, flowing, velvety dresses. Her boots had three inch soles.
‘D? Babe. Are you sure that’s appropriate attire?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘What I mean is, if we’re sprinting down the high street being chased by a throng of zombie cyborg trash, you don’t want to go tripping over your hem, do you? Haven’t you got some jeans?’
‘Denim?’
‘Well . . . Yeah . . . or, like, trousers or something.’
For a moment Ray thought she was going to lose her temper. He’d never paid her anything but compliments about the way she dressed before this.
‘I’ve got some combat trousers. But I dyed them black.’ Ray shook his head in disbelief.
‘I don’t give a toss what colour they are, D. What matters is can you run in them?’
‘Kidding, Ray. Okay?’ She was laughing now.
‘Very funny. What about those boots. Got anything . . . lower to the ground?’
‘Will trainers do?’
‘Yeah, fine.’
‘I dyed them black too.’
‘Delilah . . .’
She was already getting changed into her combats and she hadn’t lied, they were mottled charcoal and black. He watched her as she dressed. She filled her trousers in exactly the right places. On top she wore a tight black roll neck jumper over a sports bra, also black. Her trainers were silver; she winked and stuck out her tongue as she Velcroed them up.
‘What now?’ She asked.
‘Have you got a backpack? Black is fine.’
‘There’s one in the bottom of that wardrobe.’
‘We need some kind of weapon,’ said Ray, ‘and spare clothes in case we get stuck outside. Warm stuff, waterproofs, that kind of thing.’
She shook her head.
‘I’ve got nothing like that.’
He glanced out of the window.
‘Judging by the look of things out there, we should be able to borrow what we need from the shops without anyone getting upset.’
‘There’s an outdoor equipment place just up the road.’
‘Perfect.’
A thump from downstairs made both of them start.
‘Jesus,’ whispered Delilah with her hand on her heart. The thump came again, louder.
‘That’s the front door,’ she said.
‘Yeah. You’d have thought they might knock before trying to break it down.’ He peered down from the bedsit window.
‘I can’t make out what’s down there.’ Delilah chewed her lip.
‘It could be someone trying to escape from them,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Ray. ‘Here, let me open this.’
The window only opened far enough for him to stick his head through. It was enough.
He pulled back in, pale in the face.
‘Fuck knows what it is but it’s not a someone. It’s a some-thing. How strong is your front door?’
‘I’ve never needed to test it.’
‘Is there another way out of here? Like a fire escape or something?’
‘No. Just the main door.’ Ray was aghast.
‘Isn’t there a back garden?’
‘Well, there’s a small patch of paving and a load of weeds but no one ever seems to go out there.’
‘There has to be a back door, D. It must lead out there from one of the downstairs bedsits.’
‘How do you know there aren’t more of them out the back?’
‘I don’t.’
Whatever was outside the front door got more serious about coming in. The next impact sounded as though it had damaged the door. Ray grabbed the rucksack from the cupboard and slung it, empty, across his back. They’d have to stock up later.
‘Isn’t there anything we could use to defend ourselves?’ he asked.
She squatted down and groped under the bed for a few moments.
Another crash came from the front door.
‘Forget it, D, we’ve got to leave right now.’
‘Wait.’
With a sigh of satisfaction, she drew out a long, flat wooden box, carved with twined serpents. She flicked the two hasps and lifted the lid. Ray forgot all about the creature downstairs.
‘Where the fuck did you get that?’
‘Ex-boyfriend gave it to me. He was into Karate and jujitsu.’
‘Is it real?’
‘As far as I know.’
She handed Ray the ornate scabbard and he slipped six inches of steel into view. He was no expert but it certainly looked like a very real and very well looked after katana. Probably the kind of trophy taken by American soldiers from Japanese officers at the end of the Second World War. He kissed her.
‘This’ll do,’ he said. ‘This’ll do very nicely indeed.’
The front door came off its hinges. Ray stuck the scabbard through his belt, unsheathed the katana and opened Delilah’s bedsit door.
‘Whatever happens, stay a long way behind me until it’s clear, okay?’
‘Have you ever used one of these before?’
‘Yes. Kind of. Well, no, not really. But I’ve . . . it doesn’t matter. Just stay back.’
He edged out of the door onto the landing. It was a tiny house converted into four bedsits - two upstairs and two down. From the landing, the stairs led straight to the front door and the downstairs entry where the other bedsit front doors led off.
But Ray had stopped worrying about how to find and get out of the back door. Blocking the downstairs hall was something bigger than he’d expected. Much bigger. Filling the doorway from shattered lock to ripped-out hinges was a giant, black centipede raised up on its belly like a snake ready to strike. All along the exposed lower part of itself were two rows of human fingers that waved like cilia. Its face was an upside down satellite dish and set in the middle of it was a single cow’s eye. The transmitter protruded above it like a carrot and stick and at its tip was the centipede’s other eye. The mouth was below all of this, a twelve inch vertical slit lined with the tips of a hundred or more serrated bread knives, three rows deep. They reminded him of a shark’s maw.
The thing gurgled at him, more satisfied now to have its prey in front of it. The centipede wheezed like leaking bellows as it breathed but when it moved forward it was surprisingly fast. The severed fingers had become its legs and as they flickered, it glided along as though on a cushion of air. Its front half remaining upright cobra-like, it moved forwards and up the first three steps. The unblinkable eyes stared and swivelled. The shark’s-teeth knives clashed against each other.
Ray lifted the katana and chopped downwards, closing his eyes at impact, like a novice firing a handgun for the first time. When he opened them he saw he’d merely taken off the thing’s protruding eye. The creature shrank back, hissing and turning its ‘head’ from side to side until it could see the severed eye. It backed up on its hundreds of fingers, lay down on its front and when it raised up again, the eye that had been lying blind on the stairs was gone in
side the thing’s gnashing mouth. Shit, thought Ray, they even recycle themselves. The creature didn’t look happy to have lost a piece of itself and its remaining eye now appeared bloodshot with anger. It approached again more slowly and then lunged at Ray’s feet.
He brought the katana down in the centre of the thing’s concave head and spilt it open, but in trying to step back at the same time, he fell over, sitting down hard on the top step. The creature, he now realised, was the length of the whole staircase and almost as wide. It swarmed up towards him, its radar dish split almost in half but its teeth clamping shut again and again like machinery.
Ray scrabbled backwards and stood on the top step. Delilah had retreated back into her room to keep out of his way. Ray’s hands were shaking. His knuckles were raw, bone white.
He took a deep breath, raised the sword up and over his right shoulder, as he’d made his character do so many times in Revenant Apocalypse, and brought it down in a diagonal arc. Whatever he cut through in the movement was enough to finish the creature. It immediately sagged and deflated and a wash of foul, brown gore spilled down the cheap stair carpet. Hundreds of fingers from God knew how many previous victims twitched and were still.
He poked the mess with the tip of the katana but it no longer stirred. He sank to the floor.
Delilah edged out behind him.
‘Nice moves, Ray.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Where’d you learn to do that anyway?’ He glanced up at her.
‘Never let it be said that computer games are a waste of time. Or that they promote antisocial behaviour.’
‘That wasn’t exactly a friendly thing to do, babe,’ she said.
He looked up again, not amused. Delilah grinned
‘Sorry, Ray. Thanks for saving my life. You can put down the sword now.’
Ray looked at his hands but didn’t disarm.
‘Actually, I can’t seem to let go of the bloody thing. Can you help me?’
That was the first time Delilah had to peel Ray’s fingers from the katana’s haft. It was not the last.
***
Mason Brand walked through the estate in awe and horror.
Garbage Man Page 23