Kylie bent over and retched. Acidic vomit splattered onto her new yellow trainers, but she didn’t even notice. She retched again, brought up nothing but bile. She felt the world spinning out of control and reached out for a nearby shop window to steady herself.
“Kylie, come on!” Tom shouted.
Tom was supporting Britney with Mike again. They stumbled past Kylie, dragging Britney between them. Britney’s pink tracksuit bottoms were soaked with urine, and left a dripping trail after her. The crazy woman tried to stand and toppled over again when her broken ankle gave way beneath her. She thrashed around on the ground, wailing and snarling.
Kylie wiped her mouth with her arm and looked at the screen of Tom’s phone. It still said waiting to connect, still made the same brrr brrr sound when she put it to her ear. She prodded the disconnect icon and put the phone in the pocket of her tracksuit bottoms and hurried to catch Tom and Mike up.
Two of Meadowside’s security staff ran toward them from the opposite direction, their uniforms splashed with blood. One shouted into a radio, “Moody, where the fuck are you?” They both glanced at Britney slumped between Tom and Mike as they passed, but didn’t stop to help.
“Wait,” Tom shouted after them, “what’s going on?”
“Moody, for fuck’s sake come in, man. Where the fuck are you?” the man shouted into his radio. Neither of the security staff stopped running or showed any indication they had heard Tom’s question. When they reached the crazy woman rolling around on the floor they skirted around her nervously, then ran on.
“What the fuck?” Tom asked.
Mike shook his head. “Dunno mate, but the sooner we get out of here the better.”
They came to a mobility aids shop and Tom told Kylie to go inside and get something to put Britney in so she wouldn’t slow them down. Kylie entered the shop and looked around. Wheelchairs and walking frames were tipped over and scattered across the floor. A trail of bloody footprints led away from the shop’s counter. Kylie didn’t want to investigate any further. She bent down to the nearest wheelchair and righted it, then quickly pushed it out of the shop.
Tom and Mike lowered Britney into the wheelchair. Mike rubbed his shoulder and rotated his arm. Britney slumped over to one side, her head flopped down at an angle.
“She’s getting worse,” Kylie said, a hint of panic in her voice. “We need to get her to hospital.”
“We will,” Tom said, “just as soon as we get out of here.”
Kylie pushed Britney in the wheelchair while Tom and Mike walked either side of her, ready to defend the two girls from attack. But the crazies had moved on, further into the shopping centre. Shouts and screams could be heard in the distance behind them as they found new victims.
Long before they reached the train station exit Kylie knew there would be no way out through it. The loud moans and snarls coming from that direction made that obvious enough. But Tom insisted they had to see for themselves, just in case. So they crept closer, hugging shop fronts for cover, ready to dart inside at a second’s notice.
A large crowd had gathered outside the exit. Bloody fists thumped against the glass, snarling faces smeared mucous over its surface as they tried to bite their way through. They all had vacant, far-away expressions on their faces, like the junkies that hang around the playground on the council estate. Except these were a lot more active than the comatose wasters Kylie was used to seeing.
“What’s wrong with you people?” Kylie shouted, close to tears.
The crazies outside became more agitated, their snarls more frantic. Faster, more furious banging on the glass caused the doors to shake in their surroundings. Someone near the back of the crowd tried to claw his way to the front. Others turned on him and dragged him to the ground, only to be trampled underfoot themselves as more crazies surged forward.
Tom and Mike walked closer to the exit doors and stood before them, looking out. Kylie looked down at Britney and bit her lip to take her mind off her growing anxiety. Britney’s skin was turning yellow, and sweat dripped from her brow.
Kylie took out Tom’s phone and dialled the emergency services again. This time they were engaged. She hung up and called her home phone, listened to it ringing for a few minutes. She was about to give up when her mother answered.
“Yeah?”
“Mum, it’s me.”
Her mother sighed down the phone. “Kylie, where the fuck are you? Your dad’s been phoning me all fucking morning wanting to know where you are, he says you didn’t turn up for his access time. You know the fucking bastard’s blaming me, don’t you?”
“Mum, listen –”
“No, you fucking listen, Kylie. He’s been calling me all sorts, and I’m not fucking having it. You hear me? I don’t fucking care what you’ve been up to or who with, but if you don’t get your arse down to your dad’s bedsit right now you’re in fucking trouble. Right?”
“Mum, I’m in Meadowside and something’s –”
“Hang on Kylie, there’s someone at the fucking door. Don’t hang up, I’ll deal with you in a minute. It had better not be your fucking dad, I can’t cope with him turning up today.”
Kylie heard the phone’s receiver being put down on the hallway table. She listened to security chains rattle and bolts being drawn back. “Hold your fucking horses, I’m going as fast as I can,” her mother yelled. The door creaked open. “Whatever you’re selling I don’t want any, so fuck off.” The door slammed. Kylie’s mother picked up the phone. “Right then, Kylie, what the fuck are you doing in Meadowside when you’re supposed to be with your dad?”
“Mum listen, something’s going on and–”
“I said fuck off, I don’t want any,” her mother yelled. “Hang on a minute, Kylie, I’ll just deal with this wanker at the door.” The phone’s receiver was put down again. The door creaked open. “Look, you fucking–” The door slammed back on its hinges. Kylie’s mother cried out.
“Mum?” Kylie said, her voice trembling. She heard a scuffle, something being knocked over. “MUM?” Her mother screamed in the background for what seemed like an eternity, then fell silent. “MUM!” Kylie yelled, and fell to her knees. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Kylie?” Tom said, quietly. He crouched down before her and took the phone from her hand. He listened to it, frowning, then put it in his pocket. He lifted Kylie’s chin and stared into her eyes. Kylie threw her arms around him and sobbed into his chest. He held her patiently, rubbing her back until she was able to speak.
“It’s … it’s my mum,” Kylie blurted out. “I think the crazies got her. Oh god, what are we going to do? They’re everywhere.”
“I don’t know,” Tom said. Kylie could hear his voice breaking up as he spoke, and it brought forth a new round of sobs. Tom held her tight.
“Listen,” he said eventually, “we’re going to get out of this, okay? But we can’t stay here. Someone’s locked the doors, so we’ll need to find another way out.”
“But don’t you see?” Kylie said. “It’s not just here, it’s everywhere. There’s nowhere left for us to go.”
“She’s right, man,” Mike said. “We’re all fucked.”
“Shut up, Mike,” Tom said. “You’re not fucking helping. Listen, Kylie, someone’s bound to have called the police by now. They’ll be on their way in no time, you’ll see. They’ll sort it all out when they get here.”
Mike grunted. “Yeah well, we’ll just have to hope those doors hold out until they get here, otherwise it’s fucking game over.”
6
Dan Foster didn’t know what was wrong with kids today. Too many fizzy drinks and processed foods, probably. All them E numbers and genetically modified horse burgers and what have you sending them all fucking crazy in the head. Feral underclass, the politicians called them. The hooded scourge of decent society, causing chaos and misery wherever they went. Well this bunch of yobs were certainly living up to that stereotype. Vicious little bastards, they should have been strangled at bi
rth.
If Dan was a few years younger he’d sort them out, no fucking problem. He was quite the hard bastard back in his skinhead days, and would have steamed straight in and let his fists and his trusty cherry-red Doc Marten boots do the talking. Even in his middle age he’d kept himself fit and active down at the gym while his mates grew fat and complacent. But now he had his dodgy heart and his gammy leg to worry about.
The leg he got during the miners’ strike, when some bastard copper from down south smashed his kneecap with a truncheon just for calling him a ‘fucking pig’. The policeman caused so much damage Dan had needed to have a titanium knee replacement fitted, and it had been almost a year before he could walk properly again. Once he recovered from the surgery it hadn’t caused him any bother; in fact it came in very handy in a fight, and he thought of it as more of an enhancement than a disability. Smash a metal kneecap into someone’s face and they tend to stay down for the duration. Even better, it couldn’t be confiscated by police or football ground officials, so it was always there when he needed it.
But as Dan got older the arthritis set in, and now he couldn’t even put any weight on that leg without his trusty bulldog-handled walking stick. His dodgy heart was just down to the ravages of time, though his doctor did say all the booze and fags from his younger years hadn’t helped.
So when Dan saw three youths setting about an old woman near the wishing fountain all he could do was watch from a distance, hoping one of the people running by would stop to help her. No such luck though. All they cared about was themselves, and fuck everyone else. Things were different in Dan’s day. Back then you looked out for each other, stood shoulder to shoulder against the world.
Yeah, he had his fair share of rucks with other tribes. Smelly hippies and punks mostly. And grebo bikers, of course, everyone hated those greasy bastards. He even fought other skinheads sometimes, at football matches when they were on an away day. But batter an old woman? Never. That was something skag-heads did; beating an easy target senseless then robbing their money just so they could pump more poison into their veins.
The youths were pulling the old woman around like a rag doll. She put up a brave fight, cursing like a trooper and lashing out at them with her handbag, but it wasn’t long before she was pulled off her feet and the three youths descended on her.
“Oi, you cunts,” Dan shouted, raising his walking stick and shaking it in their direction. “Fuck off out of it and leave her alone.”
The youths took no notice and continued tugging and pawing at the old woman as she screamed and thrashed beneath them. A young man ran by. There was no way he could have missed the woman’s plight or not heard her screams, but he chose to ignore both.
“Fucking help her, you cunt,” Dan shouted after him.
But the man continued running. Dan shook his head and spat in contempt. What the fuck was the world coming to?
The old woman let out a piercing scream.
“Fuck it,” Dan said to himself, and hobbled up to the youths crouched over the woman. He raised his walking stick and brought it crashing down on the back of the nearest youth’s skull.
The youth turned his head and looked up at Dan, then hissed through blood-stained teeth. Dan gripped his walking stick in both hands and swung it like a club, hitting the youth in the face with it. The other two youths looked up and snarled at him, blood dripping from their mouths. Dan glanced down at the old woman between them. Her blouse was torn to shreds, her flat, leathery breasts exposed and bloody. She stared up, her mouth quivering in a silent prayer. Blood pumped from a jagged wound on her neck and slowly pooled out from where she lay.
“You fucking animals,” Dan roared, and without thinking he lashed out at the nearest youth’s head with his gammy leg.
He cried out in pain when his boot landed on target and knocked the youth over onto his side. The youth stumbled to his feet as Dan bent down and clutched his knee in agony. The youth hissed and reached out with bloody hands, pawed at Dan’s shaved head and smeared the old woman’s blood over his scalp.
Dan recoiled at the youth’s slimy touch. He pushed himself upright with a grunt and swung his walking stick up between the youth’s legs. The youth didn’t seem to feel any pain, he just stood there hissing. Dan thrust his hand out palm-first and drove it into the youth’s nose. The youth stumbled back with the impact, blood pouring down his face, but again he didn’t seem to react to the pain.
More people ran by. Dan watched them with disgust as he staggered back a few steps, pain shooting through his leg each time he put any weight on it.
“You fucking cowards,” Dan shouted after them.
The youth shuffled toward him again, fingers grasping. Dan glanced at the old woman. One of the youths crouched over her had his head buried in her chest, making loud slurping sounds. The other still glared at Dan with wide, staring, bloodshot eyes. He pushed himself upright and staggered toward Dan, his arms swinging like an ape.
“Come on then, you fucking cunts,” Dan growled.
He held his walking stick out before him in both hands and looked from one to the other of the two youths approaching him. As they got closer he jabbed at them with the rubber end of his walking stick. The youths hissed and snarled in response, and circled him with their arms outstretched. Dan raised the walking stick over his shoulder and thrust it into the first youth’s gaping mouth with all his weight behind it. He pulled it out with a wet smack, along with the youth’s front teeth, and swung it at the side of the second youth’s head when he lunged closer. It landed with a loud crack that sent the youth stumbling to one side.
The first youth let out a gurgling roar and pounced at Dan. Bloody fingers curled around Dan’s Harrington jacket and pulled him closer. The youth opened his mouth wide and bore down on him like a vampire about to bite. Dan thrust the walking stick’s hard resin bulldog handle back into the youth’s mouth, then pushed it down his throat. The youth’s already wide eyes bulged even further as he gurgled and choked. His arms flailed, trying to scratch at Dan’s face, then he grabbed the walking stick and tried to wrestle it away from him. Dan continued pushing as the youth’s bloody fingers slipped along the wooden shaft.
The second youth grabbed Dan’s throat from behind and dug his fingernails into his skin. Dan cried out and gave a final push on the walking stick that sent the first youth toppling onto his back. The bulldog handle was slick with blood when it wrenched free. Dan swung the walking stick up over his shoulder to strike the youth behind him. It took several blows before the youth’s grip loosened enough to allow Dan to tear himself free and turn toward his attacker. He swung the walking stick’s handle into the youth’s skull and watched him spin as he toppled to the ground.
Almost immediately the youth rolled over and started to push himself upright. Dan hobbled over to him, using his walking stick for support, wincing at the pain in his leg. The youth was on his hands and knees, looking up at Dan and hissing in anger. Dan slid his hands down the walking stick and raised it like a club.
“Fucking cunt,” he shouted, and smashed the bulldog handle down into the youth’s skull. “Fucking cunt, fucking cunt, fucking cunt,” he yelled again and again as he continued beating the youth until his hands buckled from beneath him. In his blind rage Dan didn’t care what damage he did, and struck the youth a few more times before he came to a panting rest.
He lowered his walking stick and leaned on it, his heart racing. He felt his chest constricting from the exertion, the pain intense. He gritted his teeth and held his breath while he reached into the pocket of his Harrington jacket. With shaking hands he pulled out his Nitrolingual pump and sprayed a couple of puffs onto his tongue, then tried to relax his muscles and took deep breaths while he waited for the drug to take affect.
With the worst of the attack over, Dan turned to where the old woman lay. The third youth was still crouched over her, tearing through bony flesh with his teeth and hands like a wild animal. Dan limped toward him and raised his walking s
tick. The youth continued his grisly meal, seemingly unaware of Dan’s presence. Dan slashed the walking stick down at the back of the youth’s head, slamming his face into the woman’s chest.
The youth pushed himself up. His head snapped to face Dan. Lumps of bloody flesh dropped from his mouth when he bared his teeth and snarled. Dan looked down at the eviscerated remains of the old woman. His face paled at what he saw.
“You fucking evil cunt!” he roared, and raised the walking stick.
The youth reared up, hissing. Dan struck him between the eyes with the bulldog handle and knocked him onto his back. He hobbled over and rammed the handle repeatedly into the youth’s face. Teeth crunched and were forced down the youth’s throat. Lips were pulverised, his jawbone broken, his nose shattered. Evil red eyes glared up at Dan the whole time. Hands grasped at the walking stick, but were too feeble to hold back the blows. Dan smashed the youth’s face into a bloody pulp, and continued striking him long after the hands fell away and the youth lost consciousness.
Dan leaned on his bloody walking stick and panted. He squirted another puff of Nitrolingual onto his tongue and looked around. People were still running by, none of them taking any notice of what Dan had been doing. He stepped in front of one to bar their way.
“What the fuck’s going on?” he asked.
The man skidded to a halt and skirted around Dan without replying. He looked terrified, as did all the others who followed him. Dan looked to where they were running from. He saw a large crowd in the distance, lumbering toward him with a stumbling gait, as if they had trouble walking.
Dan stood watching them carefully as they approached. As they got closer he could hear the low murmur of their moans and snarls, could see the blood dripping from their hands and faces.
With a final glance at the old woman’s corpse, Dan took off his Harrington jacket and laid it over her face. He turned and limped away, squirting more Nitrolingual onto his tongue.
Meadowside Page 4