The BIG Horror Pack 2

by Iain Rob Wright

  “You’re brave little fellas, aren’t you?”

  The rabbits took another step forward and, inexplicably, Howard found himself stepping backwards. There was something unnerving about the creatures; their lack of fear where fear should be present.

  The rabbits continued towards Howard.

  Howard continued moving away but was startled by something behind him. He spun around to find an entire colony of rabbits standing in a line behind him, blocking his path home. Howard wasn’t yet afraid, but he was approaching it. Rabbits were not frightening by anyone’s imagination, but there were just so many of them. Hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into Howard with something that was unnatural for such timid creatures.

  When the rabbits lunged at Howard, all at once, he froze in absolute shock; the absurdity of the situation too much for his brain to handle. When the creatures began biting into him with their razor-edged incisors, the situation became even more unfathomable.

  The last twelve months of Howard’s life had been extremely lucky – he was a millionaire author and a breakout sensation. But there, in the woods he now owned, his luck finally ran out.

  THE HUNT

  When you have shot one bird flying you have shot all birds flying. They are all different and they fly in different ways, but the sensation is the same and the last one is as good as the first.

  Ernest Hemingway said that, and he was right. Hunting is a human endeavour as old as history itself – something every man has buried deep within his breast. To kill a lesser animal is the most natural thing in the world.

  But all that ended in 2004, when Blair’s liberal propaganda finally made its way into Parliament. They banned fox hunting outright and turned us all into pariahs. A law passed by peasants for no other reason than the resentment of refinery and class.

  My name is Clive Middlesex, and I am Master Huntsmen, descended from a dozen Master Huntsmen before me, and I am now also a criminal. They made me one, for I continue to hunt despite their wretched ultimatums. Hunting is in my family’s blood. It is my right.

  The hunt is on, our quarry ahead. Red foxes flee our hounds with the desperate intensity that only the fear of death can provide. This, my friends, is life. This is living.

  “That was great, Clive. Will be good in the sound edit when we overlay it on top of videos from the hunt.”

  Clive smiled proudly at the journalist, rather pleased with the speech as well. “Good, it’s about time someone took a stand. I will not lie down for the unschooled peasants any longer, and if that makes me a martyr, then so be it.”

  “There’ll definitely be those that support you as well,” said the journalist. “It’s still a hot debate. Anyway, thank you for allowing me to be the one to record your story.”

  “My pleasure. Now, let us retire to the stables. They’ll be getting our horses ready. I take it you can ride?”

  The journalist blushed from behind his notepad. “Not well, I’m afraid.”

  Clive shook his head and almost spat at the ground. “Then how the bloody hell do you expect to keep up with the hunt?”

  The journalist cleared his throat, seemed to steel himself slightly. “We have set up several cameras across the glen that will capture the hunt as it passes by. We will be able to get a grand, sweeping view that way.”

  Clive liked the sound of that. Grand sweeping view. He adjusted the lapels of his bright red huntsman jacket and raised his chin. “Very good. Shall we commence?”

  The journalist nodded. “Of course, after you.”

  Clive led on, the seedy little wordsmith following closely behind. The family’s stables were just a few lengths up ahead. Marcus, his stable hand, was busy getting Petronella ready for him, fastening the bridle securely on the prize mare, ready for the master’s mount.

  “Good man, Marcus,” he said, reaching the stables and taking the reins. “We’ll be ready for tea at noon.”

  “Very good, sir.” The stable hand walked away, heading for the Manor.

  Clive turned to the journalist who was continuing to take down notes. “You sure you’re not willing to ride? It’s the ultimate thrill, man.”

  “No thanks,” the journalist waved a hand, “but I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Clive hoisted himself up onto Petronella and secured his feet into the stirrups. He immediately felt comfortable, as though he had returned to a place he belonged – the saddle of a noble beast, surveying the lay of his vast lands. A king of his estate.

  Petronella trotted slowly towards the end of the paddock, heading for the open gate. Once through, entering the fields of the Middlesex Estate, Clive coerced the beast into a canter. The other huntsmen, along with the pack dogs, would be waiting for him atop the nearby hill, as well as the first of many cameras that would be rolling to catch the majesty of the pursuit.

  Patronella slowed down as her hooves met the incline and Clive gently manoeuvred her up the hill. Near the top, he began to hear the jovial banter of his peers and looked forward to joining them.

  But Petronella stopped suddenly, unwilling to move another step. Clive whipped his riding crop against her rump and kicked his heels. “Onwards!”

  As if never stopping in the first place, the horse started moving again. Clive decided to ignore the animal’s momentary insolence. She had most likely been temporarily spooked by some sound that his human ears could not detect. Still, Petronella knew better than to disobey her master.

  The many fine gentlemen of the hunting club, along with a dozen yapping beagles, were gathered loosely together at the knoll’s peak. Clive quickly joined them, excitement growing in his heart with each passing second. They greeted him merrily as he came and Clive raised a hand to get their attention.

  “A fine morning we’re having today, gentlemen; as brisk as it is sober. A perfect day for a hunt.”

  The group cheered as he said the word for which they had all gathered. The dogs began wagging their tails joyously in response to the commotion. They too were anxious for the games to begin.

  “We are an endangered species,” Clive continued. “Men with the very essence of the countryside running through our blood yet forced to deny it. They have tried to extinguish our right to manage our own lands in our own ways, but that is something we will never allow willingly. These ancient lands have belonged to my family for centuries and as their current custodian, I permit you the right to spill blood in the honour of sport.”

  More cheers erupted and the men began to bring their mounts together, ready to set off in formation. Clive made his own way to the front of the pack, looking down the hill and over the fields. A gentle haze of airborne moisture seemed to hang several inches above the ground.

  Clive held his crop above his head and thrust it forward. “Let the hunt commence.”

  Instead of galloping forward, he found himself flying backwards. The horse reared up and bucked Clive from the saddle. He hit the unforgiving mud behind him and let out a pained yell.

  The bodies of his fellow huntsmen hit the ground all around him as their own respective horses reared up in the same way that Clive’s had.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded to no one in particular.

  Clive watched in shock as one of his fellow huntsmen was kicked and trod on by his horse, a deep, bloody dent misshaping his skull as mighty hooves connected with skullbone over and over again. The gentlemen screamed all around him as each of the horses attacked them.

  Clive managed to roll out of the way, just in time, as Petronella kicked out at him. He got to his feet as quickly as he could, panicked beyond anything he had ever felt before. Heading downhill, he managed to pick up a great deal of speed, but he knew that it would be nowhere near enough if the horses gave chase. But such a thing was unconceivable anyway. The horses would not attack premeditatedly, only out of fear. That is what must have happened, Clive considered as he hurtled down the hill. The horses were just startled into some sort of mania. A tragic turn of events, for sure, but explai
nable in a logical way.

  Clive reached the bottom of the hill and looked back behind him. Thankfully, the horses had not pursued him, still trampling over the bodies at the top of the hill. The beagles were fleeing the scene though, same as he was, heading down the hill as a closely-knit pack.

  Clive waited for them to catch up, regaining the breath that his body needed in the meantime. The dogs quickly barrelled into him, knocking him onto his back.

  “Whoa there, fellas. I’m scared too.”

  Clive began to stroke the dogs, hoping to calm them down, but as he did so, they continued to pile onto him, in danger of smothering him.

  “Hey, get off me!”

  Clive felt a pair of slick jaws close around his hand. One of the dogs wished to play.

  The jaws clamped shut and Clive screamed. The force increased quickly, until he felt the fragile bones begin to snap. Before Clive had any chance to scream louder, another pair of jaws seized his throat, cutting off any sounds he was yet to make.

  He was forced to lay there, in choked silence, while a dozen of the finest hunting dogs in all of England ripped him apart piece by piece. For the first time in his life, Clive Middlesex knew how the fox felt.

  Home

  Jane had been watching the news reports for the last twenty minutes. The images shown seemed more like scenes from a horror movie than real life. Animals were attacking, people were being killed all over the country and beyond. Jane couldnot believe such things at first – obviously a hoax – but then she saw the video footage and could no longer dispute it. The last thing she witnessed, before the horror became too much for her to bear any longer, was from a supermarket CCTV camera. The grainy pictures showed a blind man with his guide dog walking down the aisles. Seconds later, the dog was ripping the helpless man to shreds – then moving on to other terrified shoppers. Something was very wrong with the world and that terrified Jane. Not for herself, but for her son.

  Jane had called Danny’s father, Joe, a dozen times already, but had hit an answering-message-brick-wall every time. She didn’t want to accept it, but she knew that the stupid Luddite of a man had not taken his phone out with him – he never did – despite her constant chastisement.

  Joe hadn’t been around for a while, trying to get his life in order, and Danny had been so excited when his dad had unexpectedly offered to have him for the weekend – Jane was, too, if she was honest about it. Now, though, she wished more than anything that her ex-husband had stayed the hell away. Because of him, her precious child had gone to visit the zoo on the day when animals had gone completely crazy. Because of him her son was in danger…perhaps dead.

  A tear fell down Jane’s left cheek as that realisation finally burrowed its way into her brain. Danny and the man she’d once loved – still loved – were gone forever. The government had informed the news journalists that a state of emergency was in effect and that all residents of the UK should stay securely in their homes. Avoid animals at all costs.

  But by heeding that advice, Jane was alone, isolated. She had not spoken to anyone since the events started and knew nothing of whether or not her friends and other family were safe – maybe she did not even care. She was safe here at home, but her son was certainly not.

  The lounge was full of photographs and she took the time to look at them now, picking up a wooden framed picture of her, Danny, and Joe at the beach, ice creams in hand. Happier times. A time before that big lump of a man had ruined it all. For a secretary, no less.

  She didn’t blame Joe…at least, not anymore. When he had first admitted what he had done, she had been livid, broken, distraught. She’d kicked him out of the house immediately and filed for divorce the next day. Lately, she wasn’t so sure that had been the right thing to do. It seemed drastic now.

  Jane tried to call Joe again, but faced the frustration of voicemail once more. She placed the phone down on a shelf in the living room and went into the kitchen. The main window in the room overlooked a large garden, surrounded by several towering elm trees. There was movement outside.

  In the garden, Jane watched as a small group of woodland creatures gathered: rats, squirrels, and foxes – even a badger. The animals were circling an injured magpie, biting and clawing at it cruelly. Obviously the birds were under the same threat as humanity – a target for all other species.

  Carefully, and quietly, Jane grabbed the twist-handle for the kitchen’s blinds and turned them shut, not wanting to find out what would happen if the animals saw her inside.

  She wondered how long this all would last. There were too many animals in the world for the army to kill them all, so perhaps the only hope was for everything to go back to normal. If this was just a temporary phenomenon, then how long would it take? And if it wasn’t temporary, how long did she have? The cupboards were only stocked for a few days – life and death survival not having been on her most recent shopping list.

  She wished she were not alone. She wished she had never pushed Joe away. He had been a weak man – a man like many others – but a good man, a caring man. Jane knew he would have been far too naïve to instigate things with his secretary and was probably just the victim of the woman’s predatory advances, but that still didn’t make his actions right. Joe had done a terrible thing, yet…as Jane thought about things lately, she became surer and surer that she could have forgiven him, and that they could have gotten through things as a family.

  But such musings were just the tortures of an isolated mind. Jane would do better to think of kinder things. Thoughts of her son and ex-husband would drive her to a maddening despair that she would never escape from.

  Through a slim gap in the blinds, Jane saw the animals finish with the magpie, leaving behind a tattered corpse of bones and feathers. They had been joined by more animals now, more foxes, and several rabbits. As one, they all sat and stared at the house. Jane knew that they were looking for her. Perhaps they had seen her before, tending the garden or washing the car. Whatever the reason, Jane could tell that her presence inside the house was not a secret to them. They would be coming for her.

  Jane was shocked to find herself smiling. The thought of being victim to a mass animal attack was comforting. The thought of being isolated in this empty house, waiting for death (or a rescue that might never come) was not. If Danny and Joe were gone, then she was ready to join them.

  The animals in the garden came closer, and Jane went out to meet them.

  Behold, the Beasts of War

  You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake, someone once said, and Corporal Nick Robson thought about that now. In the last two days and nights, he had pumped magazine after magazine through his SA-80 assault rifle, expending countless rounds into a dozen different species. His entire life Nick had been an ardent dog lover but, by his calculations, he had murdered at least twenty of the four-legged friends in the last two days, ever since they started attacking with the unnatural malice of the demon-possessed.

  Nick just couldn’t comprehend what was happening. What experiment had gone so wrong in order to send the world’s population of animals into a killing frenzy? Some countries had been lost already, too light in armed forces to control the outbreak. The governments of Switzerland, Norway, Poland, and others had already ceased responding with the British Government and one could only now speculate as to their condition.

  The US and other allies were dealing with situations in their own territories and could offer no assistance to anyone else. The UK Government was fragmented and shaken and conflicting orders were coming through from separate branches all the time. Eventually, the ranking CO, Captain Bishop, of the Leicester operation had decided to exercise autonomy. Things had gone beyond taking thoughtless orders from anxious politicians in their bunkers. Only the men on the ground, fighting this war could make informed decisions, and that was why Bishop had taken charge.

  Nick fired a round as yet another cat approached from a nearby roof, trying to sneak behind the lines from above. The
animals were smart, working together in ways that should have been impossible. They sent the rats in first, to distract and dis-order. Then, while the army’s ranks were busy, stamping and kicking at the rodents, they would send in packs of sprinting dogs to ravage the troops before they had a chance to retaliate. Nick had seen hundreds of his squad mates torn apart in agony – not to mention countless civilians.

  But, for now, things had settled down somewhat. The remaining forces were already wiser, more aware of their enemy’s capabilities. Barricades had been set up, and the civilians were now armed with various tools and other salvaged weapons that they could beat the rats with whenever they attacked. This left the soldiers and their small arms to concentrate on the bigger threats from the more dangerous animals. Things had been pretty quiet for the last few hours though – except for the cats. There had been lots of cats. Nick was starting to form an opinion about just what that meant.

  “You think they’ve had enough?” asked a Private named Collins.

  Nick kept his eyes on the road ahead, but shrugged his shoulders in response to the question. “I doubt it. Probably just rethinking their approach.”

  “That can’t be it,” said Collins. “They’re just dumb animals.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Collins put down his rifle and took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one with a disposable lighter and placed it into his mouth. Inhaling deeply, the man’s entire body appeared to relax under the nicotine rush. “Well, we can take ’em. Bunch of bloody pets and farm animals.”

  Nick looked through his SUSAT sight and spotted a lamb with a gore-soaked mouth. The small, fluffy animal was galloping towards them from a side road. Nick took aim and fired. The lamb flew back, half-exploded by the impact of the 5.56mm bullet.

  “Shit, man. Nice shot. Didn’t even see that one coming.”

  Nick said nothing, just stared at the road, waiting. There would be more to come. Perhaps there would forever be more to come. This was a nightmare that could very well be without end.