The BIG Horror Pack 2

by Iain Rob Wright

  “No,” said Brett. “What?”

  “This.” Emily stood up and climbed onto Brett’s lap. Then she kissed him.

  ***

  Brett woke up in the pitch blackness and for a moment did not know where he was. Sliding off the edge of sleep, Brett’s world was once again normal and devoid of the horrors of the last few weeks. The warm body lying beside him made him feel even more that things were normal. But then it all came back to him.

  He sat up in the darkness and realised he was sweating. The room had gotten stuffy while he and Emily slept. Being fully-clothed had led to him becoming overheated. Emily felt hot, too, beneath his hand, but had not awoken. She snored softly as sleep continued to embrace her

  Brett needed to get some air. He was beginning to feel quite ill and bunged up. He had never been a good sleeper and his sinuses would often constrict throughout the night, waking him up. The world may have been shattered and torn asunder, but some things never changed.

  Brett crept to his feet, not wanting to wake Emily and leave her frightened and alone in the dark. He planned on heading over to the East Stand to cool down in the open area beside the pitch. Then he would come right back and lay beside Emily. It was strange to him that the thought of getting back to her was so important, but right now she was the only thing making him still feel human. The bond between the two of them was something he never would have predicted.

  He pawed his way through the dark, searching for the wall that would lead him to the door. When he found it, he pulled it open gradually, trying to avoid the squeak of the hinges. The corridor outside was dark, too, but Brett knew that there were no obstacles in his way and that he needed only to head along the wall until he reached a further door at the end.

  He stepped out into the moonlit East Stand and was immediately invigorated by the cool air rushing through the cement structure. He sighed as it flowed over his clammy cheeks and lifted up his shirt to allow it to caress his torso. Already he felt his temperature drop.

  There was someone else milling about in the area, moving across the walkway at the far end of the stand. It was probably a smoker getting their middle of the night fix. Brett fancied some company while he cooled down, so he headed toward the stranger, but before he got there they disappeared into the turnstile lobby of the stand. Unless they planned on leaving the stadium, Brett didn’t know why they would want to head there.

  He took hurried steps, somewhere between a run and a walk and reached the turnstile area quickly. He was surprised by who he found there. “Bristow? What are you doing?”

  Brett took a step back when the Lieutenant pulled a gun on him. It was a different handgun to the one he’d handed over to the Reverend. He must have hidden it on himself somewhere.

  “What are you doing?” Brett repeated.

  Bristow said nothing. He turned back towards the turnstiles and started pulling at the debris that had been stuffed into the mechanism to prevent it from turning. The stile wouldn’t let the lieutenant out; it would only let people in.

  “Step away from there, Lieutenant. No one else is coming in h-”

  Brett hit the floor before he even realised that a bullet had been fired at him. Pain exploded throughout his entire body and then settled down to just his midsection. Examining himself frantically, he saw that the bullet had nicked his hip, grazing against his pelvic bone and cutting a furrow into his flesh. The wound spat blood onto the floor, but didn’t feel as bad as it looked. Brett was still able to drag himself along the floor and around the corner, shielding himself from any further shots. Although he could no longer see Bristow or the turnstiles, he could hear the man continuing to clear away the debris. Whoever was waiting outside was about to be let in soon.

  “Don’t do this, Bristow. We can all get along.”

  “I agree,” the Lieutenant shouted back. “But we’re in charge now. The Army is in charge.”

  “Those days are over, man. You said it yourself: the rules don’t apply anymore

  “Exactly. It’s all about power and who has the muscles to take it.”

  Ethan came running down the corridor and slid down onto the floor beside Brett. He noticed the blood pouring from his hip. “What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s Bristow. He’s opening up the turnstiles. He’s trying to let someone in.”

  “Who? His men?”

  “I don’t know, but he has a gun.”

  “Long. Goddamn that bloody self-righteous-“

  Brett put a hand on Ethan’s wrists to halt his tirade. “It wasn’t the Reverend. Bristow has a different gun. He must have still had one on him when we took him in.”

  “Right. We’re not standing for this bullshit. I’m through having a bunch of disbanded soldiers calling the shots.” Ethan stood up and marched around the corner. The next thing Brett was aware off was more gunfire, but not, this time, from a handgun. It was automatic rifle-fire.

  Ethan fell back into the hallway, bullet-riddled and already dead by the time he hit the floor. The way he fell left him staring at Brett like a soulless puppet with glass eyes.

  Brett leapt his feet and almost fell back down again when his vision tilted. He hoped his injuries weren’t too bad, because he didn’t expect there was much chance of seeing a Doctor anymore. He set off into the stadium, fleeing the turnstiles and Lieutenant Bristow.

  Inside the East Stand, people had already begun to gather anxiously. They had heard the gunfire.

  “What’s happening?” one of the people asked.

  “Ethan’s dead. Bristow shot him. He’s opened up the turnstiles. The Army is coming in.”

  Everyone panicked.

  “We need to get out of here,” Brett shouted at them. “We need to get out of here right now. Everyone head for the North Stand. We can get out there.”

  “Nobody is going anywhere!” Gunfire into the ceiling made everyone hit the floor.

  Brett looked up at the man with the rifle and was shocked to see that Captain Lewis was alive and well. Lieutenant Bristow stood beside him with a satisfied smirk on his face. Four riflemen backed them

  “Why are you doing this?” Brett demanded.

  “Because this stadium is an asset,” Captain Lewis replied. “It has several, easily defended exits and a great deal of space. Lieutenant Bristow did well to gain your trust and get inside. It will be perfect as my base of operations.”

  “For what?”

  “For Project Restoration,” said Bristow on behalf of his superior. “It’s time we regained order and began adjusting to the new world. There is no longer a centralised government, I regret to inform you all, and this is now a militant state. As the most senior officer in this area – perhaps in the entire country – it is Captain Lewis’s prerogative to take charge of the local populace. You are now all under his command.”

  Captain Lewis beamed proudly. “Thank you, Lieutenant Bristow. Now I’d just like to assure everybody that I intend to be firm but fair. You will be given jobs to perform and you will be expected to do them. Any resistance will be dealt with via martial law. Any chance to abandon your place here will result in capital punish-”

  A gun shot rang out and the Captain stood silently for a moment, looking at the group with a surprised look on his face. A couple of seconds later, another shot rang out and Lieutenant Bristow hit the floor, dead. A large circle of blood started to spread around Captain Lewis’s heart and it became clear that the first bullet had struck him.

  All at once, the remaining four soldiers raised their weapons and scanned the area frantically. One of them fell as another gunshot rang out, but then one of the men pointed his rifle off towards the food desks. Brett spun around to see that Reverend Long was standing there, Bristow’s pistol smoking in his hand. The man’s tolerance for violence had been breached. The soldier that spotted him fired off a hail of automatic fire and Reverend Long jolted backwards behind the serving desk.

  Brett screamed in anger and leapt to his feet, rushing at the rifleman. He
hit the soldier in the face and yanked the weapon from his arms. He had no clue how to fire a rifle so instead he swung it like a baseball bat, clubbing the soldier in his forehead. Before he knew it, Brett was being faced down by the remaining two riflemen. There was no way he could reach them before they let off a shot at him. Brett was a dead man and he knew it.

  Like a mob of highland warriors the others got up off the floor and rushed forward as one, shouting and screaming with violent rage. The two soldiers took their eye of Brett and focused on the approaching gang of men and women. Their eyes went wide with fear and they ran.

  Brett watched the two soldiers make it about twenty metres before the mob caught up with them, dragging them roughly to the ground. He decided not to watch what happened; he had somewhere else to be.

  He headed back towards the office block of the stadium and made his way through the unlit corridors. When he got back inside the office, Emily was still asleep and snoring soundly. She’d missed the whole thing. Brett sat down beside her and rocked her gently awake.

  “Wha…B-Brett?”

  “Yeah, Emily. It’s me. You need to wake up. We’re leaving.”

  “L-leaving?”

  Brett stroked a hand over her forehead, leant forward and kissed her. “Yeah. It’s not safe here anymore.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking we could maybe go back to your house. You can play your piano again. We can stop off and get my guitar first. The world may be over, but that doesn’t mean we can’t spend whatever time we have rocking out.”

  Emily laughed and Brett wished he could see her face. “We could form the world’s last rock band,” she said. “I’d finally be cool.”

  “You already are,” said Brett. “You already are.”

  They waited until sunrise, before setting off into the world.

  BOOK 3: WARRIORS

  Staff Sergeant Matt Parker stood tall on the back of the tank and peered through his binoculars.

  “Slow her down,” he shouted as he clung onto the Warrior’s turret.

  The Perkins-Rolls-Royce V8 Condor engine of the British Army Infantry Fighting Vehicle slowed down with a disappointed grumble. Discarded rubbish and human waste crunched beneath the weight of its treads. All around, the city of Birmingham lay in ruins; its humanity abandoned and broken. Paint peeled from every building, but the ever-present bloodstains seemed only to intensify with age. Gradually the city was turning red.

  “You spot something?” Corporal Cross asked his sergeant from the gunner’s seat. The tank’s 30mm cannon was empty, as was its coaxial chain gun, but it still commanded attention from those who did not know. The only ammunition Parker and his men had been able to snatch up when things had gone bad at Tidworth was enough explosives for a single barrage from the tank’s eight grenade launchers (positioned in two clusters). Fortunately, they were all equipped with personal arms and each of them carried a L85A2 assault rifle (or SA80) with roughly a magazine of ammunition each.

  Parker inched his binoculars to the left, picking up movement amongst the rubble of a firebombed Post Office. “We’ve got civvies up ahead. Two-hundred metres. Bring us to a halt; let them come to us.”

  The civilians up ahead were just kids, and they were visibly afraid. Upon seeing the tank, the two teenagers tried to scurry behind a scattered pile of masonry. Parker picked up the megaphone that hung from a lanyard attached to the Warrior’s side storage. He raised it to his mouth and moistened his lips.

  “Strangers, you have been spotted. Please identify yourselves so that we can categorise you as non-hostile.”

  The teenagers did not come out.

  Parker increased the megaphone’s volume. “I am Sergeant Matthew Parker of her Majesty’s Armed Forces. I mean you no harm. If you need assistance I will provide it to you. Come out now, please.”

  Tentatively, the two teenagers reappeared from behind the rubble like frightened mice. It was a boy and a girl. The boy was Black while the girl was pale and ginger-haired. They were an odd pairing, indeed, but then, in the current world, people found companionship wherever they could. Social norms no longer applied.

  The teenagers approached the tank; the boy walking protectively in front of the girl. As they got closer, Parker identified them as young adults. He also saw that his early estimation of them being afraid was not entirely accurate. They were not so much afraid of Parker or the tank as they were distrustful.

  Parker placed the megaphone down and placed both his palms out to his side, showing that he was unarmed. He also tried to smile but found he had forgotten how to.

  “What do you want?” asked the teenage boy defiantly.

  Parker shrugged. “Just want to check in with you folks. Everything okay? Are you in need of assistance?”

  The lad huffed and shook his head. “We were doing just fine until your boys kicked us out of our home.”

  Parker didn’t understand. “Who kicked you out of your home?”

  “Your man, Captain Lewis, and his sidekick, Bristow.”

  “Captain Lewis? I’m afraid I don’t know the man. Are you saying this man is with the Army?”

  “Was,” the lad corrected. “He took a bullet when he and his men started taking hostages at the football stadium down the road.”

  Parker sighed. Hearing that one of his colleagues had been shot should have been cause for him to apprehend these two kids, but somehow it seemed unnecessary. There was no longer any law and order to maintain. Even the lines between good and bad had become increasingly murky.

  “Is it something we should look into? Are people hurt?”

  The lad shook his head. “I don’t know. One thing is for sure, though: the last thing the people still at the stadium want to see is another bunch of soldiers.”

  Suddenly the girl spoke up: “Just because you have guns doesn’t give you the right to push people around.”

  Parker nodded. “I agree, young lady. Right now I think it’s important that we all work together. Do you kids have a destination?”

  “We’re going to my house,” the lad answered. “Problem with that?”

  “Of course not. Just keep safe and be careful. There’re a lot of desperate people in the world right now and nowhere is safe. Not even your homes.”

  The kids seemed confused for a moment, as if they had expected the situation to go differently. Then they nodded to each other and began walking away, continuing their journey.

  “Hey, you two!” Parker shouted after them. They both turned around. Parker managed to smile this time. “What are your names?”

  The boy answered. “My name is Brett, and this is Emily.”

  Parker nodded and reached into his pockets slowly, not wanting to startle the kids. “It was nice meeting you both, he said. “Here, take this.” He hurled a pack of chocolate bars through the air and the lad caught them with his left hand.

  The lad looked at the package for a moment as if he was stuck in a daydream. Then he looked up and said, “Thanks. It’s nice to see that there are still some good guys left. I think if people knew that not all the Army had gone bad they wouldn’t all be so afraid.”

  Parker watched the two kids head off to their unknown destination and thought about what the lad had meant. Obviously something had happened at the nearby football stadium but Parker intended to take heed of the lad’s warning about his presence being unwelcome. There was no point forcing his way into a situation that did not want him. The thing that concerned Parker the most was hearing that some of his brothers-in-arms were acting more like tyrants than protectors.

  When news of the deadly wasting disease, The Peeling, first broke, the Military and Police forces kept a tight grip on the country’s population, cordoning off highways and restricted people to their homes. It was a cruel, but necessary step. Parker had been glad to have been posted at base. Manhandling sick civilians wasn’t what he signed up for and he was glad to be occupied with other tasks. Later, however, when the dis
ease penetrated fifty percent of the populace, things had started to become untenable. Key figures in government, military, police, healthcare, and other key services fell ill and died, leaving all departments undermanned and in disarray. The chicken had lost its head. Communities rioted, lashing out at the remaining authorities as they sought to get away from the sick and dying. Fear of contagion had become a crazed, primal instinct that drove people to animalistic behaviours.

  Then the news broke that the sick where not infectious; they never had been. Scientists confirmed that it was the seemingly healthy who were the contagious ones. It was they who carried the brutal virus which killed all who succumbed to its necrotic effects. Everything fell apart. With one half of the population dying and the other half responsible, society crumbled. No one could trust anybody else and the only way to be safe was to seek absolute isolation – and then defend that isolation if necessary. Battles over rural farmhouses and other sought-after real estate had been constant and bloody.

  But things had gone quiet recently. The infection seemed to have plateaued. Those that had caught the sickness were mostly dead or long on their way, and those that were still healthy seemed to be confident of remaining so. Parker himself, along with all of his men, had been exposed to countless civilians but were still entirely healthy, albeit slightly malnourished. Parker made sure that his men ate only what they needed and gave the rest away to whatever civilians they encountered. But, it seemed, eventually he would have to start prioritising the health of his men above those they encountered on the road. The world was becoming increasingly dog-eat-dog and his public duties were diminishing. It seemed that some of his colleagues from other outfits had already gone into business for themselves.

  “You want to check the kid’s story out?” Cross asked. “If there’s a unit out there, we could combine Intel.”

  Parker shook his head. “If there’s anybody left I’m assuming they’re not the type to cooperate.”

  “Another unit gone rogue?” Cross suggested. “Fuck a duck.”