“And what about you?” Asked Reverend Thorpe with some concern. “You don’t sleep downstairs with the rest of us but instead isolate yourself here in the cold of the tower. Is it because of your experiences, because of what you’ve seen?”
I turned away from him. “We’ve all got stories to tell,” I replied eventually. “But I don’t care to tell mine just yet. It’s really no better or worse than anything the rest of you have gone through. I suppose I’m just not that good with my feelings.”
We talked a little more about the specific nature of our mission earlier. I watered down the bit about our narrow escape, not wanting Thorpe to worry too much about his daughter being out there. Eventually he left and went downstairs and I was left to myself for all of two minutes before footsteps sounded up the stairs once more and this time it was Kit who appeared in the doorway.
She reached into her pocket and threw me another pack and a lighter. “My dad doesn’t know I smoke,” she said. “Truth be told I’ve been dying for a cigarette for months and now I found a pack in the side of the car so I pilfered it for myself. Hope that doesn’t count as hording.”
I sparked up hungrily, even though I had only been an infrequent smoker back in the prison. It was good to have some sort of luxury, good to be able to worry about a more conventional health risk aside from the marauding revenants and besides, I thought, I might as well smoke up whilst it still existed.
“I’m surprised you’re not downstairs,” said Kit after a time. “Lapping up the praise after our latest adventure. Everybody is talking about you.” She said the last part resentfully in a voice thick with jealousy.
“They’re just on a high,” I said dismissively. “It won’t last, they just need to think they’ve found a saviour at last. The only reason they think this is because so far it’s early days. When this sort of thing becomes a routine occurrence or when we become more stable and secure behind the barricades events such as this will become commonplace.”
“Is this all just a game to you?” Asked Kit suddenly. “All this talk of building barricades and planning for the future? I watched you today and you were like a madman in the way you killed, completely without remorse, without hesitation. Are you somehow immune to the sight of blood, to organs that once sustained life? Those revenants were people once.”
“Not anymore as I keep telling you,” I said firmly. “They said it was a parasite on the news, when there was still news that is, and even though it was only one of many theories it is still the theory I like the best. It means those things out there are dead, nothing more than reanimated corpses who can’t be saved and can’t be brought back to life again, only killed again, this time for good.”
“You think I’m naive,” said Kit. “But nobody who survived this long is stupid. We’ve all had to do things. We’ve all had to kill.”
“And you regret it?”
“Of course.”
“Well there is the difference between us,” I said with a shrug. “If every one of those things were to die tomorrow we’d save the entire human race. Its either us or them. We can’t go in for conservation or equality in this new world, Kit. They all need to die, every single one of them.”
“Maybe so but you’re still far too comfortable with doing it.”
“I don’t know why you even came up here,” I said as I smoked. “You knew I was up here and it seems to me all you wanted to do is rant.”
“I recognise some of the people who walk like that,” said Kit. “I still see the faces of who they once were. You can’t just put that aside.”
“Forget it,” I snapped at her harshly. “They’re not there anymore, those people. They’re dead, they’re nothing and a demon has taken their place. Start getting sentimental and you’ll end up joining them before you know it.”
“Some people have had to kill members of their own family,” muttered Kit. “Some people have had to leave loved ones behind in order to survive. There are people here who have no idea what might have happened to their families and still cling to the hope they might be alive somewhere. You don’t know any of that. You have nobody, you said so yourself last night.”
“I don’t like stories,” I told her. “Everybody has a story, everybody has lost something.”
“Even you?”
“Sure.” But there was no emotion in my voice.
“I know everybody wants you to take charge,” said Kit. “I know my dad doesn’t want to lead people out into the great unknown and I know we did well today, but I think you’re dangerous, Grant. You won’t join in with the rest of us, won’t tell us anything about yourself. That means you’re detached, it means you don’t really care what happens to the rest of us.”
“Of course I care,” I told her flatly. “You think I’d stick around with a few old women, some kids and a vicar and her daughter if I didn’t care?”
“Only for now,” mutters Kit. “Wait until something better comes along or when the going gets really tough, and we’ll see just how long you last.”
With these words Kit departed and I was left to myself for the last time that night. Downstairs I still heard the chattering of voices but they were quieter now. In time they died off completely. The generator was switched off. Silence descended over the church. Kit didn’t like me, and I didn’t blame her for that. I had shocked her and frightened her more than she cared to let on. I’d lost count of the number of people I’d met like her in prison, all men of course, who’d acted all tough and knowing then cried themselves to sleep in their corner at night for the sheer horror of it all. I was far more used to this world than Kit was, better suited to it than any of the other survivors for that matter. These were good people. Possibly if they had been a little less good more of them might have survived. I flattered myself that they would not have lasted long had I not arrived when I did, although it was true. I had tried to please them, maybe tried too hard, maybe stepped on Kit’s toes somewhat. I still didn’t think they would do me a great deal of good. This new world was harsh and far more suited to a man of my background. It was really no surprised that I who killed in the old world should thrive in this. For everyone else this was a catastrophe, the worst disaster in the history of humankind. But for me this was an opportunity to start again, to put the past behind me and become a new man. But through it all there remained one thing I held over them all: I’d been through worse than this.
The following day I was up early. The few who were also up with me appeared content to rest on their laurels for a while and enjoy the relative stability yesterday’s haul had brought them but I had formulated another plan in the cold of overnight. I stepped out of the church and into the graveyard, taking my tea with me and regarded the farmhouse around a hundred yards away from where I was standing, which was also the only other building in sight. It was a large, three storey building and I counted three chimneys, practically a manor house in fact. In time Kit and her father came to join me. “How many rooms?” I asked, nodding over towards it.
“I don’t know,” replied Kit with a shrug. “I’ve never been inside. Looks like a good few though, enough for two to a room at least.”
“And that’s a positive luxury compared to the dorm you’re used to,” I said. “I like the look of the outbuildings as well although they’ll have to be made secure.”
“You’ve got it all worked out haven’t you?” Said Kit archly. “I suppose it’s your military mind at work?”
“My practical common sense,” I replied irritably. “It is already too cold in that church but that farmhouse has fireplaces and proper rooms which can be made warm. If you can make the place safe you’d be a fool not to move in. I suppose you’ve looted the hell out of it already?”
“Paul and Farrow went in there once,” replied Kit. “Took what they could. There’s a couple still in there, called the Smiths when they were alive. Of course they came running so we got the hell out and locked them in.”
“You mean you’ve had captive revenants thi
s close to the church?” I said in surprise.
Kit shrugged. “They weren’t doing any harm in there,” she said. “And they never came out.”
“But they could have done,” I said worriedly. “And if you don’t do something about them they still might.”
“And I suppose we’re especially going to have to do something about them if you want us to move in,” said Reverend Thorpe worriedly.
“Indeed so,” I acknowledged. “We’re in a better position than most places we go to loot in that we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Two revenants somewhere inside that house and all the loot and security it provides afterwards. A suitable prize.”
“When are you going to do it?” Asked Kit, still sounding doubtful.
“No time like the present,” I said cheerfully, and I went back inside to fetch my trusty hammer.
Kit followed me. “You want me to come with you?”
“No need,” I told her. “I’m more than ready to take them both down myself.”
I walked over to the farmhouse at my leisure, for I wanted to check the place out thoroughly. The garden was a good size and partly walled. Given time and materials I thought we might be able to fence it in completely after which we could grow our own vegetables or even keep a few farm animals. There were three doors; one at the front and a back and side door. I considered that one of these could be bricked up completely and another made secure so it was only used as an emergency escape. The front door was strong and sturdy and should have been able to withstand all but the most ferocious of assaults. There were many windows, for it was a large house. They were of a medium size and would need to be blocked up before we could think about moving in. Either way, downstairs windows would present a weak point but then again I could testify from my time inside how important natural daylight was to a person’s morale. I approached the front door and tried the handle. It was not locked. Stepping inside cautiously I was immediately hit by the smell of mustiness and decaying vegetables. The ceilings were low with sturdy beams running across them and there was a fireplace in the kitchen, albeit blocked by a boiler which could soon be removed. There came the creaking of floorboards from beyond the kitchen and I knew it was not just the wind. I took the hammer and tapped it hard against the inner wall of the kitchen. The shuffling became louder and there came a harsh scratching at the door. I went over and pulled the door open, then jumped back. The revenant, an old woman, tumbled into the kitchen, and my hammer followed quickly behind her, slicing through the top of her head in a single fluid motion. I tapped against the wall again. This time there was no sound. I didn’t like this; Kit definitely said there were two of them. It was possible the husband might have made his own way out somehow but I had earlier circled the perimeter of the building and I didn’t see any open doors or windows. I proceeded carefully into the hallway. There were bloodied handprints and bloody smears on the walls. These would have to be painted over before we moved in. But as I studied the prints more closely I was convinced I saw more than one set, and there was a large pile of congealed blood on the floor. This surely meant there had been more than one person here, the biter and the bitten? My nerves were tense as piano strings. I hated being here in the enclosed spaces, would have preferred one hundred visible revenants to the single unseen one lurking somewhere in the house. I crept cautiously from room to room, trying to remember my original motive of reconnaissance. There were two sitting rooms, both containing a fireplace, a hallway and a side room with no fireplace that may once have been the scullery but now served as a sort of study. A large larder room led off from the kitchen. Of the second revenant there was no sign. I tapped against the hollow walls with the hammer once more. No sound. My eyes alighted upon the stairs. I proceeded cautiously upwards. I held my breath and proceeded from one room to the other. There were four bedrooms on this floor and also a bathroom. Two of the bedrooms contained fireplaces although both of these were blocked off and would require work to get started again. I opened the cupboard doors quickly and stepped back. No revenant stepped out. I regarded the beds wearily, dropped to my hands and knees and looked under. Nothing. I wondered if Kit was sure when she said there had been two revenants. Surely they would both have come running? This left just one more set of stairs leading up to the attic rooms. I gripped my hammer hard once more and started to climb, wincing as the steps creaked as I stepped on them. I stopped and closed my eyes, listened carefully. Still no sound. There were no fireplaces in the three rooms on this floor which mostly seemed to have been used for storage and were piled with dusty heirlooms and other junk which would have to be searched through but I imagined the heat would rise through the house and would be perfect for us younger, more hardy ones. I stepped from room to room and back out into the hallway. I was now satisfied I had searched everywhere and yet there was not a revenant to be seen. I cursed the difficulty of the situation, hating the uncertainty and wondering once more whether Kit had been mistaken. The creaking of the loft hatch above caused me to freeze and too late I reacted as the revenant fell from the loft on top of me in the perfect ambush. I fell to the floor, crying out in terror as the revenant grappled towards me. Fortunately it had fallen awkwardly itself and I was able to half role away before its hands closed upon my shirt. From here I could not use the hammer and the narrowness of the hall gave me little leverage to kick out. I took hold of the creature’s arm and pulled hard. The revenant’s limb snapped like a twig but still it bore down upon me. I summoned up all my strength, lifted up its rotting body and threw it as hard as I could against the wall. It grabbed me with its one good hand but at least I was able to stagger to my feet and brought my foot down hard upon its neck which snapped with an ugly crack. I stepped back and seized hold of my hammer, watched as the revenant’s head lolled obscenely and bounced against its chest and shoulders as it struggled to get up. I finished it off with a hefty blow to the head then sat back down for a long time in an effort to take charge of my nerves.
“Did you get them?” Asked Kit as I stepped out into the sunlight, trying to control my shaking hands.
“Only just,” I replied. “You’re right you know. It’s lethal to be in a house with those things on your own. Give me a hundred of them in the open spaces any day.”
“Now you can see what we were up against,” replied Kit triumphantly. “Not so chicken shit after all, huh?”
I returned with Kit to the church and summoned Thorpe to join us in the vestry, and also Paul and the carpenter Frey. “I’ve been to have a look around that farmhouse,” I said without preamble. “And it’s good, I mean really good. You’ve got large rooms, windows, three storeys, strong doors and above all fireplaces. There’s also a heck of a lot of supplies in there which we can help ourselves to in good course. We can board up the downstairs windows and make it quite cosy. It has a loft as well. If we can find a ladder we can turn it into an emergency shelter. In short I think we should look at moving in there.”
“Better than this church?” Asked Reverend Thorpe.
“Better and more homely,” I told him.
“So would we abandon the church?”
“No,” I said. “We’d be foolish to abandon a fortress such as this. That farmhouse might provide our creature comforts but it wouldn’t stand up so well against a swarm. We might need to retreat back here in a hurry and besides, that tower is invaluable in seeing what’s about. What I’m proposing is that we link the church and farmhouse together, build a tunnel, or a passageway of sorts, from here to the church.” I turned to Frey. “You’re a carpenter?”
“At one point and I can be again,” replied Frey cheerfully. “I can see the merit in what you’re thinking and it would certainly be possible. The key would be laying the ground. We’d need to dig over several foundations and put some stone down in the boggy areas. We’d also need to find the materials of course.”
“Now we’ve got enough food we can devote ourselves to that in due course,” I replied.
“But that mea
ns more risk,” said Reverend Thorpe worriedly. “Are you sure it’s necessary?”
“It will certainly be necessary if a swarm comes past,” I told him.
“And where would we find the materials?” Asked Kit.
“From the outbuildings all around,” I said. “That haul of the other day saw us with more tools than we need. I’m pretty sure those outbuildings around the farmhouse will have some nails. We could be all set.”
“You’d need strong materials,” said Frey thoughtfully. “And posts as well. Strong, even posts. Let me think on it and I’ll come back to you later. This sounds like a project I can really get my teeth into.”
Kit and Paul made their way into the farmhouse after the meeting to clear the bodies of the Smiths away as well as loot the place of any usable supplies. I climbed to the top of the church tower and joined Hammond on the roof. It was a clear day and the view before me was a patchwork of green. The crops had not been harvested this year, the grass was un-mowed and the hedges had not been cut back. Already the countryside was returning to the natural state of things. In a few years time the undergrowth and greenery would return to reclaim the fields completely. It was a not altogether unpleasant thought. The former policeman was up here in all weathers, keeping watch on the surrounding area and as a result he had become something of an expert on revenant behaviour. I was keen to consult with him. “Ever see signs of other survivors?” I asked him as I looked out towards the countryside.
“Every now and again I see smoke,” replied Hammond. “But that could mean anything. Those revenants are prone to stumble into anything; electricity sub stations, gas canisters, you name it. No point chasing around the country over the slightest wisp of smoke. And then the swarms always manage to kick up a mess whenever they’re around.”
“I don’t like the sound of those swarms.”
Plague Of The Revenants Page 8