Plague Of The Revenants

by Chilvers, Edward

  “For now it’s our only choice,” I replied. “In the short term we might as well take what we can before it spoils. It’s not like we’re going to be able to go back there.”

  “How come Gloria gets to have a farm and I have to come out and risk my neck on the fucking road?” Demanded Stan crossly.

  I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. It was like talking to children.

  “We never asked for you to come and rescue us,” snapped Stan. “When we were back in that depot we didn’t have to go out scavenging, hunting and fighting revenants.”

  “You would have done had you stayed there much longer,” I retorted. “Until we can get the farm established we’re still going to have to forage for food.”

  The row of former council houses was located down a narrow by road and concealed by trees which was probably why we had missed them up until now. I didn’t want to do too much more looting what with winter now descended upon us and the unknown threat of the other survivors which was why I wanted to bleed dry what we hadn’t already looted. I also wanted to take Stan out as a point of principle so that he had the chance to redeem himself following his performance the other day. The first two houses passed by uneventfully. There was a broken window in whilst the front door was swinging on its hinges on the other. I presumed the former occupants had long since turned and gone. When we approached the third house I was instantly wary. The doors were locked, the windows closed and intact. I tried the front door, motioning for the other two to remain behind me. It was open. I stepped cautiously inside the hallway and I felt a familiar dread. I had been through too many of these moments already and my nerves were shot to pieces. I peered into the kitchen then looked into the living room, looked through at the conservatory beyond. So far all clear.

  “It’s clear,” said Stan arrogantly. “You know the signs by now don’t you? There’s nothing here, nothing knocked over. It’s all neat as fuck. Come on; let’s just loot it up and get out of here. I want to go home.”

  “Don’t get too cocky,” I warned him. “You’re usually the first to shit yourself and running screaming for the van when real danger appears. If you’re really so confident why don’t you go check upstairs?” I offered him the hammer. He looked from it to me, then took it. “Fine,” he said sulkily. “But I’m telling you I can spot the signs, smell the stink. You need to open your nose up mate.” And with that he stomped loudly off upstairs.

  “I don’t know how you were able to stand him for so long with just the three of you in that wood depot,” I said to Dev as we emptied out the cupboards. There was a moderately good haul here, enough to feed people on its own for a couple of days. With the potatoes and a bit of creativity from the cooks it would last a lot longer. Heavy footsteps stomped down the stairs and Stan appeared. “It’s all clear but there’s nothing up there,” he said dismissively.

  “No bedding? Toiletries?”

  “Well yeah I expect so but I…”

  “You haven’t looked,” I spat contemptuously. “The amount of time you’ve been up there you could have come back with a couple of sacksful by now.”

  “It’s all just old women clothes,” replied Stan. “Just dresses and shit. We don’t want any of that.”

  “Oh no? So where the hell are we going to find a tailor in this new world?” I asked him archly. “We need all the clothes we can get, even if we store them for years. Also, if this is an old person’s house there’s likely to be medicine. Did you check the bathroom?”

  “Checked it for revenants,” replied Stan with a shrug.

  I shook my head and angrily threw the last of the cans into the rucksack. “Here,” I said crossly, thrusting the bag into his hands. “Take this back to the truck then come back up. I suppose I’m just going to have to clear the place out myself.”

  As I climbed the stairs with the second empty rucksack in my hand it dawned on me that actually Stan hadn’t done too badly. He had checked out the rooms himself. Maybe there was some hope for him after all. I turned left at the top of the stairs and entered the bathroom, opened up the cabinet. There were a few boxes of pills with names I didn’t recognise and some aspirin, also some bleach by the side. I took it all and crossed into the bedroom. It was, as Stan had said, an old person’s house, probably occupied by a lone woman judging by some of the clothes in the first cabinet. I stepped back into the bedroom and began to empty out the drawers. The revenant lurched out of the cupboard, half falling on to my shoulder. I let out a cry of horror and leapt back but the thing’s reflexes were almost as quick and it latched its rotten, claw like hands around my neck. I deliberately went down and rolled the thing over on top of me, kicked out as I rolled and sent it flying against the bed. I was on my feet in a moment and swung the bedside chair at its head as it tried to get up, delaying it even further. Dev and Stan were alerted by the commotion and came to investigate, with Stan hanging back fearfully. I seized the hammer from him and turned around, charging back into the bedroom to pummel the revenant’s head into the carpet.

  “This is the second time in a week you’ve almost killed me!” I thundered. Stan shrank back. He was not laughing now. In a supreme act of self-control I let go of the hammer. What happened afterwards was a blur. I advanced forward quickly and began to attack Stan, pummelling him with my bare fists. I felt a familiar mist descend as I started to lose control. I was dimly aware of Dev crying out for me to stop but at the time I barely heard him. The next thing I remember is slumping back against the wall, my fist aching and covered in blood. Stan lay on the floor before me, being attended to by Dev. His face appeared to have been almost completely caved in.

  “Take him back to the van and lie him down,” I said as I fought to regain control over my emotions. “I’ll take the last house myself.”

  Stan lay next to Dev in the front of the truck as he drove back whilst I sat in the trailer in the back, trying to ignore the bracing wind. I bitterly regretted what I had just done and was thinking hard. Back at the church Reverend Thorpe smiled when he saw the fairly sizable haul on the back of the truck but his smile soon faded when he saw the extent of Stan’s wounds.

  “What the hell happened?” Demanded Kit in shock. “Was he attacked?”

  “You could say that,” I muttered, walking straight past the gathering crowd towards the clock room in the tower, leaving Dev to explain what had happened. I sat down on my bedding and closed my eyes, trying to collect my thoughts. It was not long before heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs and Kit burst in followed closely by Thorpe and Hammond. “What a fucking time to go psycho!” Exclaimed Kit without preamble. “Have you seen the state of the poor boy’s face? Do you even realise what you’ve done to him? We don’t have a fucking doctor here, Grant. I don’t even know if he’s going to make it.”

  “He’ll make it,” I said with a shrug. “Wipe away all the blood and all you’re left with is a bit of bruising and a few broken bones in his face.”

  “And that makes it alright does it?” Demanded Kit, and her face was red with anger.

  I sighed heavily. “Look,” I said, spreading out my palms. “He almost killed me. He didn’t just make a mistake, rather he was completely negligent and also he lied to me. We can’t have that. If somebody makes a mistake like that they have to be punished for it.”

  “This was too much,” retorted Kit.

  “Hardly,” I snapped back. “He’s alive, isn’t he? No broken bones. Most likely there are survivors out there who would do far worse to them.”

  “If justice is to be meted out it must be controlled, otherwise it is not justice,” said Reverend Thorpe calmly, ever the peacemaker. “It doesn’t sound to me as though you had a lot of control over what you did.”

  “The thing almost bit me,” I said with a tinge of remorse. “I suppose I might have panicked a bit.”

  “Now don’t be so hasty,” interjected Hammond, coming to my defence. “I’d have been pretty mad as well had somebody risked my life like that. We don’t exactl
y have a working justice system here anymore. When somebody does wrong it needs to be acted upon, needs to be corrected.”

  “Everything you’ve been saying about needing to keep calm and maintain a cool head,” said Kit resentfully. “But it all goes out of the window as soon as one person makes a mistake.”

  “This was hardly an innocent mistake,” I retorted angrily. “The damned kid lied to me and almost got me killed.” I sighed heavily and made an effort to cool down, knowing my current bad temper was hardly helping my argument. “Look, I shouldn’t have taken him out with us. That’s what I regret most of all. He wasn’t ready. You know what it is like out there.”

  “I know full well what it’s like,” snapped Kit. “I’ve been out on easily as many raids as you have, remember?”

  “I know why you did what you did,” said Hammond. “I’ve known people like Stan in my police work and he’s not good. He wasn’t in the old world and he’s no good in this one either. What you did was extreme, Grant, but what Stan did shouldn’t easily be forgotten either.”

  There was little more to be said after this. The three of them left and I was left to myself once more. As usual Reverend Thorpe tried to show restraint in his words whilst Kit was the more forthright. I was the leader but my actions today had shown me up as a tyrant. The last thing I wanted was for the rest of the group to be afraid of me. I felt drained. All the hope I had built up over the past few weeks was now shot down. I bore an irrational hatred towards Stan, wishing I had held him over the revenant and allowed it to devour him one bite at a time. I shook my head, trying to clear the anger from my veins and when it was gone I found myself resigned and depressed, wanting only to go to sleep.

  For the next few days I was aloof and sullen. For the first time since arriving I took to sleeping in until the others had eaten their breakfast and then when I did get up I would often go out in the truck on my own without telling anyone. This was a direct contravention of my own rule but nobody tried to stop me. Stan’s injuries faded in time and he took to helping Gloria out on the farm, not out of any great desire to help I don’t think, but more because he did not wish to incur any more of my wrath. Nobody went out of their way to speak to me and I did not seek out their company. On my trips out in the truck I wondered if I should just keep going, drive off as far as I could and set up on my own somewhere, hope the heat went down sooner or later. But deep down I knew I could never do it. Something I could never quite put my finger on drew me back to that church and farmhouse. On several occasions Kit made as though she were about to engage me in conversation but she always pulled out at the last moment. I spent the evenings alone in the church, shivering in the clock room, lost in my own thoughts.

  One night I lay alone in the clock room. It was ridiculously cold now and were I getting on better with my companions I might have been tempted to go and join them in the farmhouse. I had managed a sleep of sorts and imagined it to be around three in the morning. I closed my eyes again but it was no use. All I could think about was how cold it was. I was about to get up and begin the day, perhaps even go out on an early raid.

  The fist slammed desperately upon the wooden door of the church. I did not feel frightened, or even unnerved, just slightly annoyed. I knew the revenant could not get in. The creature moaned and whined, cried out like the demon it was to be let in. But something was wrong. Maybe it was just my imagination but I could almost hear words. “Help me! Please help me!”

  I sat bulk upright and listened again. Still the hammering upon the door, still the cries. “Please! Is there anybody there?”

  I got to my feet and cautiously made my way down the steps and into the chancel, taking my hammer with me as I went, because I was wary that this might be a trick. I approached and opened the door just a crack and held my full weight against it to prevent it being smashed down by invaders.

  “How many of you are there?” I demanded sharply.

  “Just me,” came the desperate voice. “Please. Let me in.”

  “Are you bitten? Hurt?”

  “No,” replied the man. “Not yet but they’re coming. They’re coming! Please, let me in!”

  I opened the door a little further, allowing the man to fall in and collapse on the ground at my feet. He was around forty years old, of Asian appearance and the skin hung off his body in a way that suggested he used to be well nourished. There were strange, welt like marks on those parts of his skin that I could see and despite the freezing temperatures outside he was dressed only in a pair of grey suit trousers and a thin white shirt. I dragged him inside and quickly turned him over, looking for signs of the infection as he gibbered weakly before me. Finally I laid him out on the floor and hurried upstairs to my sleeping area, retuning a few minutes later with a heavy coat and several pairs of blankets. He was bruised and malnourished and half mad with panic but as far as I could tell he had not been bitten. I quickly dragged him inside and closed and bolted the door behind us.

  Eventually I half carried the man out of the church and down the tunnel towards the farmhouse, took him inside and sat him down on one of the wooden chairs before going through into the living room to awaken Thorpe. The Reverend came at once and I stood over the stricken man whilst Thorpe checked him over more thoroughly for bite marks, of which there were none. Kit, Paul and Hammond joined us shortly afterwards. The man fell asleep several times and it was almost an hour before I could rouse him sufficiently. I gave him water and also some hot tea from the flask I always carried upstairs with me.

  “What has he said to you?” Asked Thorpe.

  “Nothing at all that makes any sense,” I replied. “I’m wondering if he might not have gone completely out of his mind.”

  “Well I wouldn’t blame him,” put in Hammond. “You can see by the sight of him he’s half-starved to death and I sure as hell wouldn’t fancy dodging revenants in the middle of the night in what he was wearing.”

  “If the revenants were the only thing he was dodging,” I said warily. “He hasn’t come from near here and there must have been more places to hide before he came here.”

  “He’s waking,” said Kit suddenly.

  It took a while but eventually the man awoke sufficiently to answer the questions we put to him. He told us his name was Bashir Ahmed and that he was a doctor. “I was one of the doctors at the hospital when the infection first broke out,” he told us. “Very few of us made it out alive.”

  “How did you make it out alive?” I asked him.

  “Towards the end the army would simply put down anybody showing signs of the infection,” replied the doctor. “The survivors and the living bitten stormed the place. It was everyone for themselves. Everybody else ran. I hid down a laundry chute for three days. By that time it was quiet. There was still revenants about but I was able to outrun them. I ran with a few of the nurses who had hidden up in the same fashion as myself. We stole a car and drove off. It wasn’t long before the roads were blocked and where the roads were blocked the revenants were bound to attack. So we abandoned our cars and set off on foot. In time we came to this camp on a former racecourse surrounded by wire fencing. We almost fell to our knees and thanked God. If only we knew what we were letting ourselves in for.”

  “What do you mean?” I demanded of him.

  “The racecourse turned out to be a hell on earth,” said Doctor Bashir. “It was like walking into a Nazi microstate. There was this small group, they called themselves the Elite, who ran everything. Everyone who wasn’t part of the Elite was enslaved. They’re all men, all strong. Former military, police or politicians. People who had power in the old world who look to keep it in the new.”

  “Were you one of the Elite?” Asked Kit, narrowing her eyes.

  The doctor smiled and shook his head. “Of course as a doctor I was in high demand,” he said. “I wanted to treat everyone equally, the slaves as well as the Elite. But the leaders insisted I give priority to their own men. They beat the slaves to within an inch of their lives. When I
tried to help they pulled me back, said they couldn’t afford to squander precious resources on disobedient scum. When I insisted they beat me too, locked me in my own cell and basically enslaved me with the rest of them.”

  “How does one join the Elite?” Asked Hammond.

  “When somebody from the Elite is killed they elect a slave to take his place,” replied the doctor. “That way they keep the slaves in line you see, keep them from rebelling. Of course new people are being found all the time but the slaves are worked so hard and placed in such danger that their numbers are falling all the time.”

  “But you say all the Elite are men?” said Kit quizzically.

  “That is right,” replied the Doctor. “The best women can hope for is to be treated well, to become a sort of pet. That’s if they didn’t come with a man to vouch for them. When a family man is promoted to the Elite his family are held over him, given an apartment of their own.”

  “Are they well organised?” I asked.

  “They have a great deal of weaponry, I don’t know where they got it from and also many trucks. The fence around the racecourse is completely secure. It is electrified even as the slaves freeze to death in the stables.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “You say a small group,” I said. “How many exactly?”

  “There are about fifty people making up the elite,” replied Bashir. “Thirty-five members of their respective families and a hundred more slaves, including women and children.”

  “Who leads this Elite?” Asked Hammond.

  “I don’t know exactly,” replied Dr Bashir. “When I was one of them it was a man named Giles but from what I heard he was deposed the day before I fled in a power struggle between himself and a new man.”

  “Who is this new man?”

  “Again I don’t know.” The doctor shook his head. “I’ve been on the run for three days now. They came looking for me. I remember hiding in ditches for hours as their trucks came past.”