by Rich Hawkins
The infected came prowling through the street, amongst the abandoned cars. He did a quick count. Fourteen, in all. Deformed faces and jutting, twitching limbs held close to their bodies. Glazed eyes secreting dark fluids. They revolted him. How could God have allowed such things to exist? Were they His creations? Were they really demons? Was the pestilence blighting England actually a demonic plague?
Did that mean the Devil was roaming the land? And if that was true, what was God going to do about it?
Joel noticed one of them, a young boy, was limping at the back of the pack and making an awful, slow mewling that made Joel’s heart sink. The boy crouched over a scrap of bloody clothing on the road and picked it up, holding it to his face and taking deep breaths from it. Joel watched him, amazed and horrified.
Was the boy a demon? Was that pathetic creature something unholy and damned?
Some of the pack scratched and scraped their fingernails on the side of the bus. Joel’s teeth fillings tingled. He shivered and cold tendrils coiled around his bones.
Joel stepped down the aisle, watching the infected move down the road. He stopped near the front of the bus, waiting for the pack to leave.
The infected moved clear of the bus.
Joel slumped on a seat.
Behind him, the others were waking up.
* * *
Ralph found a Ford Fiesta with its keys in the footwell and no bodies inside. There was a small, still-working torch in the glove compartment, which they added to the one already in the plastic bag. The car had a quarter-tank of petrol. Ralph volunteered to drive. Joel sat in the front with him. Magnus and Frank were in the back.
Frank seemed to be recovering from his beating yesterday. He was bruised and winced whenever he moved too quickly. Every few minutes, Ralph glanced in the mirror at Frank, but Frank never met his eyes. Frank talked about the girl he’d travelled with. He talked about her too much.
They left Broadbridge Heath just before eight. No sign of the infected Joel had seen earlier. No sign of anyone.
“What’s the plan?” asked Magnus.
“We’re going home,” Ralph said.
“Sounds too easy.”
“It won’t be. We’ve been lucky so far. Our luck won’t last.”
“Nothing like thinking positively,” said Joel.
They travelled through other villages and hamlets. Lone infected lurked outside houses and by roadsides. They stared at the car as it passed.
Crashed vehicles by the road. Frank noticed a Dyno-Rod van on its side. The driver, a heavyset man with long hair, lay next to it, gutted and spilled open. A few hundred yards down the road, a tractor had crashed through a fence and into a tree. Smoke drifted from its engine.
Ralph stopped the car by an abandoned grocer’s van. The men stared at the pool of oranges that had spilled from the open back doors. Two women, their faces streaked with soot, were filling plastic bags with fruit. They mouthed insults and threats at the men while discreetly displaying the knives tucked into their tracksuit bottoms.
The road dissected fields; groups of people were travelling across them. Frank remembered that they were called refugees, now. Some groups walked the roads. Ralph beeped the horn at them when they blocked the way. Men glared and swore at him. An old woman put one palm against the window and begged them to take her with them.
“Please help me. Please help me.” A reedy, pathetic voice. Her nose was bloody.
“We’re not stopping,” said Ralph. He stared straight ahead. “We’re not stopping for anybody.”
“Where are they going?” said Magnus.
“Anywhere that’s safe.”
“They’re heading west,” said Frank. “Like us.”
Two men were fighting by the side of the road, swapping punches while a young woman encouraged them, waving her hands and shouting. She looked feverish. The other refugees ignored them, not even sparing them a glance.
Heading towards the village of Slinfold, the numbers of refugees lessened until the road was empty again.
The petrol tank ran empty and the car shuddered to a halt. No other cars around from which they could siphon petrol.
“Bollocks,” said Ralph. “Looks like we’re walking.”
“I don’t feel too good,” said Joel, holding his stomach.
They left the car behind.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
They walked. Frank’s legs were throbbing. He ached from the beating he’d taken yesterday. He kept thinking of Florence. Guilt and shame made his stomach boil. He popped two painkillers with a sip of water. He felt used up. They weren’t even halfway home.
Two miles outside the village Joel vomited onto the grass verge, doubling over and retching until he cried and his eyes were red-ringed and sore. He spat by his feet.
“Are you okay, mate?” said Magnus.
“Feel like shit.”
“Did you get bitten or scratched by one of the infected?” Ralph asked.
Joel wiped his mouth. “You’re trying to ask me if I’ve got the plague? What is wrong with you?”
Ralph was unmoved. “I’m just asking. Don’t take it personally.”
“Don’t take it personally? You think I’m going to turn into one of those monsters?”
“I didn’t say that. I just wanted to make sure.”
“Piss off.”
“Were you bitten or scratched, though, Joel?” asked Magnus.
Joel shook his head, glared at Magnus. “No, I wasn’t. I’m fine.”
“Okay,” said Ralph. “Do you still feel sick?”
“No.”
“Good. Let’s keep moving. We need to get to Slinford before it gets dark.”
“We’ve got hours yet,” said Magnus.
“I know, but we’re walking. Think about it, genius. I don’t want to be caught in the open when night falls.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Frank looked around the fields. He imagined the infected coming out of the dark to kill him and his mates. He shivered and looked at the cold grey sky.
* * *
One mile later they rounded a bend in the road and stopped. They stared down the road, none of them saying a word. There was thunder in the distance. Frank felt it inside his head. When the sky roared, his skull trembled. He rubbed his eyes.
“What the fuck?” said Magnus. His voice was a tired whine.
“Kids,” said Joel.
The children were standing in the centre of a crossroads twenty yards away, their faces turned towards the sky.
Frank expected to see some great shadow looming above the children. Grey clouds that were almost black, but there was no shadow and no discernible threat.
He could almost reach up and push his hand into the clouds. But would he still have had his hand when he pulled it out?
The children didn’t move. Necks craned towards the sky. Eyes open, mouths shut tight like they were keeping a secret only they should know. Six boys and three girls. None of them were over ten years old. Dirty clothes and blood on their skin. Red around their mouths. Most of them were barefoot. One of the boys wore only a pair of pants and socks soiled with dirt.
Ralph said, “They’re infected.”
“Are you sure?” asked Joel.
“Look at them.”
“Why haven’t they attacked us yet, then?”
“Something else has their attention.”
Magnus ran a hand over his face. “Oh for Christ’s sake.”
Frank took a few steps forward. He had a horrible feeling that Florence was among them. He looked for her unmistakeable mane of red hair. She wasn’t there. He looked at their hands. The children were twiddling their fingers by their sides. The closer he got to them the more the air thickened. Almost electric, like the silent moments before a thunderstorm.
The others stopped behind him.
“Be careful, lads,” said Ralph.
“What’re they doing?” Joel said. “What are they looking at?”
; “The things in the sky,” said Magnus. “Like what we saw back in Horsham. The thing that drifted over the school.”
“You can’t be sure of that. How do you know?”
“What else could it be?” said Ralph. “Look at them.”
Joel looked. His face seemed to droop. He swallowed, took a deep breath and looked ready to be sick again.
“I remember,” said Joel, “when we were little and we used to go on walks across the fields. When we used to stop and sit down to eat our packed lunches, I would lie on the grass and look up at the sky when there were no clouds and there was just blue. It used to make me feel weird. Dizzy, almost. And small. I used to think the world would suddenly turn upside down and I would drop into that blue sky and keep on falling.”
“I remember you freaking out once,” said Ralph. “Crying because you were worried you’d fall into space. I took the piss out of you for weeks afterwards.”
“Yeah,” said Joel, with a scowl. “I was only eight years old. Thanks for being so understanding, mate.”
Magnus shifted his feet. “Will they attack us if we get too close?”
“Let’s just go through them,” said Ralph.
“What?” Magnus said. “Are you mental?”
Ralph shrugged, looked puzzled. “Why not? They’ll either ignore us or they won’t.”
“What if they don’t ignore us?”
Ralph tapped the flare gun against his leg. “Then we’ll sort it out.”
“Ralph is right, unfortunately” said Frank. “What choice do we have, lads?”
“Are you prepared to kill a child?” said Joel. “Even if it’s infected? Could any of you live with that?”
“Could you?” said Ralph. “You might have to before we get home.”
“Not if I can help it.”
Ralph shook his head. “If you want to stay alive, you will.”
“Stop arguing,” said Magnus. “This isn’t the time.”
Joel and Ralph glared at each other. Joel looked away.
“Do you hear that?” said Magnus.
“Hear what?” Joel said.
“Vehicles. Engines.”
On one of the roads approaching the crossroads, several trucks were heading their way.
“Looks like a convoy,” said Ralph.
A jeep headed the convoy. Armoured cars with mounted machine guns.
“Hide,” said Ralph.
Frank turned to him. “Why hide from the army? They can help us.”
Ralph grabbed Frank, pushed him to the roadside. Magnus and Joel followed. They hid in a soggy ditch overgrown with grass and stinging nettles, and stinking of stagnant water.
“I’ve got a bad feeling,” said Ralph. “Keep your heads down.”
“This is insane,” said Frank.
Ralph glared at him. “Just wait.”
Frank peered over the top of the ditch, wincing as a nettle stung his hand. The army convoy stopped near the children. His heart went a little faster. A squad of soldiers jumped down from one of the trucks.
The children didn’t react. They stared at the sky.
“Maybe the soldiers will put them in one of the trucks,” said Magnus. He chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Maybe they’ll take the kids to some sort of sanctuary.”
No one answered. Frank watched the soldiers gather in a line behind the children. One of the soldiers was shouting, but Frank couldn’t tell what he was saying.
The children were content to look at the sky, lost in the clouds.
“Don’t look,” said Ralph.
But Frank looked. So did the others.
Frank’s eyes felt hot and stinging. He didn’t want to watch but couldn’t stop himself.
The soldiers raised their rifles and took aim.
The children stared at the sky.
The soldiers opened fire.
The children fell.
And they would never look at the sky again.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Joel said, “I need to stop.”
“Come on, mate,” said Ralph. “We’re almost at the village. It’s getting dark.”
“Darker than it should be,” said Magnus.
Joel darted to the side of the road, bent over and vomited onto the grass. Magnus went to him and patted between his shoulder blades.
“Take it easy, Joel. Take it easy.”
Ralph shook his head and snorted.
After Joel finished vomiting he stepped back on to the road. He ignored Ralph. There were globs of spit and mucus in his facial hair. He wiped them away, coughing and spitting.
“You okay, Joel?” said Frank.
“They killed those children,” he said.
“The children were infected,” said Ralph. “The soldiers didn’t have a choice.”
“Why did you make us hide?”
Frank remembered walking past the pile of children’s bodies that the soldiers had made. He had felt voyeuristic and disrespectful looking at the small corpses.
“How do you think the soldiers would’ve reacted to us witnessing them kill a bunch of kids? Do you think they would have let us go on our merry fucking way? They would’ve shot us.”
“Shot us?” said Joel. “Our own army wouldn’t shoot us. We’re not infected. They’re on our side. They’re supposed to help us.”
“Take your head out of your arse for a minute, Joel. They wouldn’t have let us get away. They wouldn’t let that sort of thing get out. They would’ve shot us and dumped our bodies with the children. No one would ever have found out.”
“Don’t insult me,” said Joel. “Fuck off.”
Ralph stepped towards him.
Frank and Magnus moved between them and Frank put his hands on Ralph’s shoulders. “Calm down, mate. Count to ten or something. There’s no need for this.”
Ralph glared at Frank, cracking his knuckles. Then his face cleared, his body loosened, and he nodded, suddenly ashamed.
“Sorry,” Ralph muttered.
“It’s okay.” Frank turned. “You okay, Joel?”
Joel nodded. He didn’t look at Ralph.
They walked onwards.
* * *
Slinfold was silent. The men entered the village while dusk fell.
They walked up the high street of dark houses and shadowed windows. No infected came at them. No distant shrieks or screams. No birdsong. No sounds of animals. There was a red Range Rover on its side and dried blood around it. A pair of polished shoes had been left by the edge of the pavement, as if someone would return soon to collect them. There was a strange smell in the air, faint, but noticeable once you knew it was there. A chemical taint. Something Frank associated with public swimming pools and cupboards full of cleaning agents.
Dead birds littered the ground. Blackbirds, sparrows and crows. Black, beady eyes. Yellow beaks and grey beaks. Dark feathers fluttering in the breeze.
Magnus’s mouth fell open when he saw the carpet of avian bodies.
“Another ghost town,” said Ralph, switching on his torch and lighting up the shop doorways he passed.
“Where is everyone?” asked Frank.
“No idea.”
“There they are.” Joel nodded towards the end of the street.
Bodies piled on top of one another. A large mound of corpses.
Frank spat.
They walked to the bodies. No one spoke. The top of the pile was higher than the tallest of them; Joel was over six feet tall but the pile of remains towered over him. The men were swallowed by its shadow. Frank looked down at the bodies dried out like the husks of dead crabs. Many of them had died as if reaching out for a loved one as they lay on the ground. Doughy slack faces. Bent and entwined limbs. Glazed, bulging eyes and mouths frozen in their last screams. Some of them had died raking their fingers on the road. Fluids had leaked from mouths, eyes, ears, and dried into dark stains like colonies of mould.
Frank watched a beetle crawl over a woman’s face and into her mouth.
To think th
at Florence was among the dead here almost floored him. He didn’t know if he could come back from seeing her within the tapestry of stiff limbs and waxen faces. Not again. Not after losing Emily.
There were even dead dogs and cats within the pile. Pets with collars and name tags. Frank shivered with revulsion and sadness. A pool of darkness formed in his stomach and he wanted to cry at all of the pointless death before him.
“These people weren’t infected when they died,” said Ralph.
“I can’t see any bullet wounds,” Magnus said. “None of them were shot. How long have they been dead?”
“Couldn’t have been long,” said Frank.
“Chemical weapons,” said Ralph. “Gas, maybe. Some kind of nerve agent. Who knows what the army and the government have got tucked away waiting to be used? More shit than we’ll ever know about.”
“It gets worse and worse,” said Magnus.
“What kind of gas?” said Frank. His great-granddad had fought at the Somme and Passchendaele during the First World War, but had died before Frank was born. Joseph Hooper never said much about his time in the trenches, Frank’s father once told him, but he could imagine the hell of France and Belgium back then. Gas attacks. Mud and slaughter. Men choking, clawing at their throats as they died.
Frank wiped his sweat-soaked face. His throat had dried and closed up. He felt a great urge to touch the corpses; to reach out and touch their hands, run his fingers down a dead man’s cold palm.
He suppressed a burst of laughter.
He thought he could hear someone crying far away, a sound echoing down the empty streets, but it wasn’t real. He looked at his hands and they were shaking.
“So the army killed these people then piled them here?” asked Magnus.
“Looks like it,” Frank said.
“Maybe it wasn’t the army that did this,” said Joel.
“Who else would have done this?” said Frank.
“The things in the sky, maybe,” said Magnus, and the other men looked at him.
“How bad are things going to get?” said Joel, his face pale, sagging and forlorn. “Those kids and these people. All this death.”
“Are we in danger?” Magnus asked.