Death Plague [Four Zombie Novels]

by Ian Woodhead

  Kevin’s retort fell from his lips when he heard his sister banging about in the kitchen. By the sound of it, the bitch really was in a foul mood tonight. A sense of urgency crept into his bones. He just had to get Thom out of here without her seeing them. There was no way that he could suffer a confrontation with her tonight.

  Thom scooped the binoculars off the carpet and stood up. Kevin noticed that the meathead had wrapped his thick fingers firmly around his binoculars. He got the uncomfortable feeling that he would never hold them again.

  Was the loss of a vintage pair of binoculars a small price to pay to get this lump of meat out of his bedroom? After some considerable thought, Kevin decided that it was.

  Kevin peered through the window. Even without the binoculars, he saw a huge expanse of darkness where the man’s flowers used to be. It was very strange.

  “He’s probably planting a tree or something,” he replied. “Even so, you have to admit, the detail is pretty sharp.”

  “I’ve seen better,” Thom replied.

  Somehow, Kevin doubted that.

  The meathead walked over to the bed, picked up his combat jacket, and threw it over his shoulder. “You ain’t gonna puke on me if there is a dead body, are you? Cos if you do, I’ll fucking make you lick it off.”

  “Of course I’m not going to throw up,” Kevin replied, grinning. “I didn’t puke when they buried my grandma a couple of years ago. In fact, I was the only one who didn’t cry.” He had wept when they lowered that coffin, he cried buckets, but this meathead wouldn’t know that.

  His ears detected the sound of heavy footfalls on the stair carpet. That had to be Claire. The bitch was either going to the toilet or … his blood ran cold … or the bitch would burst in here at any moment and give Kevin both barrels of her volatile temper. Kevin ran over to the door. There was no way that he’d let her do that.

  Bugger it, he’d let Thom take the flak while he hid in the bathroom.

  “I won’t be a moment, I just need to piss.”

  He hurried out of his bedroom before Thom had a chance to answer. Kevin pushed open the door next to his, entered his bathroom, and slammed the bolt home. He loathed leaving that idiot in his bedroom alone amongst all his valuable gear, but what else could he do? There was no way that he’d be able to withstand another showdown with his sister.

  Kevin double-checked to make sure that he’d locked the door, then padded over to the toilet. His traitorous mind showed him his sister barging into his bedroom and the meathead holding up Kevin’s binoculars before explaining in great detail what her younger brother used them for. Between the pair of them, the news that he was some sort of weird perv would be all around the school for Monday dinnertime. Kevin would be a laughingstock for months.

  Oh Jesus, he needed to get a grip on his out-of-control neurosis. Kevin’s new hobby wouldn’t even enter Thom’s small mind. The meathead would be too busy staring at Claire’s tits. Kevin remembered that dirty slut had worn her green dress. Thom’s poor eyes wouldn’t stand a chance.

  There was nothing else for it. Somehow Kevin would just have to persuade Thom to come back tomorrow night. Andrea’s mum had yet to miss a performance on a Saturday. Last week had been very exciting, especially when she stood on something to reach the top of the curtains. Kevin’s eyes had almost popped out of his head when her bush came into view.

  If Thom only saw the way that woman moved as she danced, he’d be hooked. Hell, if the meathead caught a glimpse of what he’d witnessed last night, he’d never tell a soul. It would be their special secret. He would have a friend for life. No fucker at school would dare lay a finger on poor Kevin.

  He unzipped his fly and lifted the toilet lid while wondering whom else on the estate watched her strip off and dance naked in front of her window. Kevin couldn’t be the only one who eagerly waited for her to perform. He bet that he was the only one who had a decent set of binoculars, though.

  The dark tiles received a spray of piss when someone hammered on the bathroom door. He clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t say anything that would earn him a slapping later on.

  “For fuck’s sake, come on, you annoying little bastard. Get the fuck out of there; I need to have a shit.”

  “Out of the mouths of angels,” he whispered. His sister had such an eloquent way with words. “I won’t be long!” shouted Kevin.

  The girl banged on the door again. He frowned; that was weird, it sounded like she’d fallen against it. Maybe she’d fainted or had a stroke. No, he couldn’t be that lucky. Why didn’t his parent have her adopted, or better still, thrown her in the dustbin when she was younger? God, he so hated that bitch.

  “I said I won’t be long,” he shouted.

  This was so unfair. It looked like he was going to get his confrontation after all. Kevin should have stayed where he was. He and Thom could have then slipped out while she was busy in the toilet.

  Kevin unlocked the door and grabbed the handle, knowing for a fact that this day just couldn’t get any worse. As he turned the handle, the door flew back, almost knocking him into the bath. Kevin gasped in horror as two figures spilled into the room. Claire fell onto the hard floor with the other boy landing on her stomach.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Thom?”

  Kevin jumped back as Thom’s arm snaked out and tried to grab his leg. The blows that Claire rained down on her assailant were having no effect. Her eyes met Kevin’s, and the look of desperation and terror he saw in there kicked him into action.

  He ran forward and grabbed the back of Thom’s hair and pulled. He found himself flying back into the wall holding a handful of black hair. Thom didn’t even scream out.

  “Get the fuck off my sister!” Kevin yelled.

  Thom lunged towards the screaming girl. Her shrieks intensified as he fastened his teeth on her cheek and bit down. Her shrieking abruptly stopped when Thom pulled his head back, leaving behind a bloodied red hole in the side of her face. He spat out the chunk of flesh, fastened his bloodstained teeth around the side of Claire’s neck, and clamped his jaw shut.

  Kevin tore his gaze away from the dying light in his sister’s eyes and looked down at the boy sitting on Claire’s chest; he’d sat back up with his mouth full of his sister’s flesh and was chewing like a contented cow.

  Thom turned his head. He stopped chewing and began to moan, and Kevin’s eyes widened in disbelief when Claire began to move again and started to moan too.

  “Claire?”

  Her eyes were as still as those in a filleted fish. He knew that she was dead, and yet she still moved. His mind tilted to one side and threatened to shut down completely. His instinct for self-preservation only reasserted itself when he spotted that Thom still had hold of his pissing binoculars. He snatched them from his fingers and brought them down upon the top of Thom’s head.

  “These are mine, you fucking murderer,” he sobbed.

  Kevin pulled them out of the top of Thom’s head, watching in morbid fascination as the circular indentation he’d left in the top of the boy’s head began to fill up with dark red blood. Thom didn’t seem to notice that he’d been hurt. Kevin brought them down again, harder this time, then jumped over the sprawl of legs and arms. He looked back to see Claire pushing the now still body off her.

  There was no doubt that his sister had become just like Thom.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, as tears ran down his face.

  She groaned louder when he took a step back.

  “I’ll get help, Claire, I promise. Don’t you …”

  Kevin groaned himself as he gazed down the stairs and saw that some man had crawled through the open doorway and had climbed up a couple of stairs. He gazed in complete shock at this abomination, knowing that this dead thing should not be moving. Kevin fell against the wall, feeling his senses shutting down as he watched it, wrapped in filthy rags and wet mud, heaving its broken torso up the steps one at a time while leaving behind a slug trail of dirt.

  Kevin shrieke
d and raced for his bedroom.

  Chapter Three

  The general ambience in the Horse and Jockey matched Ernest Belmont’s mood. For a Friday night, his local pub felt more like the waiting room in the doctors, only with less people. He gazed into his glass, wondering if this vile muck was the root cause. He didn’t care what it said on the front of the pump, there was no way that this dark cloudy piss was Hobgoblin.

  He figured that the landlord was up to his old tricks again. Ernest lifted the glass and poured the swill down his throat. There was no doubt about it. The sneaky bugger had swapped the expensive stuff for some cheap knock-off homebrew. He was willing to put down cold hard cash on that little factoid. He sighed again before draining the last of the pint. The way his finances were going though, that cold hard cash was likely to be a couple of pennies and a five pence piece that he picked off the floor a few hours ago.

  “Same again?”

  Ernest nodded. “Please.” Still, he shouldn’t really complain. The stuff sliding down his throat wasn’t the worst that he’d tasted; in fact, it was a damn sight better than the vile potions that they usually served in the Horse and Jockey, and crap beer was certainly more preferable to no beer at all. A situation he would have been in tonight if it hadn’t been for his friend and his wallet.

  The friend in question, Jeff Cano, was already halfway to the bar, a remarkable feat considering they were already on their fifth round. Judging by Jeff’s coordination, or lack thereof, maybe they ought to slow down. If the stuff they were chucking down their necks was indeed homebrew, then Christ knows how strong it could be. Hell, the potency probably altered with each pint.

  The chances of Jeff slowing down were slim to none. His best mate was here for the night. The only way he’d stop drinking was if somebody taped up his mouth, and even then the bastard would only shove a couple of straws up his nose. Ernest ought to slow down though. Unlike Jeff, he had work in the morning.

  He leaned back, his fingers finding their way into his pocket. Ernest absently fiddled with his coin whilst trying to figure out how to divide his next crappy wage. The rent was two months overdue now, so was the payments for their washing machine and the dryer. Then he had the small matter of being able to actually afford to eat. If only he could have found a little more cash on that pavement, a bulging wallet would have been a bonus. “Like Jeff’s wallet?”

  Christ, what had his life come to? Ernest so needed a break.

  Two pints slopped on the table.

  “What’s up with you, Ernest? You’ve got a face like a smacked arse. No, wait, let me guess. Your lass is pissing you off, or maybe that dirty Paki at work is giving you a hard time again?”

  Ernest shook his head. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that, Jeff. My boss is a decent bloke. Mr. Singh treats me okay. The man worked bloody hard to get where he is. I’m telling you, that bloke never fucking stops. He’s probably at the store right now, beavering away.”

  Jeff leaned forward. “Listen to you, man! Just fucking listen to the shit coming out of your gob. Come on, you and I both know that the only reason why you’re not there with him is because your wife told the slave-driving twat that Friday is your night off.” Jeff carefully picked up his pint. “I still can’t believe you threw everything away to end up stacking beans in some shitty shop. He’s going to put you into an early grave, and no wonder he can afford a new BMW. You do know that this is killing your Brenda.”

  “Come on, man, let’s not bring this up again. Christ, you know what happened to me when they banged me up. Look what it did to Darren. I wasn’t there for him when he needed guidance, and now look at him, he’s turned into an estate thug.” He picked up his own pint and took a swallow, grimacing at the taste. This one was even worse than the last pint. “It almost broke my wife in two. Having spare cash and lots of fancy electronics isn’t worth the pain.”

  “Your lass is already broken, mate.” Jeff put down his pint. “I’m not blind. I know the score. You’re broke, in debt, and it’s getting worse. You need some serious money. It’s the only way to fix this mess.”

  Why did his mate always have to bring this topic up? Jeff went over the same old ground at least once a week. It was getting boring now. He tried to think of something else to say, but his mind kept coming up with blanks. He’d known Jeff ever since they were kids, and after over forty years of friendship they must have exhausted all topics of conversation at least twice over.

  “What do you think of the beer?” he asked, hoping Jeff would take the hint and lay off with the ‘worst career move you ever did’ speech. Christ knows what his mate would say if he told him that his lad was following in his father’s footsteps despite Ernest giving him all those dire warnings. Knowing Jeff, he would probably say that it was a good career move.

  Why couldn’t Jeff see the truth? This was his penance, and sure, life was pretty tough now, but it would get better. Mr Singh had already told him that he had put in an offer for the boarded up greengrocers on the edge of the estate. He told Ernest that was a prime spot of another mini-market. Mr Singh also hinted that he’d need somebody he could trust to help out and maybe, in time, to run it.

  Jeff nodded. “This is bloody good stuff. Mind you, my taste buds are all shot to fuckery tonight anyway. I made myself a well hot curry for tea.”

  “Are you having a laugh? Since when did you start to like curries?”

  Jeff shook his head and downed a half pint of liquid before answering. “Since never, you know I can’t stand all that foreign shit.” He belched. “But I read this article somewhere that hot and spicy food gets shut of migraines, so I thought, in for a penny, in for a pound, and all that. I also raided the medicine cabinet too. I’m telling you, Ernest, my belly’s fucking rattling.”

  “That’s weird,” Ernest replied. “Our Brenda’s had a headache all day as well, maybe there’s something going round.”

  “I fucking doubt that, Ernest. She’s a woman, you know what they’re like. They always have headaches. No, what I’ve got is something worse. I may have to see the doctor about it in the morning.”

  The way Jeff was slinging those drinks back, Ernest doubted that the pisshead would even see tomorrow morning.

  Not that it would be much of a surprise. Every since leaving school, Jeff was never about on a Saturday morning. He’d inherited his drinking habits from his dad. Like father like son, that was a street that he didn’t want to go down; not tonight anyway.

  He slowly got to his feet. His bladder demanded action. No, tonight was his official chilling out time. He’d deal with Darren tomorrow evening once he’d finished work. He had no idea what he could do to stop the little shit from following in daddy’s footsteps, but he need to think of something. He didn’t think his poor wife would cope with another Belmont behind bars.

  “While you’re up, you might as well get the next ones in.”

  Ernest didn’t really want another nasty-tasting beer, at least not yet. Hell, he’d only taken a sip out of this glass. Besides, he only had a couple more notes to last him until tomorrow. Jeff slid a fiver across the table.

  “Go on, get yourself a bottle. At least you know they haven’t been tampered with. Don’t worry about this pint, I’ll sort it out.”

  Ernest muttered a thank you, picked up the one empty glass, and wandered over to the bar. It wasn’t normal for his friend to be so loose with his cash; it meant the guy must be up to something. A heavy weight settled on his guts. There could be only one reason— Jeff wanted a favour, a favour that entailed Ernest having to use his old skills.

  He placed the glass on the bar. “A pint for Jeff, sweetheart, and can you get me a bottle of Budweiser?” Yeah, it had to be that. Christ, as if his life wasn’t complicated enough.

  The barmaid smiled and nodded before grabbing the glass and turning around. He couldn’t help his eyes following the contours of the woman’s legs. Maybe he should try and get his Brenda a job here. She needed something else over than bingo to occupy
her mind.

  Ernest and the barmaid both looked at the short man slumped against the bar. He silently groaned when he saw who it was. Steve Reynolds had been his personal pain in the arse ever since nursery. He lived a couple of streets away from Ernest, just behind the old graveyard. As a kid, Ernest often had fantasies of burying him in there, preferably tied up and still alive. Come to think of it, he’d still like to put the miserable bastard in the ground.

  Steve gripped the edges of the bar and turned to face Ernest. It took a moment for the man’s eyes to focus, but when they did, Steve scowled. “I should have fucking known it would be you. Buy me a fucking beer, you twat.”

  Oh this was just brilliant. The man was as drunk as a lord. Reynolds was a bastard at the best of times, but when he had a few beers inside him, he just got plain mean.

  Earnest nodded over to the woman, “One for him as well.” He had just enough money as long as he broke into his last note.

  Ernest was going to end up with bugger all at this rate, but it was best to keep on Steve’s good side; when his mouth stopped talking, the fists came out to play. His Brenda had told him loads of times how Steve knocked the crap out of his wife and kids when he’d had a skinful. Ernest never understood why Brenda hung around with her in the first place. She knew full well the history he and Steve had.

  He wondered what the pissed up knob-end would do if he ever found out that it was Ernest who broke into his home fifteen years ago and stole the family’s savings he’d found in the cornflake box in the kitchen and then trashed the place. Ernest would have loved to have seen Steve’s face when he arrived home that day, especially when he climbed the stairs and looked into his bedroom to see that huge turd in the middle of his bed.

  “Him? Who the fuck is ‘him’ supposed to be, the cat’s father?”

  “Sorry, I meant Steve,” he hastily replied.

  Ernest backed off and headed over to the toilets before Steve could have another pop at him.