by Ian Woodhead
Chapter Sixteen
Clarence Fisher wiped the condensation off his glasses, and his out of focus world returned to normal clarity when he pushed them back. His mother kept telling him to go back to the opticians; the woman was convinced that he was losing his sight. He sighed. Despite being fifty-two next year, the silly mare still treated him like a child
“You’re fifty-one and still single, my lad. What in donkey’s doodahs are you playing at?”
Thanks to his father leaving him the village bakery plus a few wise investments, Clarence had plenty of money. His job kept him fit, and the mirror in the bathroom reminded him daily that he wasn’t a horse-faced ogre. He even still retained his hair! Clarence blamed his imposed celibacy on the annoying fact that the bitch in the bedroom had been putting off every potential mate ever since he was seventeen.
That reminded him, a trip to the seedier area of Birmingham was still to be arranged for next week.
He looked back at the freezer door and stroked his unshaven face. Maybe he won’t have to. He still wasn’t sure why Anne had asked him to do this, he wasn’t really listening, but the lady sure was being very nice to him.
“Are you alright in there, Clarence?”
He shivered, and it wasn’t just due to the freezing temperature. That magnificent woman really had a gorgeous voice. He loved it when she called out his name.
“I’m fine, sweetheart, nearly done.”
He’d had a crush on her for two decades now, and he’d often fantasised about Anne screaming out his name as they made love under the moonlight; he shivered again.
Clarence tapped the thermometer bolted to the wall; as per usual the gauge was still stuck at minus five. It felt colder than that. Then again, it had been stuck on the setting for nearly three years now. The shop’s walk-in freezer was cold enough, and he didn’t need a gauge to tell him that; it must be the proximity to that woman causing him to feel so cold.
“Come on, my lad,” he whispered. “Get a grip on yourself.”
He bent down, pulled away an old cardboard box that appeared empty, and pushed the final loaf of bread in its place. He smiled when he looked in the box; it wasn’t empty after all; Clarence tipped the box out and half a cheese pasty and a frozen mouse fell to the floor. He booted them both into a corner, intending to bin them after Anne had gone. There was little chance of health and safety paying him a surprise visit. In all the years of owning the shop, he’d only been visited once, and that was over ten years ago. Most folk tended to forget that their village existed. Then again, considering what he’d heard on the radio this afternoon, he gathered that the authorities would have a bit too much on their plate to be worried about the state of his freezer.
He hurried out and pushed the door shut, and Clarence breathed in deep, enjoying air that didn’t burn his lungs.
“Okay, Anne,” he said turning around, “the shop is devoid of food. Now, are you going to explain why I’ve just emptied all my shelves?”
She took one step towards him, and he breathed in again, this time enjoying her distinctive fragrance; he decided there and then that he’d give this woman the shop if he could spend just one night with her.
Anne slowly drew her forefinger down his cheek, stopping at Clarence’s lips, “Because I asked you?”
He jerked his head forward and pretended to bite her finger, enjoying the brief look of surprise that made a tantalizing appearance before a look of annoyance replaced it. Clarence enjoyed that expression too.
He smiled to show that he didn’t mean it. He hoped the woman would forgive his little joke and return the smile. Clarence never became tired of watching her face light up when she smiled. God, she really was such a beautiful lady. He’d been hearing rumours from the few customers he’d had so far today about a certain George Kasnovski wandering around the village with no other than Anne hanging off his arm. That was one rumour that he intended to ignore. What a ridiculous notion. George was a decent enough bloke who’d do anything for his friends, but this angel was way out of his league. Besides, the man still grieved for Madison.
Clarence had a suspicious feeling who had started that one. That fucking butcher, Tom Maryland. That blonde dwarf had been sweet on Anne ever since his balls had dropped, and he didn’t think the twenty year age difference mattered. To Clarence’s knowledge, he’d asked her to have dinner with Tom at least five times. She’d turned him down, of course. Not that he blamed her, Tom only came up to her shoulders. Tom now thought it perfectly acceptable to go around pissing in the face of any other potential suitor.
The woman nodded briefly before walking out of the back room and into the now empty front shop.
“Anne? You still haven’t told me why I’ve emptied the shop.”
“What about those remaining bits of meat that the butcher couldn’t fit into his freezer? Will there be room in yours?” She said, ignoring him.
Clarence shook his head, resisting the urge to make a crude joke about fitting Clarence’s meat into her. It did make him feel a bit better that she addressed Tom by his trade. “I’m sorry, Anne, but I’ve just no more room in there.”
He stood in front of the woman, feeling awkward when it became clear that she wasn’t going to answer him. “This is about the riots, isn’t it?”
Something on the next level suddenly hit the floor.
“What was that?” she gasped.
Clarence looked up at the ceiling, wishing his mother would just drop dead. “Don’t worry about it, Anne, it’s just my mum banging on the floor; she probably wants a cup of tea or something.”
“Are you sure?” Anne followed his gaze. “That sounded more like she’d fallen out of her bed.”
She had thrown herself out of her bed. This was his mother’s latest fun game. The first time she’d done it, Clarence suspected that it had been genuine. It had frightened the hell out of him, and he’d called Doctor Bishop to get her checked over. Since that time, she’d done this eight times, nine including this one. He’d sort out the attention seeking old bag as soon as Anne had gone, which he hoped would be never.
“Clarence, I really think you should check on her, you know.”
He shook his head. “Honest, she’s fine, Mum does this all the time. Now, come on Anne, what’s going on?”
“This plague is raging out of control. I’ve just come back from Ken’s farm.”
He decided not to ask her what she was doing out there when he watched her shiver. The blood drained from her face.
“It’s also here, in Seeton. Everyone is going to panic, Clarence. Once they find out, the first thing they’ll do is strip all the shops.”
“Is it really that bad? From what I heard, they’d got it under control.”
Anne shook her head. “They’re lying. It’s worse than they say. Believe me, I’ve seen what it does to people. There are a few strangers in the village as well. You can bet that they’ll be the first to start throwing bricks through your windows.”
He nodded. Clarence served a blonde, pretty young thing earlier on. She bought all his steak pies.
“We need to protect ourselves and our stuff. Believe me, Clarence, help will not be coming anytime soon, and the others that I’ve spoken to agree. Now, before I go, do you have anything to cover your windows? A couple of plywood sheets ought to do the job.”
He nodded, “I’ve a few sheets left over from when I converted the loft. I think they’re in the cellar.”
She suddenly bent across and kissed him gently on the lips. “Thanks for doing this, Clarence. You’re such a sweet man.”
He smiled again, and this time she did return his smile. “Think nothing of it, anything for you, my dear, you know that.”
“Now listen, Clarence, there’s going to be a village meeting later tonight at around seven. Every business owner in Seeton needs to be there and that, of course, includes you, my sweet.”
He scratched his head, “A village meeting? Gosh, we haven’t had one of those for a long tim
e.”
“I’ll pick you up just before seven. I strongly advise you to get the shop secured and then stay inside until I return. Believe me when I say that you do not want to bump into anyone who’s infected.”
He nodded, then watched her leave his shop and climb into the cab of a Land Rover. There were a couple of men in there with her, but the vehicle had driven off before he had chance to recognise them. Still, he didn’t care.
“That was our first kiss,” he said. Clarence couldn’t believe it, after all these years it looked as though his persistence was paying off.
The floor above his head shook once more.
“That’ll be the reading lamp smashed,” he muttered. “Unless she’s climbed back into bed and thrown herself out ‘again’. He wouldn’t put that past her.
“Cut it out, you crazy old cow!”
He decided not to feed her tonight for pulling that stunt. God, he was annoyed. The old bag must have seen Anne enter the shop. Clarence padded back into the back room and opened the stairway door; he pressed his forefinger against the spot where he’d been kissed.
The last time he’d paid a visit to the city, he purposely chose an older woman, one who had a passing resemblance to his girl. He’d called her Anne throughout the entire session. He smiled at the memory; that particular fuck had been just awesome. Clarence just knew that the real McCoy would be a hundred times better.
He paused at the top of the stairs and gazed out of the window. Seeton was a ghost town; he couldn’t believe just how empty the place looked. The only movement he saw was Mrs. Chatsworth, who owned the general store opposite his shop. He watched her in bemusement as she taped sheets of newspaper over her windows.
“You daft cow,” he muttered.
She must have misheard Anne’s instructions. Well, he wasn’t going to put her right, not on your nelly. That woman could talk for her country, and if he approached her he’d get nothing done. As soon as he’d sorted out his annoying mother and had something to eat, Clarence intended to retire to his own bedroom, strip naked, and fantasise about Anne for an hour or two.
Clarence then clocked even more movement, this time coming from the graveyard just behind the church. There was too much distance for him to see clearly, but from what he could work out Clarence guessed that it must have been a group of older kids messing about. He sighed; they’d been told before about hanging around in there. By how they were acting, the little beggars were pissed out of their heads. No doubt acquired from that Tom Maryland. It was an open secret that the man had a homemade still in his cellar. Another reason why Clarence hated the bastard, he’d never asked him if he wanted any.
He sighed and padded over to his mother’s bedroom door. It just wasn’t fair, why couldn’t she just hurry up and die? That woman had been like a dead albatross around his neck ever since she developed Alzheimer’s. The bitch probably got that just to spite him.
“Okay, Mother. You’ve had your fun. It’s time for you to go back to sleep.” Clarence pushed open the door and stopped dead at the sight before him.
He tried to scream and caught his breath. Clarence stumbled towards his mother’s body, surrounded by a lake of deep red blood.
“Mum?” he whimpered. “Please don’t be dead, I didn’t mean it.”
The foul stink of human faeces reached his nostrils. Some part of his mind calmly reminded him that the smell of her crap would linger for days.
He saw a splintered shard of wood sticking out of her chest and figured out just what had happened. She’d thrown herself out of the bed alright and landed on top of her antique low table. Her weight must have shattered the frail old thing, sending one of the legs through her heart.
“Oh, Jesus, You silly old woman.”
He looked down, watching his tears splash into her blood, Clarence didn’t want his mother to be dead; this wasn’t fair. He suddenly looked up when he heard a single quiet moan.
The old woman slowly opened her eyes. He gasped in utter shock, staring at her blood red eyes. She extended one thin arm towards him and let out a long mournful groan.
Clarence shook his head in disbelief, unable to take this in; her movements became more agitated when he tentatively leaned towards the woman.
Suddenly her other arm snapped up and grabbed his ankle, and taken by surprise, he slipped in her blood and crashed down on top of her. An agonizing pain shot through his thigh, he bellowed out, and jerked his leg backwards, taking his mother with him. The woman hung onto his leg with a terrier’s tenacity.
“Get the fuck off me! he screamed. Clarence brought his other leg up and snapped it forward. The force knocked her head back against the floorboards. He shrieked as a chunk of his flesh came away too.
Weeping and crying, the man dragged his body through the cold blood, desperately trying to avoid her grasping hands; the impact of her head hitting the floor had not slowed her down one bit. He stretched out and lunged for his mother’s wardrobe. As he wrapped his fingers around one of the legs, he screamed out again as she bit into his ankle.
Clarence then felt her grip on his body suddenly leave him, but by this time Clarence didn’t care. As his body began to cool, all higher functions shut down, leaving only the insatiable desire to feed.
Chapter Seventeen
George had politely listened to everything that the farmer had to say whilst in the cab of his Land Rover. He’d known Ken almost all his life and knew just how pragmatic the man was. The tale he told bordered on the insane, yet it still took the farmer to show them both the evidence before George could really believe him.
“Are you sure that this is such a good idea?”
He nodded, wishing Anne would release her grip a little on his arm. “Why shouldn’t it be? Those things are still miles away from here. Besides, Ken’s ordered his boys over to the railway station to stand guard on the bridge.”
Anne nodded, “That’s a good spot; you can see the whole village from there.”
Her death-like grip eased a little.
“So, there’s absolutely nothing to worry your head over,” he replied, wishing she’d let go of his arm for a moment. He was beginning to lose feeling in the ends of his fingers. George wanted somebody to reassure him. He felt ridiculous walking down the middle of the bloody high street holding onto a kid’s cricket bat.
Following the white markings down the middle of the road had been one of Anne’s bright ideas. Those revolting things locked in Ken’s barn really had frightened the crap out of the poor woman; he got the feeling that Anne would be nightmaring tonight—that is if she got any sleep. She now thought one of them would jump out at them at any moment.
George had tried to explain that being mown down by a speeding car was just as dangerous but she was having none of it.
He considered telling her that it should be safe now to walk on the pavement. There wasn’t another building on either side of them for another few metres. This walking in the middle of the road lark was seriously beginning to unnerve him. So far they’d been lucky; the traffic into the village had been non-existent.
He glanced over to the dry-stone wall on his left, and noticed movement at the far end of a field. The fading light made it difficult to see with any clarity, but he sure as hell knew that they weren’t cows. Their apparent aimless shuffling sent shivers down his spine.
The one in that barn acted the same way until one of Ken’s lads got a bit too close to it. The shambling body then let out one mournful deep moan before shuffling towards the astonished kid. Ken pulled him away before the thing could reach him but, George would not ever forget those hungry, gleaming eyes following the boy’s progress out of the barn doors. It emitted a single pitiful cry and tried in vain to remove the rough rope fastened around the thing’s neck.
Somehow George knew that if that walking corpse was free it would have followed that poor boy until the ends of the earth…well, at least until another person got too close to it.
They were flesh eaters, more specif
ically human flesh eaters. The farmer may have managed to capture one of them, but not before it had attacked and killed one of Ken’s farmhands. The farmer would only agree to George seeing the body on the proviso that he wouldn’t repeat his discovery to the woman. He’d nodded, not understanding why he needed to see the remains of the poor boy in the first place. Why hadn’t he called the police?
His words died and stayed dead when he saw the lad. The thing had made a right mess of him. It took George a few moments to place his face; there wasn’t much of it left intact. The poor boy’s head looked as though it had been put through a threshing machine, but the damage continued down his body. His chest had been completely ripped open, and the boy’s left arm hung by his side, only fastened by a single bloodied tendon. George almost fainted when the boy open his one remaining eye and attempted to climb out of the old water tank when George looked down.
Anne jerked him out of his reflections and pointed at the village hall’s blazing lights. He turned away from the distant figures and sighed with relief that she hadn’t noticed them too. It was ominous that there was no other illumination in Seeton, at least not where he could see. Even the streetlights had failed to come on. There were pockets of light beyond the village but none of the telltale lines of white brilliance that marked the signs of the thousands of streetlights. He feared the village would plunge into complete blackness once the sun had dipped beyond the horizon.
George took one last look at those shambling figures in the distance and shivered, wondering how long it would take them to reach the outskirts. He no longer felt ridiculous holding the cricket bat.
“Anne, is something on your mind?”
That was such a stupid comment to make, considering their current situation and how she’d reacted to the events on Ken’s farm, but he could think of nothing else to say. He just needed to distract her, stop the woman from following his gaze. Christ knows how she’d have reacted if Anne saw those people over there.
George still couldn’t wrap his head around the unshakable fact that they weren’t people anymore, just shuffling dead things, walking corpses. They were zombies, just like in those horror movies.