Death Plague [Four Zombie Novels]

by Ian Woodhead

  Half a dozen small, framed pictures hung above the mantelpiece, each one depicting various rural scenes of Seeton from decades ago. It didn’t astonish Dean to discover images of cows in four of the pictures. He then grinned to himself, maybe he ought go out into one of the fields and bag himself a cow? Seeton had more cows than people. Getting in the first injection wouldn’t be too difficult; those big dumb things were used to people.

  He once remembered getting a right bollocking off Ken Ellis when he caught him and Tom in the act of cow tipping. He never did find out just what the farmer was doing hiding behind a wall at four in the morning.

  The problem would arise with attempting to administer the second injection after the original solution had killed the animal and then brought it back to some resemblance of life. Dean tried to imagine a half-ton animal acting like that little gerbil, and he threw away his idea with contempt. Without a rifle to administer the second solution, it would be the equivalent of sneaking up on a ravenous polar bear to give it a kiss.

  “Way too large,” he muttered.

  “Can I help you, mate?”

  Dean’s throat almost ejected his insides; he spun around, trying to regain his composure. Judging by the huge grin plastered across the blond youth’s acne ridden face, Dean guessed the kid found the whole situation terribly amusing.

  “Sorry about that, mate. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He didn’t look sorry at all. After looking at the boy’s well-muscled arms planted on the bar’s surface, Dean decided not to make an issue out of it.

  “I’ll have a pint of that, please,” he said, pointing to one of the pumps. He’d never heard of the make before, not that it mattered. He’d only come in here to see if he could find the owner of that pet shop. After his little scare, he felt he needed something to calm his nerves.

  As the young man drew his pint, Dean looked past his bulky body and through the open door behind the bar. The room beyond had been furnished in the same style as the pub, and the only difference was the large amount of electronic equipment scattered around the maroon room. He then saw what the young man must have been watching and attempted not to smirk. It appeared that the barman had a passion for old cartoons. Dean watched Jerry run along the top of a curtain rail, being chased by a very upset Tom. Dean then saw another cat curled up asleep on a rocking chair beside the television.

  A cat would be just perfect for his needs. There must be dozens of felines skulking around the village; maybe he should purchase a tin of cat food and try to lure one back to the house.

  “Here you go.”

  Dean nodded and handed the man a ten-pound note. He took a sip of his drink, trying to remember if his dad’s neighbour’s had any cats. It seemed to be his only viable option apart from using a cow; what other choice did he have?

  “Where is everyone by the way? Is it normally this quiet?”

  The barman thrust Dean’s change into his open palm; Dean got the impression that his company was not welcome in here.

  “They’re having some sort of meeting over at the village hall.” He nodded over to the tap room. “One of our rooms is occupied, so some fucker had to stay behind to keep an eye on the place.”

  Dean looked across at the other room through the small window in the door; he saw the back of a blonde head, so he wasn’t as alone as he first thought.

  “Do you think you’ll be needing anything else? Only, I’ve got some college work to catch up on.”

  Dean shook his head, wondering if this big oaf had realised that he’d left his television on.

  “Right,” he mumbled before turning and marching back into the room. He slammed the door behind him.

  “What a charming young man.”

  He brought the glass to his lips and took another swallow. He pulled a face…this stuff was bloody horrible. Dean placed the half full glass back on the bar and headed for the main door. As he grabbed the handle, the door to the tap room swung open and a young woman ran out and raced over to Dean.

  “What the hell?”

  The terrified looking girl collided into Dean and grabbed his shoulders. “Please help me!” she said looking into his eyes.

  He blinked in astonishment. This was the same girl that he met on the train. He couldn’t get over her drastic change. A petite rather gorgeous young blonde had replaced that foul smelling vagrant who gave him all that abuse on the train earlier.

  “Miss, what’s wrong?”

  She just turned her head and pointed at another man leaning against the doorframe. His smiling face held about the same amount of contempt as that barman. The only difference was that this man didn’t have the barman’s toned body to back up his threat.

  “This ain’t got nothing to do with you, stranger. Best idea, mate, is turn back around and get yourself gone.”

  Dean had always considered Seeton to be such a friendly village when he’d been growing up here. Strangers may not have always been welcome, but they were certainly treated with a curious amount of respect.

  He untangled the girl and slowly approached this arrogant pensioner. He’d had just about enough of Seeton’s older generation today. He was trying to save them for crying out loud.

  “Maybe you should be the one to make like a tree,” he growled. Dean stared at him, hoping that the barman wouldn’t choose this moment to make an appearance. He knew whose side the gorilla would take, and it wouldn’t be Dean’s.

  “This has got nothing to do with you; we don’t tolerate strangers causing trouble in Seeton.”

  Dean felt a smile creeping up his face as he realised exactly who’d been threatening him. “Oh, my God, it looks like the dirty old man really has turned into a dirty old man.”

  Dean laughed as the man eventually recognised him as well.

  “Oh, there we go. The light dawns; now about that tree we were talking about.”

  “I ain’t going anywhere, Dean Kasnovski.”

  “Yes, you fucking are. Do you not remember what me and Gavin did to you when we found out about you touching up Sarah?”

  He heard the girl behind him gasp.

  “Those twenty years haven’t been kind to you have they, Albert Hudson? I reckon that another good kicking would just about finish you off.”

  The old man pushed past him, glared at the girl, and then stormed out of the pub. Dean turned around, suddenly needing to down his discarded pint.

  “Are you alright, Miss?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I am, no.” She walked over to a padded seat and collapsed into it.

  Dean picked up his pint, drank half of it down, and then took a seat opposite the girl. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

  She looked up, “I know. I heard the teacher say your name.”

  “Oh, okay. I hope you didn’t mind me intruding there.” This girl looked so familiar, yet for all his effort, Dean just could not place her face.

  “I thought he was dead, I even saw the gravestone. Didn’t know he had a brother, did I? My heart almost stopped when the creep spotted me across the bar ten minutes ago. He even licked his lips.”

  It didn’t take a genius to work out what that diseased pervert must have done to the poor girl. She looked a bit too old to be still at school though. Whatever happened must have been some time ago. Oh fuck! The chances were that Hudson had continued to go about his disgusting ways despite having the shit kicked out of him.

  He looked at the door and then back at the girl, he really ought to be getting back; he shouldn’t be getting involved with anyone else’s problems.

  “Do you want a drink or something?” he said. Shit, where did that come from? The words just seemed to spurt out of their own accord.

  She finally took her eyes off the battered mahogany table. She reached across the surface and took hold of one of Dean’s hand. “That’s very sweet of you, Dean” she said, wiping the tears from her face with her other hand. “If you don’t mind, though, I think that I’d rather go for a walk instead.”r />
  The girl then smiled, “I’m Alison, by the way.”

  The name brought his recall to a crashing halt. “You mean you’re Sarah’s baby sister? My God! You were still in your nappies the last time I saw you.” He still found it hard to believe that this girl was the same one from the train.

  She stood up, glancing nervously at the bar. “Come on, take me somewhere else.”

  He followed her gaze and saw the barman glaring at the pair of them; the gym teacher stood beside the big man, smiling.

  “This man would like a word with you, Dean; it’s about you and your friend assaulting his father.”

  Dean watched in horror as the barman leaped onto the bar’s surface; the girl screamed and dragged Dean towards the doors with the barman right behind them. Dean grabbed his drink as he passed and hurtled the glass at the snarling man. He managed to dodge out of its way, but his pause allowed them to push through the doors before he could grab them.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  Dean looked back and watched the huge man and the gym teacher emerge into the warn night air. “We get the hell away from here!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Emma Chatsworth leaned forward and stretched the muscles in her back. She had pulled something there.

  “That’s what you get for going up and down a stepladder at your age, you silly moo.”

  She’d get her Jack to give it a rub when he got back. Emma sat back in her favourite chair, trying to remember where she’d put that tube of Deep-Heat.

  She gazed out of the bedroom window onto the now quiet high street. Emma had moved the chair closer to the window a few minutes ago to watch all the ruckus down below. What a performance, all that running and screaming about; those folk ought to be ashamed of themselves. They must have been strangers, the locals wouldn’t act in that disgraceful manner. The street was now quiet. Emma nodded to herself, that’s how it should be. Folk at this time ought to be in their houses, getting ready for bed.

  That Elsie down at the Rose and Crown must be coining it in. With all her rooms full and with the extra beer money going into her cash register, that woman will be laughing all the way to the bank.

  “She’d better spend some of it in here, that’s all I can say.”

  It wasn’t just her back that ached; all that movement from climbing those steps had opened the cut in her ankle. It did seem like a daft idea at the time to tape sheets of newspaper over her windows, but Anne had been quite adamant that it had to be done.

  When the lady had first entered the shop, telling tales of stocking up, hiding away perishables, and protecting the shop, Emma had assumed it had to do with those reports. She’d listened to all that excitable nonsense on the television this afternoon. It was all way too confusing, and as ridiculous as it seemed, it almost sounded as if some invading army was marching through England’s cities.

  That was just ridiculous; at least, Emma thought it was. She never took much notice of events happening outside of Seeton nowadays. It was always bad news, each and every day, another war, a famine, some earthquake, and not any good news. Emma much preferred the daily chats she had with the rest of Seeton’s womenfolk, now they were far more interesting.

  She’d turned the television off in disgust, folk ought to just get along with each other. Even so, if we had been invaded, it was a bit of a poor do. She just hoped the army would sort them out before they got anywhere near her village.

  She couldn’t work out just who had declared war on England. Emma did recall something about a French helicopter firing loads of missiles at a refugee column. She tutted. That sounded about right. She never did trust those Frenchies. Jack had taken her once to Paris a few decades ago, the only time she’d been out of Seeton. She’d hated every moment. The food was all weird and nobody spoke English over there.

  Emma sighed and looked across at Tom’s butchers shop. Looking at what he’d done to the front of his shop, she guessed that Anne must have paid him a visit as well. Only he’s used large boards of plywood. That would take some getting off; she hated to think of the damage all those nails would have caused to the frames below. Still, Emma wasn’t going to fret, Tom would soon be in her shop asking for any wood-filler.

  He really should have used newspaper. Her mother had done exactly the same during the last war. She had only been a child at the time, but that memory of her mum taping newspaper inside and out of the shop windows stayed in her mind. Her mum even had blackout curtains, she had always believed in making sure.

  That Clarence hadn’t bothered doing anything to his shop, which was a bit odd. She’d watched Anne enter the bakers; she’d stayed there for quite some time too. Clarence had a crush on that Anne, everyone in the village knew that piece of not so secret information. She found it sweet, but in turn, just a little weird. Clarence wasn’t the most stable of individuals in Seeton. There had always been something not quite right about that lad; even Clarence’s mum had said that. Emma would have to pay that poor woman a visit tomorrow. Say what you like about the boy, at least he looked after his mum in her time of need.

  Well, as long as they didn’t turn on any lights, they should be okay. Those German bombers probably wouldn’t bother with their village anyway. Emma shook her head, trying to disperse that mental fog that had been slowly filling her mind. No, it wasn’t the Germans this time, was it?

  Emma bent down and gave her ankle a good rub. When she pulled her hand away it surprised her to find the palm of her hand covered in thick blood. She slowly raised the hand close to her nose, drawn by the powerful metallic scent. Emma moaned aloud and drew her tongue across the palm. The exquisite taste of her own life-fluid oozing down her throat was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She didn’t stop licking until her hand was spotless.

  She shivered, feeling alert and awake for the first time since this morning. The true horror of the situation outside and the incident from this morning slammed into her like a runaway express locomotive. The woman leaped up, stared aghast at the sprawled bodies under her window, then she looked at the ugly gash starting at her Achilles heel and leading up to the back of her knee.

  Her moan of despair started at the pit of her stomach and travelled up through her contaminated, changing body until it reached her throat. Emma then fell back down in her chair as the mental fog regained control of her mind.

  She couldn’t believe how hungry she was. Emma had already had a spot of supper a bit back, just a couple of slices of toast with a light spread of marmalade. Not too much, mind. It wasn’t healthy to have a large amount just before bedtime.

  It was no good, she’d have to have something else. Emma just couldn’t go to bed with this stomach complaining for food; the rumbling would keep her up all night. There was a bit of lime jelly on a plate at the back of the fridge. That would do her; she could also use the last of the vanilla ice cream in the freezer compartment. She was going to save that for her husband when he came back from his walk.

  Emma eased her body out of the chair and hobbled over to the bedroom door. This stomach of hers really was annoying her; she really did need to get it filled up with something.

  If Jack still fancied a snack when he came back, she could always fix him up a corned beef sandwich. Emma had two tins left in the cupboard and one hidden away behind her needlework box. Jack was a bugger for helping himself. The man loved the stuff. He also had a tendency for covering the meat in tomato sauce. Emma had no plans on putting any of that into his sandwich. Why Jack insisted on covering all his meals in the stuff was beyond her, he even squirted it in soup.

  The image of a white plate covered in the crimson condiment suddenly filled her mind. Emma’s stomach growled. She dragged her hand across the damaged ankle again and moaned in pleasure at the sight of her bloodstained palm. She eagerly lapped the congealing blood off her skin as she made her way downstairs.

  By the time she’d reached the bottom, Emma had completely forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.
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  That dense mist weaving through her mind receded slightly when she noticed a single brass coat-hook. There should be something on there. The old woman giggled. Jack’s bright red tartan jacket wasn’t where it should be. “What are you like, Emma Chatsworth? You really are a silly moo. The coat is on your husband. How could you forget about Jack?”

  She’d threatened the man on numerous times that she would throw that battered old thing into the bin. She didn’t care about the sentimental attachment; he looked like a bloody tramp wearing that old coat. In fact, she had thrown it in the bin a couple of times, but he’d just gone and fished it back out again.

  “He’s taking his sweet time.” She glanced at the wall clock. “He’s been gone simply ages; Jack doesn’t usually take this long. I do hope he’s alright.”

  He’d said earlier that he was feeling a bit under the weather. Looking back, her husband did look very pale before he left the house. He told her that he needed a bit of fresh air to clear his head.

  “It’s all that boy’s fault, we should have called the police.”

  Emma sighed, wishing she hadn’t said that. She’d been trying to forget about that boy all morning. They’d both been enjoying their daily walk when he’d jumped out from that bush. She jerked to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, thinking back…that boy had more fallen out of the bush.

  “He must have been from the next village, that place was full to the brim with ruffians. They had gypsies and drug addicts in Netherwell.”

  That boy had made a right mess of her husband’s hand when he’d grabbed him, the boy must have had a knife in his hand. Jack had tried to fight back, but that kid had been like a wild beast. She daren’t think what would have happened if that farmer hadn’t shown up. Emma had seen Ken driving towards them as soon as he’d stopped the boy; he’d jumped off his tractor and ran over. The big man literally dived on the boy and knocked him to the floor.

  That kid must have caught her leg when Ken rugby tackled him to the ground, and his long nails cut through her tights and into her skin. It didn’t half sting; Emma had been so tempted to kick that boy in the face for that.