“Safe?” said one of the crowd. “How are we safe with that man in here with us? We can’t trust the military.”
“Not to mention the fact that The Peeling is inside,” added another unseen person in the crowd. “Stephen and his daughter are dead.”
“How did they even get it? No one else has it, so it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Look,” said Brett. “I don’t think we understand things as well as we think we do. I know the news reports said that half of us are carriers, which means we won’t get the disease itself, but in all honesty who the hell knows the truth? It hit us all so quickly and so hard that I doubt the Government even had half a chance to try and figure it all out. At least for now, no one else seems to be sick, so we shouldn’t tempt fate by going outside or changing our behaviours.”
“Or letting new people in,” said someone in the crowd. “Like a goddamn, bleeding soldier.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” said Ethan. “I think we should turf him out as soon as he’s had twenty-four hours rest.”
The crowd murmured amongst themselves and seemed to agree.
“No,” said Reverend Long. “We must remember the compassion we all once had, before fear perverted our good natures. Lieutenant Bristow handed over his weapons willingly and is a victim of all this, just like us. We should not turn away a stranger in need. In the times ahead of us, there may well be a time where we ourselves need to rely on the kindness of another. Let us not turn into animals. We are men and woman, and the direction of the future will be down to us.”
“Very dramatic,” said Ethan. “Perhaps you’re right, though. Maybe we shouldn’t forget how things were before they all went to hell and back. Let’s vote. All in favour of ejecting our unwanted guest tomorrow morning raise your hands.”
Over two thirds of the group raised their hands and Reverend Long let out a sigh.
“Democracy. Can’t argue with the group,” said Ethan. “The will of the many supersedes the will of the few.”
The Reverend shook his head and walked away. Brett thought about going after him, but decided not to. Brett couldn’t say anything that would change anything. If a majority of the group wanted Bristow gone, then who was he to argue? Maybe things would be different tomorrow. People would have had time to think.
I just hope Bristow doesn’t put up a fight.
***
Because nobody else was willing, Brett and Reverend Long took Stephen’s body upstairs to rest beside his daughter. The little girl’s body had been reduced to a sickly mush that hardly resembled human form. In a way, Stephen was lucky to have died before he suffered the same fate. The smell had been overpowering and Brett could still smell it on his clothing. Fortunately, when Emily approached him she didn’t seem to notice.
The sun was beginning to go down and Brett had gotten into one of the stadium’s offices. He was looking out of the window across the carpark, and the devastation outside. Dozens of bodies littered the streets; witnesses to the fire-fight that had broken out between the police officers and soldiers. Bullet holes pockmarked the scattered vehicles and blood covered the pavement like spilt paint. There wasn’t a single person alive out there; so where were Lieutenant Bristow men?
“You okay?” asked Emily, moving up beside him at the window. She shook her head when she saw what he did. “You know, it’s horrible, but it doesn’t even bother me anymore, the bodies and stuff. It’s normal now. Does that make me bad?”
Brett patted her on the back. “Course not. I think people just adjust to survive. We’re all doing it. I’ve changed too.”
“Tell me about it. People really listen to you now.”
Brett watched a stray dog appear from between two houses and begin sniffing around the debris of the street. He hoped the dog wasn’t far gone enough to start eating the bodies. “People don’t listen to me,” he said. “They listen to Ethan and the Reverend. I’m just the poor sod caught in the middle forced to take sides.”
“Well doesn’t that make you the most powerful of all then? If they keep butting heads and making opposing suggestions, with you being the one deciding on the outcome, then technically you are the one making all the decisions around here.”
It was an interesting thought, and perhaps close to the truth, but it was an unwanted truth. “To be honest I’d rather not be making any decisions at all. I’m not cut out for responsibility.”
“I disagree,” said Emily.
“Really? Well, I can’t help feeling that I’m putting people in danger. It was my decision to bring Bristow inside, and he’s already killed one of us.”
“Stephen was already doomed.”
“Yeah, he was, but why was that? Because I let his daughter stay inside with us after she had The Peeling. Then Stephen caught it. Who knows if anyone else will get it because of my decision?”
Emily put an arm around Brett and he shuddered with discomfort. It had been so long since he’d had human contact that he was no longer used to it. Emily kept her arm around him regardless. “It’s not your fault. So many people have died already that trying to do something about it is almost pointless. We’re not in control of anything anymore.”
Brett sighed and turned away from the window. Melancholy wasn’t in his nature and he was reluctant to allow himself to indulge the feeling now. The only furniture that hadn’t been taken from the office to build barricades was a couple of office chairs. Brett sat down on an executive, leather high-back and spun around on it, trying to replace his sadness with dizziness. Emily took a chair for herself and rolled it up opposite him.
Brett looked up at Emily and asked her a question. “So come on then, tell me. Why do you always seem to be there whenever I look up? Are you following me?”
Emily blushed and seemed a little annoyed. “High opinion of yourself, much? I just like being around you because there’s not that many people to choose from anymore.”
“Oh, cheers.”
Emily cracked a smile. “Plus, there’re even less young people, and…you make me feel safe.”
Brett raised an eyebrow. “Safe?”
“Yeah. You don’t seem to let worry get to you like everyone else. You stay calm and do the right thing. You remind me of how things were before things went bad, calm and normal.”
“So what were you like before all this? What did you do for fun?”
“Not a lot,” Emily replied. “I was a big, saddo nerd, as you can probably tell by my bright ginger hair and spectacles.”
“Maybe I thought that about you at first, but you seem pretty cool after getting to know you.”
“Nope, I’ve always been a hopeless case I’m afraid. My parents sent me for piano lessons and choir when I was ten and my nerdom never looked back. I tried picking up guitar and listening to rock to try and be cooler but it never worked. People still crossed the street to avoid me. Truth be told I’m probably more popular since things went all loopy.”
Brett laughed. “Maybe your problem is that you say things like ‘loopy’. This situation is a few levels above loopy. Let me hear what you really think.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re being polite and well-behaved, but the time for manners is over. Time to stop being a nerd. Tell me what you really think of the world we’re currently stuck in.”
“Well…I, I think it’s messed up.”
“Keep going.”
“It’s…well, it’s fucked up is what it is.”
“More.”
“This situation is totally batshit-crazy, fruitloop-fucking-insane. It’s a barrel-full of shitballs.”
Brett laughed so hard that his chest hurt and he started choking. When he regained his breath, he said, “Well, those are some ways to put it, I guess. I think I agree with you, though; this situation is certainly a barrel-full of shitballs.”
Emily laughed too. “It’s fuck-fuck-fucked!”
“There you go. Doesn’t it feel better to say what you really mean?”
> “Yeah, it does. Thanks for rescuing me from my none-swearing lifestyle. I feel much happier now.”
“Okay, okay,” said Brett, trying to keep from another bout of laughter. “Now that you’ve reinvented yourself, what would you be doing right now if you could?”
“I’d be back at home at my piano. I know it’s not cool, but I always preferred it over guitar. Doesn’t mean I can’t rock out, though. The last CD I brought was by a band called Fozzy. I think I would be listening to them right now. I miss music so bad, you know?”
“Fozzy? Shit, I know them. They’re good. Well, I think the music may have stopped for now, so once things settle down it’s going to be up to us to bring rock back to the world.”
“Deal,” said Emily, offering out her hand to shake. Once he shook it, she looked him in the eye and said, “You know what else I would do right now if I had the choice?”
“No,” said Brett. “What?”
“This.” Emily stood up and climbed onto Brett’s lap. Then she kissed him.
***
Brett woke up in the pitch blackness and for a moment did not know where he was. Sliding off the edge of sleep, Brett’s world was once again normal and devoid of the horrors of the last few weeks. The warm body lying beside him made him feel even more that things were normal. But then it all came back to him.
He sat up in the darkness and realised he was sweating. The room had gotten stuffy while he and Emily slept. Being fully-clothed had led to him becoming overheated. Emily felt hot, too, beneath his hand, but had not awoken. She snored softly as sleep continued to embrace her.
Brett needed to get some air. He was beginning to feel quite ill and bunged up. He had never been a good sleeper and his sinuses would often constrict throughout the night, waking him up. The world may have been shattered and torn asunder, but some things never changed.
Brett crept up to his feet, not wanting to wake Emily and leave her frightened and alone in the dark. He planned on heading over to the East Stand to cool down in the open area beside the pitch. Then he would come right back and lay beside Emily. It was strange to him that the thought of getting back to her was so important, but right now she was the only thing making him still feel human. The development between the two of them was something he never would have predicted.
Brett pawed his way through the dark, searching for the wall that would lead him to the door. When he found it, he pulled it open gradually, trying to avoid the squeak of the hinges. The corridor outside was dark, too, but Brett knew that there were no obstacles in his way and that he needed only to head along the wall until he reached a further door at the end.
He stepped out into the moonlit East Stand and was immediately invigorated by the cool air rushing through the cement structure. He sighed as it flowed over his clammy cheeks and lifted up his shirt to allow it to caress his torso. Already he felt his temperature drop.
There was someone else milling about in the area, moving across the walkway at the far end of the stand. It was probably a smoker, getting their middle of the night fix. Brett fancied some company while he cooled down, so he headed toward the stranger, but before he got there they disappeared into the turnstile lobby of the stand. Unless they planned on leaving the stadium, Brett didn’t know why they would want to head there.
Brett took hurried steps, somewhere between a run and a walk. He reached the turnstile area quickly and was surprised by who he found there. “Bristow? What are you doing?”
Brett took a step back when the Lieutenant pulled a gun on him. It was a different handgun to the one he’d handed over to the Reverend. He must have hidden it on himself somewhere.
“What are you doing?” Brett repeated.
Bristow said nothing. He turned back towards the turnstiles and started pulling at the debris that had been stuffed into the mechanism to prevent it from turning. The stile wouldn’t let the lieutenant out; it would only let people in.
“Step away from there, Lieutenant. No one else is coming in here.”
Brett hit the floor before he even realised that a bullet had been shot at him. Pain exploded throughout his entire body and then settled down to just his midsection. Examining himself frantically, Brett saw that the bullet had nicked his hip, grazing against his pelvic bone and cutting a furrow into his flesh. The wound spat blood onto the floor, but didn’t feel as bad as it looked. Brett was still able to drag himself along the floor and around the corner, shielding himself from any further shots. Although he could no longer see Bristow or the turnstiles, Brett could hear the man continuing to clear away the debris. Whoever was waiting outside was about to be let in soon.
“Don’t do this, Bristow. We can all get along.”
“I agree,” the Lieutenant shouted back. “But we’re in charge now. The Army is in charge.”
“Those days are over, man. You said it yourself: the rules don’t apply anymore.”
“Exactly. It’s all about power now, and who has the muscles to take it.”
Ethan came running down the corridor and slid down onto the floor beside Brett. He noticed the blood pouring from his hip. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s Bristow. He’s opening up the turnstiles. He’s trying to let someone in.”
“Who? His men?”
“I don’t know, but he has a gun.”
“Long. Goddamn that bloody self-rigteous-“
Brett put a hand on Ethan’s wrists to halt his tirade. “It wasn’t the Reverend. Bristow has a different gun. He must have still had one on him when we took him in.”
“Right. We’re not standing for this bullshit. I’m through having a bunch of disbanded soldiers calling the shots.” Ethan stood up and marched around the corner. The next thing Brett was aware off was more gunfire, but not, this time, from a handgun. It was automatic rifle-fire.
Ethan fell back into the hallway, bullet-riddled and already dead by the time he hit the floor. The way he fell left him staring at Brett like a soulless puppet with glass eyes.
Shit! Shit! Shit! I need to get the hell of here.
Brett leapt his feet and almost fell back down again when his vision tilted. He hoped his injuries weren’t too bad, because he didn’t expect there was much chance of seeing a Doctor anymore. He set off into the stadium, fleeing the turnstiles and Lieutenant Bristow (as well as whomever he had now let in with him.)
Inside the East Stand, people had already begun to gather anxiously. They had no doubt heard the gunfire.
“What’s happening?” one of the people asked.
“Ethan’s dead. Bristow shot him. He’s opened up the turnstiles. The Army are coming in.”
Everyone panicked.
“We need to get out of here,” Brett shouted at them. “We need to get out of here, right now. Everyone head for the North Stand; we can get out there.”
“Nobody is going anywhere!” Gunfire into the ceiling made everyone hit the floor.
Brett looked up at the man with the rifle and was shocked to see that Captain Lewis was alive and well. Lieutenant Bristow stood beside him with a satisfied smirk on his face. Four riflemen backed them
“Why are you doing this?” Brett demanded.
“Because this stadium is an asset,” Captain Lewis replied. “It has several, easily defended exits and a great deal of space. Lieutenant Bristow did well to gain your trust and get inside. It will be perfect as my base of operations.”
“For what?”
“For Project Restoration,” said Bristow on behalf of his superior. “It’s time we regained order and began adjusting to the new world. There is no longer a centralised government, I regret to inform you all, and this is now a militant state. As the most senior Officer in this area – perhaps in the entire country – it is Captain Lewis’s prerogative to take charge of the local populace. You are now all under his command.”
Captain Lewis beamed proudly. “Thank you, Lieutenant Bristow. Now I’d just like to assure everybody that I intend to be firm but fair. You wil
l be given jobs to perform and you will be expected to do them. Any resistance will be dealt with via martial law. Any chance to abandon your place here will result in capital punish-”
A gun shot rang out and the Captain stood silently for a moment, looking at the group with a surprised look on his face. A couple of second later, another shot rang out and Lieutenant Bristow hit the floor, dead. A large circle of blood started to spread around Captain Lewis’s heart and it became clear that the first bullet had hit him.
All at once, the remaining four soldiers raised their weapons and scanned the area frantically. One of them fell as another gunshot rang out, but then one of the men pointed his rifle off towards the food desks. Brett spun around to see that Reverend Long was standing there, Bristow’s pistol smoking in his hand. The man’s tolerance for violence had been breached. The soldier that spotted him fired off a hail of automatic fire. Reverend Long jolted backwards and disappeared behind the serving desk.
Brett screamed in anger and leapt to his feet, rushing at the rifleman. He hit the soldier in the face before he had time to react and then yanked the weapon from his arms. Brett had no clue how to fire a rifle so he instead swung it like a baseball bat, clubbing the soldier in his forehead. Before he knew it, Brett was being faced down by the remaining two riflemen. There was no way he could reach them before they let of a shot at him. Brett was a dead man and he knew it.
Like a mob of highland warriors the others in Brett’s group got up off the floor and rushed forward as one, shouting and screaming with violent rage. The two soldiers took their eye of Brett and focused on the approaching gang of men and women. Their eyes went wide with fear and they ran.
Brett watched the two soldiers make it about twenty metres before the mob caught up with them, dragging them roughly to the ground. He decided not to watch what happened, but he knew for sure that a double murder was about to be committed. Brett had somewhere else to be.
He headed back towards the office block of the stadium and made his way through the unlit corridors. When he got back inside the office, Emily was still asleep and snoring soundly. She’d missed the whole thing. Brett sat down beside her and rocked her gently awake.
The Peeling Trilogy Page 8