by Matt Shaw
“Don’t be shy. I don’t bite.”
“What about my friend?” I looked at the dead body of Colin. Still twitching. Still looking at me with angry eyes.
“He can watch,” she said.
I’m not sure when I first started hearing voices. I’m not sure whether it was before the infestation of R.D.Fs or after. Had I always been a Sick B*stard or was it new to me? A reaction, from my brain, as I tried to cope with the world gone wrong. Not sure and now really isn’t the time to overthink it. I walked back over to the two bodies and fumbled at the flies on my trousers. I’m already erect. My body knew it wanted this before my brain did - not that my brain was that far behind…I freed my penis before I reached the dead girl. I reached down to her and pulled at her legs, dragging her away from Colin. With him so close, watching, I felt weirded out. Not sure I could have maintained an erection with him there - practically breathing on us (so to speak). I opened her legs and was hit with another waft of rotten cunt. Not enough to put me off. It’s a shame she is contaminated with whatever the fuck poisons them. I could sure do with a juicy taste of pussy right about now; a long time since I had tasted such goodness. I pulled her knickers down and all thoughts of licking her soon evaporated from my mind. Not surprising considering the black tar-like ooze dripping from her vagina; the same stuff which pissed from her mouth when I withdrew the blade of the machete from her pretty little head.
“Just think of it as lubrication,” she said. She rubbed her clitoris with one hand (in my mind) and took a hold of my penis with her other hand (again, in my mind). She didn’t hesitate in guiding me in. Damn soft. Wet. Surprisingly warm despite the look of her suggesting she’d been dead for more than a few days. Fuck. They should bottle this shit and sell it via online sex shops. That is, after they’ve figured out how to get the Internet back online again. Priorities and all that. “How is it?” she purred.
“Fucking good.” I couldn’t contain my excitement as I started to build into a steady rhythm. To think, after I had killed her, I had collapsed with tiredness. Must be having my second wind. “What about you?” I asked her. “Good?”
“The best,” she smiled at me with her dead face. I looked down at my cock as it pushed in and pulled out of her sopping cunt. Strings of black tar clinging to it. In my mind it wasn’t black tar or anything as sick. In my mind it was her juicy cunt batter sticking to my cock. I couldn’t contain myself and withdrew quickly before I moved down her body until I was mouth to pussy. My brain was screaming ‘no’ somewhere inside but my body (my tongue in particular) chose to ignore it and I found myself greedily lapping at her sour milk despite a gagging reflex. Don’t care. So fucking horny and so…I stopped. My tongue was numb. Numb, that is, other than a strange tingling sensation as though it were trying to wake up. A burning feeling scalding the back of my throat. Eyes and nose streaming. What the fuck is this?
Day One of the Outbreak
Michael and Nicola
“People are advised not to…” I leaned forward and turned the radio off. My daughter Nicola was waffling away in the back of the car and I couldn’t hear a word she was saying with that thing blaring from the speakers. I don’t know why I ever turn it on in the first place. It’s not as though they play anything decent these days; just the same old crap with the annoying radio jockey yakking over the top of it about pointless guff that I’m never interested in.
“Well can I?” Nicola asked from the back of the car. I looked at her via the rear-view mirror and tried to hide the grump I was in. It wasn’t because of her. I was just never any good at early mornings despite doing them now for as long as I can remember.
“Can you what?” I asked. The ‘annoyed’ tone clearly audible, must try harder to disguise it from her. Not her fault, shouldn’t take it out on her. I pulled up behind another seemingly endless line of traffic. What the Hell is going on with the traffic today? I’m used to it being bad but not this bad. Must be some sort of accident further up ahead. Wouldn’t surprise me. The rain was beating down hard outside, so hard that I needed to drive with the lights on, and that was always a recipe for someone to crash. I turned to face her, “Can you what?” I asked her again.
“Can I stay at home today? I have a tummy ache.”
Same every Monday. I am yet to get to the bottom of why she tries to tell me she has a stomach ache on a Monday morning. I’ve asked her what lessons she has and she always seems excited about them. I’ve asked her about her friends and she is always chatty about them. I’ve asked her about her teachers and she is nothing but complimentary. But there must be something - something which is making her want to stay away from school. Her mystery illnesses are only ever on a Monday. She never complains throughout the rest of the week. I don’t know - maybe there’s too much excitement for her during the weekend and it upsets her belly? I don’t recall experiencing anything like that when I was younger and I’m pretty sure her mother didn’t either. My mind drifted to Nicola’s mother, my wife. I wish she were still with me - she’d have been able to offer some suggestions as to what causes our daughter the upset.
Vix died a couple of weeks ago now. Just before Nicola’s seventh birthday. She had been ill for a while. Cervical cancer. Just came out of the blue. One minute she was fine and the next the doctor diagnosed her with that - of course it was too late by then to have much of a chance but she did her best to fight it. And I stayed with her - every minute - offering all the support that I could muster. Was never going to be enough though.
“Can I come home with you?” Nicola asked again. She was giving me the look - the puppy dog look Vix used to call it. A look I usually wasn’t able to ignore. Had it been any other day I would have buckled immediately and taken her home - and that’s even despite my bad mood - but today was different. My hand was forced. I had to take her to school. I had to leave her there and have some alone time. Needed to get to the bank for just after ten o’clock for a meeting with my account manager. Well - it’s not really a meeting. More of a discussion about why I am behind with my mortgage repayments. More of a bollocking. Perhaps even a little threat, on their part, about taking the house back from me. Don’t think like that. Need to stop that from happening at all costs. Not this home. The home I shared with Vix. Nicola’s home. They won’t take it away from me. Us. They won’t take it away from us.
“I have some things I need to do.” I told her. She didn’t need to know what exactly. “But if your tummy still hurts at lunch time, I’ll come and get you, okay?”
“But it is hurting now,” she whined. I smiled at her as though to let her know I understood but then turned back to look out of the windscreen at the line of stationery traffic ahead of us. If this doesn’t start moving soon she will miss school anyway. And I’ll end up missing the appointment. Probably get home to a letter on the doormat saying the bank owns the house now!
I killed the engine, along with the thoughts of losing our house. The traffic will get moving soon enough. Just need to be patient; a virtue which is usually absent from my body until at least midday.
“Daddy!” Nicola shouted from the back. “Please just take me home!”
I took the opportunity to try and get to the bottom of her stomach bug again. I looked at her via the rear-view mirror once more, “What are you doing today?” I asked.
“I’m going home with you!” she tried her luck.
“At school. What lessons have you got this morning?” I asked. I had asked before but maybe there was something I was missing. A little detail suggesting she was nervous about something perhaps?
“English.”
“And what are you learning about in English?” I asked. Maybe there was a test she was scared about. I remember getting stomach pains when I used to have to do tests, growing up. Maybe that is it.
“We’re reading today. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”
“Good book!” I said. Roald Dahl was one of my favourites growing up. To this day, I’d still happily read his work if he
was alive to publish more. All children should read Dahl if only to give them an interest in reading. “What else are you doing?” She shrugged. “Honey?” She wasn’t even listening to me now.
“What’s that man doing?” she asked. Nicola was looking through me. I turned to her and then followed her gaze. She was staring right out of the windscreen. I turned back round to see what had caught her attention. A man; walking up between the cars. His feet dragging on the slippery concrete of the road. His head nodding backwards and forwards as though his neck muscles were severely weakened. “What’s wrong with him?” Nicola asked. She had noticed the blood running down the side of the stranger’s face. The dazed look upon his face. Must have staggered up from wherever the accident was.
I continued to watch as people climbed out of their cars and approached the man to see if he needed any help. “I’m not sure, honey. Maybe he fell over.”
Nicola changed the subject again, “Can I go home with you now then?” she asked. I didn’t answer her. I kept watching the man as he got closer to our car. Someone reached out to help steady him, on his feet. The man didn’t respond in the way the helper envisioned the scenario playing out. He grabbed the samaritan - hands either side of his face - and pulled him in close. The samaritan screamed out for people to help but no one reacted fast enough. The seemingly injured man leaned in close and bit the samaritan’s face. People were screaming now. Even Nicola was screaming. I even screamed out. Not sure of the words which escaped my mouth but I definitely screamed out. What the fuck. The injured man ripped his face away from the samaritan who was now missing half of his own face; chunks of it hanging from the injured man’s mouth. He dropped the samaritan to the floor and reached out for the next nearest person. Everything was happening so fast. People still screaming. People were running in all directions, abandoning their cars in the process. Another person screamed from near to the samaritan. I looked back over to them. Someone else was getting attacked by the injured man; pieces of flesh being ripped from their face despite their best efforts to break free from the seemingly strong monster. “Daddy, I want to go!” Nicola called out from the back.
“Okay, honey, hang on!” I ordered her. I fired up the engine of the car and drove forward into the car parked up before me. I put the car in reverse and backed up into the car behind - hitting both cars just enough to give my own vehicle some room for manoeuvring. Just enough space to spin around and head back the way we had come which was clear of traffic. Nicola was screaming despite my best efforts of offering her some reassurance, “It’s okay, honey, everything will be fine.”
But everything wasn’t going to be fine. I’m not sure how I knew. I just knew. Suspicions confirmed when I spotted the samaritan clambering to his feet. Half of his face missing, the rest hanging off, and yet he was still getting up. What the fuck is this? What the fuck?
I yanked on the steering wheel and span the car around, bumping it up the pavement on the other side of the road. Nearly hit a damned pedestrian as they ran for cover. Had I done so, would they have got up too? I gave a final look into the rear-view mirror - at the carnage we were driving away from - and stamped my foot down on the accelerator. “Hang on, Nicola!” As soon as the car was straight we started to head back the way we came with other cars trying to manoeuvre in an effort to do the same as the mayhem continued to spread further down the line of traffic. At the speed we were traveling, ignoring the flashing of the speed camera a few corners away, it wasn’t long before we were well ahead of whatever the hell was happening. Cars to the right of us slowly beginning to crawl forward thanks to the space the retreating vehicles had left behind; these poor people have no idea what was coming their way. I tried to warn them by sounding the horn repeatedly but no one seemed to care. If anything the noise I was causing only seemed to anger those who did choose to respond to me and I soon lost count of the amount of stern looks and ‘wanker’ signs I received for my efforts.
“Daddy, I’m scared!” Nicola whined from the backseat. She wasn’t the only one. I was too - not that I could tell her so. To my daughter, I needed to be the brave one. I needed to be the one with the answers to what was going and the proof that everything was going to be okay.
“We’ll be home soon enough,” I told her - a reassuring look aimed at her via the rear-view mirror. She didn’t look reassured. “At least you don’t have to go to school today. And I don’t need to go to work either. We’ll just cuddle up on the sofa all day and watch cartoons,” I smiled at her again. She screamed at something ahead of us so I turned my attention back to the road ahead. My heart slammed in my chest when I saw a man just standing there, in the middle of the road with his back to us. I jumped on the brakes but it was too late and the car skidded forward hitting the man, sending him up the bonnet and onto my windscreen (cracking it in the process). When the car finally stopped, the man slid off and onto the hard concrete in front of us. My heart was beating so hard and so fast I thought I was going to have a heart attack right there. Cars continued to zoom past us by mounting the pavement. The situation not helped by the screaming of Nicola; repeating, again and again, that I had killed him. I was sure I had killed him too. Despite hitting the brakes we still hit him with some force. The horrifying thud as his body hit the bonnet; a sound I’ll likely never forget.
People on the other side of the road had stopped crawling forward and were climbing out of their cars to help the man. Some of them were already on their mobile phones calling - no doubt - for help. Some of them were using their phones as camera devices instead. I threw my seat belt off and clambered from the car despite Nicola’s shouting just keep driving. Wish I could but I couldn’t. I need to know if I had killed the man. And - if not - I need to know if I can help him. Slowly - nervously - I walked around to the front of the car and looked down at the mangled mess of the man I’d hit. Why had he been just standing in the middle of the road? What had he been doing there? This isn’t my fault. This is his fault. He shouldn’t have been there.
Someone else was kneeling by his side, a man in his early forties. He had hold of the mangled man’s wrist, checking for a pulse with a grave expression on his face. The words didn’t need to be said but he went ahead and said them anyway, “My God…He’s dead…”
I flashed a look at Nicola in the back of the car, and instantly pictured her growing up in foster care. New parents needed after her mother died and her stupid father was sent to prison for killing someone. A sickness brewed in the pit of my stomach as I imagined a time coming when Nicola wouldn’t even remember my name, a time when she wouldn’t care. I mouthed an apology to her but I don’t think she understood what I meant.
“Has anyone called for an ambulance?” the man kneeling by the body called out to the various bystanders who were still clutching phone to ear.
A lady was first to answer, “I can’t get through. No signal!” she said as she frantically hit redial.
“Same.” Another man piped up as he too pressed redial on his phone. “Who are you with?” he asked the lady as he checked his network coverage on the mobile’s screen.
I stumbled backwards and fell to my ass on the curb-side - close to the cars which continually drove past using the pavement as their road. Another crash was heard further down the road from the direction we had just come from. The screaming which we had been driving away from, seemingly getting closer to us as the destruction from a few streets away continued to spread our way. The man who had tried to help the one I had hit sat up like a startled meerkat – as he stared off in the direction of the screaming from down the road. I heard him ask what the hell was happening but I didn’t answer him. I felt cold. Numb, almost. I had killed a man.
A loud crack came from the mangled body as its arm suddenly moved. A bone splinter popped from the elbow joint. All the bystanders jumped back in shock. I looked up too - surprised by the sudden movement. And then the man made a noise, a long drawn out sigh, followed by a groan. He wasn’t dead? His arm moved again and the bo
ne stuck out further. He should have been screaming in agony but he wasn’t. He simply sat up, his neck twisted around in a direction which should have spelt out death. He slowly turned to look at me, his neck crunching with every slight bit of movement he managed. Another groan, another sigh, his eyes, oh God, his eyes, they’re clouded over as though he’s blinded by cataracts. Was that it? He was in the road because he was blind?
The helper rushed to his aid and instructed him, “Try not to move - help will be here soon.” But help wasn’t coming. Not for the people further down the road (all the screaming) and not for us. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I jumped to my feet and shook off the shock-induced head rush.
“Get away from him,” I told the helper. I had seen this. This is exactly what had happened further down the road. This is the same thing. I know what is coming. Of course the helper ignored me just as any normal person would have done - at least, anyone who hadn’t seen what we’d witnessed a few streets away. He put his hands on the man’s shoulders in an effort to try and keep him still, because he was still trying to move. And then it happened. With little-to no warning the man leaned forward and bit the helper on the hand, instantly drawing blood as his teeth pierced the skin. I dashed forward and pulled the helper away from the supposedly dead man. He was screaming and holding his fresh wound. The people who’d been trying to make calls on their phones were already running back to their cars whilst the ones who’d been trying to take pictures were now taking videos instead. “Get away from him!” I called out to anyone close enough to hear me. I told the bitten helper to get back to his own car as I hurried back to my own car - careful to run around the broken body of the man to save from also getting bitten as it continued to try and stand up, another crack of bone. I jumped into my car and accelerated over the mangled body. A bump-bump noise from under my wheels as the car’s suspension did all it could to adsorb the impact. As we drove on down the road I couldn’t help but look in the rear-view mirror at the scene we were leaving behind. The man I’d hit with my car twice was still trying to move and now it appeared the helper was also attacking someone. What the fuck is this? Nicola was crying in the back of the car as we joined other cars in speeding away from the scene. She was watching out of the back window too. No hiding this from her then. “Hold on, honey, we’ll be home soon!” I told her. Not that I’m sure what good being at home was going to do. The way this thing was spreading - whatever it was - it was rapid. This is bad, this is bad…I kept thinking over and over again.