The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin

by Andie Fessey

  They clicked from the start and each Sunday morning, Jake and John could be found chatting away as he washed and cleaned their two cars.

  Abigail was currently in the process of moving it from the driveway, where it blocked in Jakes.

  “Morning Jake,” John called, as he and his wife came across to stand at the other side of the small wooden fence separating their two front gardens.

  Jake met them at the fence, shaking John’s hand as he always did. He smiled at Elsie, who returned the smile.

  “Been watching the news?” John said, his face grim.

  “Can’t avoid it John, it’s all over it.”

  “It’s a sad state of affairs. It seems to be getting worse. Have you heard the news about the hospital? Sounds like something out of a movie.”

  “I know. Police have been drafted in from all over the North West just to deal with that alone.”

  Abigail, walking along the driveway, now leant across the small fence, to give Elsie a quick hug.

  “I take it that you are getting away whilst this is going on?” John asked.

  “Yes,” Jake replied, “thinking of heading over to the Peak District. There is a place over there, where you can pay for bed and breakfast and have your horses kept in their stables on site.”

  “Sounds like a decent enough plan. These attacks seem to be indiscriminate, so you are doing the right thing.”

  “Fingers crossed we can get a place,” Abigail said. “The owner says there’s another family supposed to be staying in the last available rooms. She hasn’t heard from them yet to confirm, so it’s on a first come, first served basis.”

  “Well, we’ll keep our fingers crossed for you then,” Elsie said, smiling.

  “What about you two?” Abigail asked.

  “Are you heading anywhere, whilst this is going on?”

  “No love,” John said, smiling at her, “we are going to pop to the supermarket and get a couple of weeks’ worth of shopping in, then shut the front door and keep our heads down. We have our Billy’s number on speed dial and he can be around here in ten minutes in case any idiot tries to break in.”

  “And Elsie here has a load of boxsets she needs to catch up on, haven’t you love?”

  Smiling at him, she took his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Make sure you two stay safe,” Jake said, shaking John’s hand again, before leaning over to peck Elsie on the cheek, “you have all of our mobile numbers, so if you need anything just call, okay?”

  Abigail leant across and gave John and Elsie quick kisses on their cheeks, before walking with Jake to the car, where Nate sat in the rear awaiting them.

  Pulling from the driveway, Jake gave a short beep of the horn and they all waved at their neighbours, who returned the gesture, before returning into their own home.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Stumpy rushed as fast as able to the pub.

  What the fuck is going on?

  He lived alone, in a small detached house not far from the pub and apart from the sound of distant sirens throughout the night, was neither disturbed nor saw any signs of any violence.

  He switched on the radio, located on the worktop in his kitchen, as soon as he came downstairs to grab a bite to eat, before leaving for the day’s work ahead in the pub.

  It was digital radio which Eve bought him last Christmas, to replace his old, battered analogue one.

  He loved it, not only because it was a lovely gift from his dear friend, but because he could now pick up a multitude of different channels.

  He left it tuned into a documentary station the evening before, so worked his way through the screen until he found the name of Liverpool’s biggest radio station, the only ‘commercial’ station he listened to.

  What he enjoyed most of all, when one of the older presenters would reminisce of the ‘good old days’ in Liverpool, mentioning a few of the old haunts he himself frequented on many an occasion in his youth. A regular at the ‘Grab a Granny’ nights at the Grafton Rooms, it would invoke fond and happy memories for him.

  His stories about a famous local horse called Comet, always brought a smile to his face.

  Not this morning.

  As soon as the radio station came on, he heard the presenter interviewing a member of the Health Service, over the isolated attacks occurring across Liverpool and, more specifically, the situation at the hospital.

  The Health Service spokesperson could only keep repeating, as the situation at the hospital remained on-going, he could make no comment.

  What is going on at the hospital?

  His thoughts turning to Eve, he hurriedly dressed.

  Opening the front door and stepping through the doorway, he encountered a cacophony of noise. Even at this early hour of the morning, the road appeared a lot busier than normal.

  Hurrying to the end of his path, he opened the gate and stepped onto the pavement. His road a long, wide one overlooking one of the gardens located near to the beach, would rarely be used as a rat-run but, this morning it appeared manic.

  Stumpy did not drive himself, never seeing any reason to as, when he worked as a Plater on the shipyards, he received lifts to work each day of his long career there.

  The Anchor stood not far from where he lived.

  He rushed through the few roads to the pub as quickly as possible, more than once having to wait a minute or two as cars quickly drove past.

  Soon, he reached the rear wall of the pub and turning the corner leading to its side, the sight befalling his eyes caused him to stop in his tracks.

  The pavement outside one of the large ground floor windows of the pub, lay covered in glass.

  Shaking from his trance, he hurried to the other side of the pub, where lay the doors of the main entrance.

  Knocking furiously on the door and ringing the bell simultaneously, he waited a few moments, but no answer came from within.

  Fuck it.

  Hurrying to the other side of the pub, he stood in front of the broken window, broken shards of glass still in the framework, jutting up like jagged teeth.

  Looking around the pavement, he could only see broken glass.

  Where the fuck are the police?

  Noticing a piece of rubble in the gutter, he knelt to retrieve it, before proceeding to knock away the remainder of the glass in the bottom of the frame.

  The bottom of the window stood only a couple of feet from the ground, so, gripping hold of the frame with his hands, he clambered through into the lounge area of the pub, his biggest concerns being the glass lay on the outside of the pub, not the inside.

  He discovered the interior of lounge dimly lit, the only light being that cast in from the windows and the three spot lamps, positioned above the pool table.

  “Eve!” he called out, rushing across the lounge.

  Passing the pool table, he slipped on something wet on the floor.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, landing on his back.

  Looking to the place where he slipped, he recoiled, rolling onto his side gagging, vomit spilling from his mouth onto the floor next to him.

  He didn’t want to look at the sight again, but even with his eyes tightly closed, he retched again, clearly seeing the figure in his mind’s eye, as if burned onto his retinas.

  The figure lay on the ground near the pool table, looked like the victim of an attack by a wild animal.

  Ribs were viciously torn away from the torso, the few not torn away and still affixed to the body, sticking outwards, bloody pieces of flesh hanging onto the white bones.

  Dry intestines, alongside what appeared half eaten organs, lay scattered around the body.

  The figure’s trousers, torn open at the crotch, allowed him to see a gaping, fleshy hole where there should have been male organs.

  A piece of torn flesh hung there, below a small patch of pubic hair, hardened with the dried blood which also covered the rest of the body and surrounding area.

  It appeared as if the body somehow ex
ploded.

  Stumbling forward, he rose to his feet and made his way to the other side of the pool table.

  He looked around the room for signs of anybody else being in there with him, but saw no other movement.

  Chairs and tables lay knocked over and the green baize of the pool table lay discoloured with dark stains of blood.

  Striding to the bar, he continued to call out Eve’s name.

  Opening the hatch, he made his way behind the bar.

  The till was undisturbed.

  Kneeling and checking underneath the counter where the till sat, his hand searched around, until his fingers found what he was seeking.

  Standing up, he held the baseball bat in front of him.

  For once, it was not his idea of a security measure to have it there, it was Eve’s.

  “Eve!” he called, walking through the door leading into the rear.

  Noting none of the doors were opened here, he made his way to the one leading to the living area upstairs.

  He placed his hand on the handle, but before he could turn it, it turned anyway, the door opening.

  Jumping, he brandished the bat over his shoulder.

  “Fucking hell Stumpy!” Eve exclaimed, quickly moving backwards, as he swung the bat.

  Stopping mid-swing once he realised it to be her, he moved towards her.

  “Jesus, thank God you are okay,” he said, placing the bat on the floor.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” she asked, as he approached her.

  “Eve,” he said urgently, “have you been in the bar? Have you heard anything? What happened here? Are you okay?”

  “Slow down Stumpy. What are you on about? I’ve actually had a decent night’s sleep for once. I’ve only been awake half an hour. I’m just going to put the lights and the kettle on.”

  She moved closer to him.

  “Something has happened Eve,” he said, grimly, “we have to call the police.”

  She stared at him, a puzzled look on her face.

  “What do you mean something has happened? Has there been a break-in? Where’s Brad?”

  His sad, concerned expression made him appear like the droopy dog from one of the cartoons she watched as a child.

  Turning, she ran upstairs, calling her sons name, Stumpy climbing the stairs not far behind.

  She discovered Brad’s bedroom to be empty.

  Alex was supposed to have stayed over last night, so where’s the bedding, usually left in a pile on the floor?

  “Eve,” Stumpy said, as she pushed passed him, running into each of the first-floor rooms, calling her son’s name.

  “For fucks sake Eve!” He called, as she opened the various doors, running into each room.

  Rushing from the kitchen with a look of panic on her face, she turned to run along the hallway, when he grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Stop a moment, will you?”

  Stopping, she turned to look at him.

  “What?”

  “Alex is dead.”

  Staring at him, she shook her head, blinking.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dead. As in, no longer alive. As in, no longer breathing. As in, no longer liable to pay any taxes. As in, we bloody well need to ring the fucking police now!”

  The look on his face, told her he was being nothing less than serious.

  They returned downstairs to the pub. As they entered through the doorway, he made his way through the hatch to the other side of the bar and placing the baseball bat on the bar, picked up the nearby telephone.

  Raising it to his ear, he heard the clear, distinctive dial tone and dialled 999.

  She started to make her way over to the pool table.

  “Eve, please don’t Love.”

  Turning, she looked at him.

  “Believe me Eve, you don’t want to see him.”

  Her gaze turned to the broken window.

  What the fuck’s happened, and where the fuck is Brad?

  “Anything?” She asked him, stood with the handset at the side of his head.

  “It’s just ringing,” he replied, shaking his head, somebody should have answered it by now.”

  “I’ll check the toilets and the other rooms, to see if Brad is in any of them.”

  “I really don’t think that’s wise Eve, we’d best wait for the police.”

  They waited at least ten more minutes whilst he continued to dial, but still they received no response.

  “Fuck waiting Stumpy, I’m checking to see where Brad is,”she said, grabbing the baseball bat from the bar.

  “Then I’m coming with you,” he said, placing the receiver down and her at the other side of the bar.

  Walking to the toilets, he ensured he walked in between Eve and the area of the pool table, blocking her view of the body.

  Entering the men’s toilet area, they discovered the light remained switched on from the previous evening. From under the cubicle door in the corner they saw clearly, a pool of dried black liquid.

  “Brad!” she shouted, running to the cubicle.

  Stumpy grabbed her shoulder to stop her, but she shook off his hand and grabbed at the cubicle door.

  She pushed it open and stared for a second, before screaming, the sound resonating loudly within the closed confines of the small room.

  He ran to her as she moved from the door, her hands held to her mouth to stifle another scream, before she turned and vomited into a nearby sink.

  Staring into the small cubicle, Stumpy dreaded, but half expected to see the body of her son.

  The sight befalling his pale blue eyes, thankfully not one of her son.

  Next to the base of the cistern, were the torn and shredded remains of the family terrier.

  It appeared to have been ripped in half, its upper half lay to the left-hand side of the toilet, frozen with a rictus snarl upon its mouth, the other half a couple of feet away, cold entrails and intestines splayed out on the floor around it.

  The walls appeared as if a tin of paint was haphazardly thrown upon them, covered in a mass of dried bloody red streaks and spots.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, stepping from the cubicle and closing the door behind him.

  He turned to see her bent over the sink.

  Grabbing paper towels from the dispenser on the wall, he helped her dry her mouth and face, her eyes red and tear filled. He gently patted them with one of the towels and stood back, placing his hands on her shoulders.

  They left the men’s toilets, her agreeing to stand in the doorways, as he checked the ladies and the disabled toilets.

  They both stood empty.

  She switched her mobile telephone on, as they slowly searched the rest of the interior of the pub.

  Once the mobile confirmed it possessed a signal, she dialled Brad’s number, but it diverted straight to the automated answering machine message.

  “Brad love, it’s your Mum. Ring me as soon as you get this message Hun. Love you. Remember that Hun, please call me and tell let me know that you are safe. Love you.”

  As soon as she left the message, she called the police but, like Stumpy earlier, the only sound she could hear, the continual sound of the ringing tone and after a few minutes she hung up.

  “Try another number,” he instructed.

  She dialled the number for the Anchor public bar telephone.

  They both looked at each other, as they heard the unmistakable sound of the telephone ringing in the bar area.

  “What are we going to do Stumpy?”

  “Well, we can stay here until the police actually answer the phone. Or we could get in your car and drive to Crosby Police station itself and let them know there.”

  They spent the next twenty minutes stood at the bar, attempting to get through to the police, but to no avail.

  She called Lynn when she realised neither of her cleaners arrived for work yet, but again received no answer.

  Eventually, after trying several of the numbers on her contact list,
she managed to get through to Louise, one of her bar staff and relayed what happened.

  Shocked, Louise informed her there were attacks all over the city, before instructing the pair of them to stay put, saying her and her boyfriend would be over to the pub within thirty minutes and if they were not able to contact the police by then, they would stay in the pub, whilst Eve and Stumpy travelled to the police station.

  True to her word, they soon heard knocking on the door of the pub.

  Louise and her boyfriend confirmed they to, tried to reach the police during the drive to the pub, but with no luck.

  “It’s not like there aren’t any police,” Louise said, “there are loads on the roads.”

  “More than likely over at the hospital,” Keith, her boyfriend, added.

  “Any idea what’s going on over there?” Stumpy asked.

  “I caught a bit of it on the radio this morning, but they weren’t giving away too much.”

  “It sounds like there is some sort of siege or something going on over there. Our kid manages a supermarket around the corner from there,” Keith replied, “and he told me earlier, they couldn’t open up today, because the bizzies have closed a load of roads in the area to stop people getting anywhere near the place”

  “That’s right,” Louise said, “our Cheryl and her fella are going to have to stay over at ours tonight if it carries on. They live across the away from the hospital and the police were knocking on everybody’s doors earlier, asking them if they could take some belongings and leave.”

  “Sounds like the world is going bloody crazy,” Stumpy said.

  “It does Stumpy,” Louise replied, glancing around the inside of the lounge, “err, where’s the you know what? The body?”

  “It’s, I meant he, is near the pool table Love,” Eve answered, “Stumpy was going to cover the body up, but I told him to leave it, as a forensics team will need to examine it.”

  “Well don’t worry about me Eve, I’ve no intention of going anywhere bloody near it.”

  “Me neither,” Keith agreed, “I can’t stand the sight of blood. Louise and I will just stay near the entrance until you two get back with the bizzies.”

  Eve and Stumpy returned upstairs whilst Eve grabbed her handbag, then made their way to the bar.