The other occupants of the house had joined us. As I turned and walked away, Miles was the last adult to arrive on the scene.
“What happened?” Miles asked.
“Lucy,” I replied, shaking my head and not trusting myself to make any further comment.
The four teenagers had joined us, and Brian and Maria were telling them about Lucy’s death. I slowly walked back along the corridor and through the front door into the sunlight, and took a deep breath. The birds had begun to sing again, and the sound of young children playing filled the air, totally oblivious of the drama that had just occurred only 20 yards away.
I stood in the centre of the track for five minutes in my own little world before Miles brought me back to reality.
“James, it’s time to tidy up, I think,” he said.
“I suppose so,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion.
“What a terrible thing to happen,” said Tom, arriving at Miles’s side.
John had accompanied him and was standing next to me.
“Got your wheelbarrow handy, John? We need to clear up some vermin,” said Miles sarcastically.
“Yeah, I’ll meet you by the truck,” John replied.
Miles, Tom and I walked to the truck and started to examine it closely. There were a number of dents caused by the .22s and buckshot, a .375-calibre hole in both doors, and the rear passenger window had been shot out. The keys were still in the ignition, and Miles jumped in and switched on.
“Well, that’s a plus, and nearly a full tank of fuel,” he said as the engine burst into life.
John arrived with the wheelbarrow and Tom helped him take the two bodies to our cremation site, while Miles and I collected the abandoned guns and ammo. After placing them in the back of the truck, Miles drove up the hill towards the big house, to where their other fallen comrade lay. We collected his .223 semi-automatic and ammunition, and while we waited for John and Tom to arrive with the wheelbarrow we started to check out our booty in the back of the truck. There was another semi-automatic .223 rifle and boxes of 9-mm and .223 ammunition and – to my surprise, given that all pistols had been banned from sale to the general public in the UK – two Glock semi-automatic 9-mm pistols.
John and Tom collected the last remaining body, and Miles drove back to the farmhouse, where we stored our newly acquired weapons with the others.
It had been decided to bury Lucy’s body, now sewn into a white sheet, in the small field at the rear of the farmhouse overlooking the River Chelmer. Scott dug the grave with the aid of a small excavator. We all gathered around the graveside with Lucy’s two orphaned children, while we left Barbara, Christine and Helen playing by the swimming pool. Ruth held Cathy in her arms. Brian and Tom had placed Lucy’s body at the graveside and, in total silence, Miles and I helped lower her into the ground.
“Does anybody want to say something?” asked Miles.
“Yes, I do,” said Maria. “To my neighbour and best friend, I hope you are in a much better place than this cruel and evil world we now live in. Rest in peace for ever.” Tears ran down her cheeks, eventually falling into the grave, as she spoke.
Margaret stepped forward. Looking into the grave, she started to cry uncontrollably, and Sara put an arm around her. Choking back the tears, Margaret eventually said, “I will always love you, Mummy. At least you’ll be with Daddy now.”
After Margaret’s emotional remarks, Mary and Ruth started to cry. Tom and Mat turned away, unwilling to share their pain, while Josephine and Sara grieved in silence as tears ran down their cheeks.
I turned away from the grave as my eyes began to water and, walking towards the rear entrance to the farmhouse, eventually sat down alone in silence to collect my thoughts in the rearmost room of the house. After ten or fifteen minutes, Brian entered.
“Have you seen your grandchildren?” he asked, looking worried.
“No – aren’t they by the swimming pool?”
“No, they’re not. In fact, I haven’t heard them for quite some time,” Brian replied, and a shiver ran through my body.
I collected the shotgun and checked it was fully loaded before rejoining Brian. We walked along the corridor to the front of the farmhouse, calling the children’s names, but no reply came. After surveying the fields at the front of the house, we went right, and turning the corner we could see the set of three garages in front of us. Brian and Tom’s funeral pyre was still smouldering in the distance. Looking along the side of the house, we could see the ladies still gathered around Lucy’s grave, but the children were nowhere to be seen.
“Let’s go back to the swimming pool,” I suggested.
“OK,” replied Brian, sounding a little desperate.
We entered the swimming pool area to find it completely deserted. Again, we shouted out the children’s names. Tom and John joined us.
“Have you seen Helen anywhere?” asked Tom.
“No, we’ve been looking for the children for the past quarter of an hour,” I replied.
“We’ve checked inside the farmhouse and outside at the front and the other side, and I had already checked the swimming pool side once,” reported Brian.
“They’re definitely not at the back,” said Tom.
“Hmm,” John muttered, and walked over to the far fence that surrounded the swimming pool area. He put the Ruger down and pulled himself up the fence with both hands, from where he could see the field beyond and the trees that made up the hedgerow on the other side of the once electrified fence.
“Well, can you see anything?” Brian asked impatiently.
“Yep, there they are – the other side of the fence playing around the fallen tree!” replied John.
“I’ll flipping kill them!” said Brian.
We went around the swimming pool and walked across the field, Brian and Tom shouting out the children’s names from about halfway. Helen and Christine heard us and started heading in our direction, passing through a small hole in the fence that we had not noticed before, but there was still no sign of Barbara.
“Barbara’s batteries must be running low,” said Brian in her defence.
John and Tom escorted the two younger girls back to the farmhouse while Brian and I went in search of Barbara. With great difficulty, we managed to squeeze through the hole in the fence. Finding ourselves in tall grass and broken branches, we both called out Barbara’s name again. We approached the broken-down oak tree, all that remained of which was 20 feet of the trunk, topped off by jagged ends of splintered branches. Brian shouted again, and this time we heard a muffled reply, apparently from above our heads.
“Look where I am, Daddy!” said Barbara.
“Where are you?” asked Brian, sounding slightly irritated.
“In the tree.”
I walked around the other side of the tree to find a large opening – the trunk was actually hollow. I poked my head in and looked up to see Barbara ten feet above me.
“There you are! I do hope you can get down from there,” I said, just pleased that we had found her.
“Yes, it’s easy,” Barbara replied.
The girl seemed to have no fear of heights. Within a couple of minutes, she was beside us. Brian gave her a really good talking-to, informing her how dangerous it was to be outside the farm’s boundaries. We returned to the farmhouse kitchen to find Linda looking worried, which turned into a beaming smile as she noticed Barbara by Brian’s side.
Miles entered the kitchen and said, “Time for something to eat and drink, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, a cup of tea would be nice,” I said, supporting him.
“We need to feed the children, I suppose,” said Mary. “God – it’s half past five!”
“You men can clear out of the kitchen and leave us ladies to arrange the food and drinks,” Linda said. “Let’s face it, you’ll only be in the way.”
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With guns in hand, I and the rest of the men went through the adjoining door to the banqueting room and sat around the large table. Sheba sat by my side and her tail started to wag uncontrollably as she heard the clatter of crockery and cutlery coming from the kitchen.
“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow then, guys?” asked Miles.
“Collect a couple of telescopic sights and mounts for the .17 HMRs and a couple of spares,” replied John.
“Ken and I are going to put the rollers over the field this evening – it should only take an hour. Then we can start planting tomorrow,” said Scott.
“We must fix that hole in the fence,” added Brian.
“What we need is some chickens for eggs – and of course they make good eating,” said Scott with a smile.
Josephine entered the room carrying a tray of cups of tea, and placed it in the centre of the table.
“I forgot to get the seed potatoes,” she said.
“OK, you and John can get them while Ken and I organise the machinery for creating the furrows. You’ll also need a couple of potato-planting tools to make the holes,” Scott added.
Mary entered the room carrying meals for the children, who were sitting at the far end near the kitchen door. Linda followed close behind.
“This lot’s for the children and teenagers,” said Mary quickly, as she noticed Mat and Miles making a move towards the trays. Both men sat down again disappointedly.
Our food eventually arrived, courtesy of Sara, Ruth and Maria. Our conversation ended as we ate in silence, totally famished by the events of the day. I made another cup of tea for Josephine and me while the day’s events and our plans for the future were discussed. Ken and Scott left us at 7.00 pm to finish off the field, and eventually we broke up about 8.00. Brian and I went out of the front door to see how Ken and Scott were progressing. Ken joined us as we leant against the fence, watching Scott going up and down in the tractor at a fair rate of knots.
“He’ll be finished in fifteen minutes,” he commented.
Scott parked the tractor in the barn before joining the three of us by the fence in the evening sunlight.
The younger children were put to bed as the light began to fade, and a light northerly breeze came up as the sun sank below the horizon, causing the temperature to drop rapidly. A blackbird sounded its alarm call in the distance, and the approaching darkness caused the other daytime birds and animals to fall silent. A menacing stillness began to fill the air as night started to fall. Across the ploughed field, the hedgerow had turned into a black line as the last remnants of light faded from the western sky, and the only recognisable feature was the broken oak tree, which looked strangely evil with its snapped boughs silhouetted against the dimming sky.
“It’s so quiet without the noise of the traffic,” Scott remarked.
“No trains, either,” added Brian.
“Listen,” Ken said.
There was a rustling in the grass quite close to us. The nocturnal creatures had started to stir.
“Probably a rat, maybe a rabbit,” said Scott.
“Look how bright the stars are,” I said, looking skywards.
“It’s amazing how bright they seem when there’s no ambient light,” said Ken.
With no visible moon, it was pitch black apart from the flickering candlelight that filtered through the small window in the farmhouse door. Something started to move through the grass, again totally invisible in the darkness.
“Time to retire to the house, guys,” suggested Brian.
The rest of us needed no encouragement, as even the fence two yards away had become invisible. Not being able distinguish any other shape, we headed towards the flickering light.
Returning to the banqueting room, we found that two groups had formed at opposite ends of the long table, one playing cards and the other Scrabble. I wandered over to Mary, who was playing Scrabble – her favourite game – and narrowly leading at the time, but she soon lost her lead to Maria. Seeing that Mary was in deep concentration, I made the fatal decision to make myself a cup of tea, and ended up making one for everybody. Fortunately, Scott and Ken came to my rescue. By the time we had finished and washed the cups up, it was approaching 11.00 pm. Mary won the Scrabble, with Maria a close second, while Miles took first place in the game of rummy, by a large margin. After Tom and Brian had left with their families for the large house, we all retired to our respective rooms. Mary had placed Sheba’s bed on the bedroom floor and, turning around three times trying to find the most comfortable position, the dog eventually settled down.
Looking through our bedroom window, I watched as Tom and Brian pulled up outside the large house, the front of which eerily illuminated in the vehicle’s headlights. Once they were safely inside I joined Mary in bed. Once again, she was first to fall asleep as I lay there in the pitch black listening for any unusual sounds, but I only heard the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance breaking the heavy silence.
Day Fifteen
Monday 26 May 2014
Mary and I were awoken by a light tapping on the door.
“Big day today, Mum and Dad,” John was saying. “You getting up? Scott is making the furrows for the potatoes as we speak.”
Still half asleep, I looked towards the bedroom door and saw Sheba sitting upright, her tail wagging vigorously.
“What time is it?” Mary asked.
“Seven o’clock. Josephine is making you a cup of tea, Dad,” announced John.
“I’ll be down shortly,” I said, the prospect of tea stirring me into life.
Mary and I joined the rest of our group in the banqueting room, just in time to see Josephine, Ruth and Linda enter from the kitchen with trays full of overflowing tea cups, closely followed by Maria and Sara with platefuls of toast. We had just started to eat and drink as Scott and Ken came in.
“Finished! We’re all ready for planting, guys,” reported Scott.
“John and I will get the seed potatoes once we’ve finished eating,” said Josephine.
“Jeffrey and I will get the telescopic sights for the other rifles,” added Miles, trying to justify not being able to help with the planting.
“Out of curiosity, does anybody here know how to clean a rabbit or bird for eating?” I asked. “It would be nice to have some sort of fresh meat once in a while.”
There was a long pause as everybody looked at each other.
“I do,” Scott replied hesitantly.
“So if, say, Brian and I went over to the wood and managed to shoot a rabbit or pigeon, you would know what to do with it?” I asked.
“That’s correct,” replied Scott.
“We’ll do that, then, and hopefully we can all have a feast this evening. John, you can make use of that barbecue you got from B&Q.”
“Of course, Dad – assuming you actually manage to hit something,” he replied, smiling.
“Sounds good to me – something to look forward to, but of course it could be very disappointing if we had nothing to cook,” said Miles, who had to put in his twopenn’orth.
“You lot have no faith,” I said.
“No pressure then, James,” continued Miles.
Half an hour later we broke up, going our separate ways. Scott and Ken supervised the layout for planting, while Tom organised the teenagers under Scott’s direction. Brian and I decided to use his MPV, and drove over to the small wood, parking at its edge. We got out of the vehicle and went to where the remains of rotting corpses still lay on the ground from the little excursion John and I had made the previous week, which were now giving off a pungent smell. Brian was carrying his usual semi-automatic shotgun, while I had elected to take the target Ruger with a couple of 25-round magazines.
“We’ll walk up the left side of the wood, around and down the right,” I suggested. “Apart from giving us a clearer view, we can also
see what’s coming, whereas inside we could get some rather nasty surprises.”
Fifty yards on, the pungent smell had disappeared.
“Brian, get ready – you might get a chance to shoot a wood pigeon as it breaks cover, but you’ll have to be quick,” I commented.
I had just finished my sentence when there was a flapping of wings and two wood pigeons broke from a large oak tree, flying away from us at a 45-degree angle. Brian managed to get off one shot before they were out of range, but he missed completely.
“Jesus, they were fast!” he said.
“I did say you’d have to be quick,” I replied. “Here’s a tip – when you hear their wingbeats, lift the gun to your shoulder even if you can’t see them.”
We reached the point where the wood turned 90 degrees to the left, and decided to sit at the corner for a while and wait for our quarry to come to us. We did not have to wait long before two wood pigeons flew low across the field directly towards us.
“Don’t forget to lead them,” I whispered.
Bang! and the leading pigeon crashed through the branches above our heads, landing in the wood behind us, while the other did a complete 360-degree turn and flew directly away. Bang, bang! and the second bird fell to the ground 30 yards into the field. I mentally marked the spot and walked out to collect the bird while Brian reloaded the shotgun. He soon had six birds to his credit, with a 50 percent kill rate. Then two wood pigeons landed in the wood behind us about 70 yards away, out of range of the shotgun but not for the Ruger. Only one of the birds was visible but, using a branch to steady myself, I took aim and squeezed the trigger. Putt! and a click! came from the silenced Ruger, then thwack! as the bullet struck home. To our amazement, the bird took flight, covering ten yards before finally falling to the ground. His comrade took to the air, not waiting for his partner, and disappeared into the distance.
We decided to walk to the end of the wood and as we approached the corner I indicated to Brian to move as quietly as possible. I peered round the corner across the one-foot-high wheat, and saw a small pond surrounded by trees, bushes and long grass 100 yards from us. Along the edge of the wood, the ground was completely bare of all vegetation for about ten yards out into the field, a sure sign of a reasonable-sized population of rabbits. One scampered out of the wheat and disappeared into the wood. Brian and I sat down behind a small bush and waited for our quarry to reappear. After five minutes, another rabbit emerged from the wheat and sat at its edge not 20 yards away. I went for the head shot so as not to ruin our meat. Putt! and click! followed by a thwack! and the rabbit keeled over. Thirty yards away a head appeared out of the wheat field, and again he fell to my shot; then another, this time 50 yards away, bit the dust. Two more heads appeared above the wheat, but much further away. I fired at the closest one at about 65 yards, but the bullet passed between his ears and ploughed through the wheat, causing the rest of our quarry to head for the cover of the wood. At least five made it before Brian opened up with the shotgun on the running animals. A great spout of dust flew into the air behind one rabbit, but the second was not quite so lucky as Brian rectified his mistake and gave it more lead, the rabbit going head over heels as dust shot into the air all around it.
Infected- The Beginning Page 40