by G G Garcia
“It’s a Queen size bed,” said John. “The three of you just crash there for a few hours. I’ll wake you if any major developments take place.”
“Okay,” Craig called back.
All three went into the room and Tony shut the door once they were all in.
John looked at his son and they both gave off cheeky smiles.
“I saw you looking at that Demi’s arse.” John Junior smirked at his dad and joked, “I’m thinking of telling mum.”
“I saw you looking, too,” said his father. “You’re far too young for her.”
“And you’re far too married for her.”
“You wouldn’t even know how to chat her up, even if you were old enough,” John chuckled.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Expert,” his son began to mock. “Please give me some advice and pass on your wisdom from all your experiences with the opposite sex.”
“Now, now. Don’t be a cheeky shit.” John smiled and shook his head.
A silence fell on the pair of them and John’s son cleared his throat, suddenly lost his smile and said, “Dad?”
John looked at his son. He could see that his boy was teary and his cheeks had flushed a rose colour. “What is it, son?”
“I’m scared.”
John sat next to his son and placed his arm around him. They stared at the TV and Helen walked in. Her eyes filled up as she saw her husband and son embracing.
“You guys okay?” she asked.
Neither male answered, and all three watched the TV, still wondering what the fuck was going on.
*
Demi lay on the bed, with a tear like silver, glistening in the corner of her eye, thinking about Emma, whilst the two young men slept.
She knew it was too early, and that most people would be in bed, but she texted Emma’s brother, Henry. She told him in the text where she was and that Emma had been attacked along the Stafford Road. She didn’t want to, but she had stated that his little sister was dead, and told him that she’d try and keep in touch.
She gazed at the phone once she had sent the text, but he never replied back.
Her eyes began to water and knew that sleep was going to win eventually.
It always did.
Chapter Nineteen
After consuming a sandwich and a drink of water, Paul Newbold willingly went to the garden’s shed. Originally, he was going to be sent to a bedroom upstairs, but there was no outside lock and he told Melvin and Lisa that he didn’t mind being locked in the shed. He was convinced the bite was nothing and that he hadn’t been infected. He didn’t feel any different and the bite was fifteen minutes ago. Surely if he had been infected he would have felt some kind of change by now.
He decided to go along with Melvin and Lisa, as he could understand their consternation. He was certain that in a few hours’ time he’d be out and any doubts the couple had would be quashed.
He sat at the back of the shed, on his backside, with his knees to his chest. He lowered his head and could feel them getting heavy. Maybe I should use this time to get some shuteye, he thought. He had been awake since 8am, Saturday morning, and it was now roughly the same time some twenty-four hours later.
Paul’s eyes began to fill when he thought of the two people that he had killed. He had no choice. He had to. It was either him or them, but it didn’t help to ease his conscience. The situation he was in was beyond surreal, like a video game he had played on his Xbox. Nobody knew if it was an isolated incident or it was a national crisis. Maybe it would become a worldwide problem.
So many scenarios swirled around in his head, like cigarette smoke, and the twenty-four-year-old could feel himself drifting away.
His head shot up, giving himself a fright. It appeared that he was fighting sleep, but tiredness always won in the end.
He lifted his head and thought about Emma. He shook his head, hoping that this was some bizarre dream and he was at home. Maybe he never went to the club in the first place, and decided on an early night. Or maybe he had crashed the car and this was him in the hospital, unconscious, maybe even in a coma.
He then laughed at himself and waggled his head from side to side. No, this was happening for real.
He rubbed his eyes and thought about his mum and dad. Were they still sleeping and unaware of what was happening? Or had they been attacked and were no longer alive. Maybe they had woken up, turned on the news, and realised what was happening. But why didn’t they answer the landline phone when he called, or why didn’t they contact him?
Paul rubbed his eyes and could feel them filling up. He leaned his head back and could feel them getting heavy once more.
Three more minutes had passed and Paul Newbold had fallen asleep.
*
He had no idea how long he’d been out, but when his eyes opened he woke up with a gasp. For a few seconds he didn’t know where he was and what was going on. Once he realised he was in the shed and had been locked in by a padlock on the outside of the door, the depressing realisation sank in.
He looked at his Raymond Weil watch and smiled. He had purchased The Beatles limited edition watch a couple of years ago, and recently the twelfth dial had fallen off. He wanted it fixed, but most watch repairers asked for over a hundred pounds to glue the dial back on, which he refused.
He released a raucous yawn and thought about that day. The incident that would haunt him to his dying day. The first time that he had taken a life. Three years ago.
He widened his eyes when he could hear the sounds of feet coming towards the shed, towards him, and the sound had pulled him out of his morose daydreaming.
He had no idea if it was one of the infected or maybe Melvin. He looked around the dim shed to see if there was anything he could use to protect himself. By the time he had clocked a garden fork, sitting in the corner of the shed, the padlock had been unlocked and the shed door had been opened.
Daylight spilled inside, making Paul shield his eyes.
“Come on inside,” said Melvin.
“Why?” Paul asked the question and then began to cough. His throat was dry and he desperately needed a drink.
“We know you’re not a danger now. Our apologies.”
Paul never asked how Melvin knew that his bite was nothing to worry about. He assumed it was information he had received from the TV. Paul stood up on his aching legs and followed Melvin back into the house.
Chapter Twenty
His eyes were soaked and his sobbing had increased since he had taken his daughter to the second floor of the establishment. He placed her in a small office where accounts conducted their business, and spent an hour with the frightened child. He felt helpless. He had already lost his wife and didn’t want anything to happen to the only thing in the world that he loved.
After an hour he left the office and stepped into the offices on the first floor. The accounts department were separate from the rest of the place, because they needed the quiet and the rest of the office was full of chatter and were allowed a radio.
David sat at his own desk that looked out onto tables and chairs where his staff would work, and realised that was a scene he would never experience again. But he had more pressing matters than that. He had his daughter and had to work out how to survive. He turned the radio on and listened to the news. The office staff had asked David if they could put a TV in the corner of the room, but he had refused, and said it’d be too much of a distraction. He wished he had given in now.
He checked his pockets and hoped the place didn’t get attacked. He had no weapon on him, and the canteen only had butter knives and a bread knife. He had also forgotten his phone amongst the panic.
“Shit.”
He had left it on the fireplace.
He rubbed his hands over his face and continued to sob.
He stood and went over to a window and could see the front of the Wolseley Arms pub. It was a place he and his wife used to visit often. They would have meals there and a few drinks on a weekend and eventually
got friendly with the owners, as most regular customers did. Then a few years ago they stopped going.
He released a depressed sigh and thought about his wife. He would do anything to get her back.
He took a short stroll over to the water cooler and helped himself to a cup of water. It had been a surreal and exhausting morning so far, and David Morton could feel his eyes getting heavy. He needed a nap. If he was going to function for the rest of the day, he would need to sleep. Even if it was just for an hour, enough to keep the edge off. He went back over to the window and thought he heard the sound of running. He looked out but could see nothing.
He shook his head, thinking that it was his imagination. “I definitely need to sleep.”
He looked over his shoulder, over to the office where accounts were based, and now where his daughter was. He thought about going in, but decided to leave her.
Let her rest, he thought. Don’t move her. Not yet.
*
John Jameson felt bad for waking his trio of guests, but he thought it was important for them to be awake. There had been some breaking news, an announcement by the Prime Minister, and he felt that they needed to hear it for themselves.
The time was nearly eleven in the morning. The guys had been sleeping for three hours, which wasn’t enough for complete recuperation, but enough to keep them going.
John had stood by the bedroom door and began knocking it, telling them it was time to get up. He did this for almost a minute and finally there was movement. It took a while for all three to be awake and on their feet, but thankfully the short announcement from the PM on the TV was being played repeatedly.
Craig, Tony and Demi sat on the couch, all yawning and all with bad breath. John Junior remained slumped in the armchair, and Helen and John stood behind the couch, behind Demi, Tony and Craig.
They had caught half of the replay of the Prime Minister’s statement, and were now watching it once more from the beginning.
Ten minutes had passed and all three continued to gaze at the TV and had been given some information that they already knew, and also some information that was new to them.
It was established that the centre of England had experienced a radiation problem, a short airborne disaster. However, the PM never elaborated on how this had happened. Whether it was a terrorist attack or military error, nobody knew, but around late Saturday evening and the early hours of Sunday morning, it had happened. They couldn’t give an exact time.
If it had happened during the day, things could have been a whole lot worse. The PM claimed that people that had been infected were still human, but consumed with rage. They could die like humans. They wanted to eat. They bite, but the bite doesn’t spread the virus. It was also announced that the military had been deployed, and NATO had been urged to join, as the British army were severely stretched trying to surround parts of the West Midlands.
“Sounds like they’re trapping us in,” John Jameson huffed, and began to nervously nibble on the skin at the side of his fingers.
“Why’s that, dad?” His son looked nervous and also began to chew on his fingernail and the skin at the side.
“To stop it from spreading.” John Jameson then went to the side of the couch and looked at Tony, Craig and Demi. “Nobody will be able to leave the area, and nobody will be allowed to go in.”
“And what if people do try to flee the area, man?” Tony asked John, already aware of what the answer could be.
“They have a duty to protect the rest of the country. I’m guessing that you’ll be shot on sight.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Demi spoke with a quaver in her tone. “You’ve been watching too many films. The Prime Minister didn’t say that.”
“You mark my words,” he responded with confidence. “I wonder if the airspace has been affected as well.”
The Prime Minister walked away after the announcement and never answered any questions that were fired at him from the media. Questions like: How did this manage to happen? What does it mean for the people of the West Midlands, almost six million of them? These questions were never answered.
The announcement was then replayed and John Jameson, sometimes simply known as JJ, put the TV onto mute and stared at the people in his living room. Everybody was in shock.
“Now what?” Craig asked, looking close to tears.
JJ shook his head. “We have to sit tight. See what happens.”
“Is that it?” Helen looked at her husband for answers.
“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you, guys,” John decided to tell them what he thought, despite his theory being frightening and having a teenage son present in the room. “This is what I shittin’ think. If we just jump in our cars and try and go by these borders they’re creating, we could be shot, attacked by the infected, or even carjacked on the way there by desperados. All we can do is sit and wait. This may take months to solve.”
“Do you think the army will come in, cross the borders they’ve made, and kill all of the infected?” Tony asked JJ, who was convinced that he knew what he was talking about.
“I already told you what I thought before the PM’s announcement.” John sighed, “Do you know what I really think?”
Tony shook his head. “No, obviously.”
“I think that they’re gonna wait months. These things are human, so they might be killed by the non-infected and could also starve to death. The problem could kind of solve itself, if the government wait long enough, and the army wouldn’t lose any personnel.”
“And what about us?”
“After a few months, I reckon, the army will come in and clear up the rest of the debris.”
“Debris?” Demi was unsure what JJ meant.
Tony gulped and added, “He means the army will come in and kill everybody else that’s left standing, just to make sure that the infection doesn’t spread in anyway, don’t you?”
They all looked at John Jameson and the man sighed, “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“I think you’re wrong.” Craig shook his head and was beginning to become emotional. “Maybe they’ll round up the rest of the survivors, and medically check them out before releasing them. But I don’t think they’ll kill the survivors in cold blood. There would be a worldwide outcry.”
“I hope so. For all our sakes,” John groaned. “But who said there were gonna be any shittin’ survivors. If we’re being shut off from the rest of the world and the lorries stop going to the supermarkets and the gas stops getting into the West Midlands, how are you gonna survive?”
“You’re scaring me, dad,” his son said with a shiver.
“I’m sorry, son.” John moaned. “But life is going to be hard from now on. I’m telling you now, the internet and electricity will die eventually, and that will be a decision made by the powers-that-be to make sure the stranded folk in our area can’t contact people in the outside world.”
“You’re being paranoid,” Tony said with a chuckle. “I reckon the army will come in and escort all the survivors out of the West Midlands to a quarantined area.”
“I don’t think so.” John shook his head with a thin smile.
“You’re wrong,” Tony said. “You’re too cynical.”
“And you’ve been watching too many shittin’ horror films, my friend.” John released a gentle chuckle and added, “It’d be too dangerous for the army to round up people. Be easier for them to just shoot anyone on sight.”
“Why?”
“We’ve seen ourselves how hard it is to determine who is infected and who is ... normal. There’d be casualties if the army came in to gather up survivors. They wouldn’t know who was who. We’ve been held up in this pub, but you’ve been out there. You don’t know if a person is infected until you see their eyes. Am I right?”
“I don’t believe that,” Demi said, but her tone wasn’t convincing anyone, including herself.
“If I as much as see any army personnel in the next few weeks or so, I’ll be hid
ing.”
“Really?”
John nodded. “Yeah, because from now on I don’t trust anyone, apart from my son and my wife.”
Chapter Twenty-One
After minutes of the repeated announcement by the Prime Minister, Melvin and Lisa continued to watch as a science expert came on as a guest. The anchorman fired questions at the so-called expert and the couple watched on with intrigue.
The expert had guessed that it could be an aggressive form of Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. He explained that CJD was a form of brain damage that led to a rapid decrease of movement and mental function. He explained further that the traits of CJD were changes in gait, hallucination, a lack of coordination, for example, muscle twitching, jerks or seizures, and a development of delirium or dementia. There was no mention of the infection being terror related or that it could have been a military accident.
“We’re fucked.” Melvin was seated. His head was in his hands, and he was shaking it from side to side. “We are so fucked.”
“Wit do ya mean?” Paul asked. Lisa was seated next to her husband, watching the TV in silence, mouth open.
“I saw something similar in a movie once,” Melvin began. “The reason why they’re surrounding the area of the West Midlands is to keep all the infected in. They’ll leave us to fend for ourselves for a couple of months and then carpet bomb the whole fucking area.”
“Bollocks,” Paul laughed. “The trouble with these films is that they always portray the army as these out of control psychopaths.”
“What the army is doing is correct,” Melvin admitted. “They’re trying to protect the rest of the country. I know it doesn’t help us, but that’s what they’re doing. There’s around five to six million people in the West Midlands area, and they need to protect the other sixty million folk in the UK.”