Ruin

by G G Garcia

  He sniffed her hair and released a chuckle reminiscing about the holiday, but he soon lost his smile and kissed his daughter on the top of her head. He moved his arm away from her and sat up against the wall next to her. He gazed at the steak knife and seemed lost in another world for a minute. He picked up the blade and, with little hesitation, held his left hand out and dragged the blade across it. He winced and then took the blade in his left and then cut his right wrist. He dropped the knife and held his daughter once again. He closed his eyes and began to sing a song he used to sing when she was a baby.

  Seconds later he had stopped singing.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Henry Brown’s Audi drove by the ‘Welcome to Rugeley’ sign and passed the Stag’s Leap bar/restaurant on their left, heading for Colton. Two individuals could be seen up ahead, near the old cemetery, and both ran for the car as it neared. The two were definitely infected, even though Henry and Demi couldn’t see if their eyes were bloodshot or not. The two individuals were out in the open. Who on earth would be out with what was going on? And they also didn’t seem to be carrying any kind of weapon, and the fact that they ran for the vehicle pretty much proved that these guys had been tainted.

  Henry dropped the vehicle into second, went by the Chancel Primary School, and turned left onto Lodge Road. The two individuals were still running, but Henry was confident that, providing he didn’t stop his car, they were in no danger.

  He looked in his rear view mirror and could see the two fading away as the speed of the vehicle picked up, and he turned to Demi and asked if she was okay.

  She never spoke. She just shook her head.

  Henry went by St Augustine’s Church with the old decrepit church, of name he had forgotten, on the other side of the road.

  “Nearly there,” he said.

  “I know, Henry,” Demi groaned. “I have stayed at your place before, you know.”

  “Just trying to make conversation. You’ve hardly said a word since we left, Demsy.”

  “I’m sorry, but things have been a bit strange and chaotic today, and I also watched my friend being killed and heard my parents being attacked.”

  “Your friend? You mean my sister? The very same girl that’s in the boot of my car?”

  Demi never spoke. She realised she was being selfish.

  “What are we going to do with Emma when we get back to your place?” Demi asked.

  “I’ll bury her in the back garden.”

  The vehicle went over the mini roundabout and passed Power Station Road. Henry slowed the car down and Demi looked up, through the windscreen, wondering what was happening.

  One solitary figure stood in the middle of the road. It was a female, no older than ten, and the little blonde thing had her head lowered, her hair hanging down, over her face.

  “Is she one of them?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know,” replied Henry. “I didn’t want to just drive by her if she’s on her own, or even run her down if she’s one of them. If this car is damaged, it could fuck it up for all of us.”

  Henry stepped out and pulled out his gun. He made a few steps forwards until he was past his car, and whistled, trying to alert the girl. She quickly looked up and stared at Henry through her blonde hair, and began to run towards him, highlighting that this poor thing had been infected.

  Henry sighed with sadness and raised his gun, waiting for the girl to come into range. She was yards away when he squeezed the trigger, and she jolted back once the slug entered her forehead. She was thrown backwards and landed on her back, her head bleeding out and the blood quickly pooling around her damaged skull.

  Henry lowered his head and the gun at the same time, and released a sigh and shook his head with sadness.

  He returned to his vehicle and put the gun in the glove compartment. He never said a word as he started the engine and pulled the vehicle away. He drove around the body of the little girl, trying not to look, and could feel Demi staring at him.

  “You didn’t have a choice,” Demi said, trying to make him feel better.

  “I know, Demsy. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Tremendous,” was his sarcastic response.

  “No, Henry, I mean seriously?”

  He nodded. “As soon as we get to the flat, me and Maxwell will bury Emma.” He added sarcastically, “With what’s going on, it wouldn’t be wise to burst into hymns. Need to get her buried, and then get inside and keep a low profile.”

  Demi nodded. Tears filled her eyes for her friend. Emma deserved better than being buried in a back garden, but she was going to get a better send off than most folk who had been attacked.

  “Henry?” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m scared.”

  Henry turned to look at Demi, placed his hand on Demi’s cheek and said, “Me too, Demsy. Me too.”

  He turned to look at the woman and asked her, “Have you…?” He looked down on her thighs.

  She knew what he was talking about and shook her head. “No, but I do feel like it, though.”

  The drive was silent for over a minute, and then Henry blurted out, “I nearly died last night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “By one of those things.” Henry paused for a few seconds, licked his top lip, and added, “I was on a date last night.”

  “A date?” Demi laughed. “You? You mean, you had a woman round to the flat for a shag?”

  “Whatever.” Henry shrugged his shoulders, annoyed that he had been interrupted, and continued, “I fell asleep after…”

  “You shagged?”

  “She went outside for a smoke and I fell asleep in the chair. When I woke up, I went outside to look for her, and this woman called Kelly attacked me. She had turned.”

  “Jesus. Talk about luck, good and bad.”

  “What do you mean, eh?”

  “Well,” Demi began to explain. “If you had went outside any earlier, you could have been infected with this … airborne … whatever it is. And if your little friend, Kelly, stayed put and hadn’t gone out for a ciggie, she would have been fine.”

  “Well, that’s just your luck,” Henry sighed, and could see the sign for Colton. “Nearly there.”

  Chapter Forty

  Paul grabbed himself an orangeade from behind the bar and sat down at one of the tables. It was eerie, being in the dark lounge alone. He knew the place was safe and IO free, but that didn’t stop his mind from conjuring up all kinds of scenarios that could happen. It was a bit like when he went to bed in his old house, in the dark. If he was the last to go to bed, he would have to turn off all the downstairs’ lights and then make his way up to the first floor. Even as an adult Paul would freak himself out, imagining that there was something or someone behind him, and would have to turn around and have a look behind him as he was making his way upstairs. He had been doing this ever since he was little, and thought at the age of twenty-four he would have grown out of it by now.

  Paul constantly looked over his shoulder and it took a few minutes before he settled down and relaxed. He stood a sip from his drink and thought about the weirdest and most frightening day of his life. He couldn’t believe he actually had killed people, real people. Sure, they were infected and crazed, but they still breathed. They were still human.

  A shiver rattled down his spinal column when a thud was heard from outside. Paul stood up, holding the steak knife, and approached the window by the main door that looked out onto the car park. He pulled the curtain back and all that greeted him was the empty car park, but a dimmer version. The noise could be heard again, and this time he felt relief as he saw something scamper across the car park and disappear under the fence, near the riverbank.

  It must have been a fox, he thought. A smile emerged on Paul’s face and then he lost his smile and wondered why the fox had quickly ran away.

  Did something frighten it? What?

  Paul gazed out
for a few more minutes but nothing happened. He went back to his seat, back to his drink, and sat down again.

  He heard noises from upstairs, the sound of footsteps, and could hear someone making their way to the ground floor. Paul guessed it was either Tony or Mel. He stared at the side of the bar and could see the silhouette of Melvin Leslie making his way over to him. The place was dark, but Mel managed to make it over to Paul’s table without bumping or tripping over a chair or table.

  “You okay?” Paul asked him.

  Mel sat down and huffed, “Same old story. She’s snoring, so I can’t get to sleep.”

  Paul looked at his Beatles watch, just about making out the time, and said, “Ya have only been in bed for about ten minutes. Give it time.”

  “Nah.” Mel shook his head, annoyed. “That fucker’s gonna keep me up, I know it.”

  Paul pointed over at the bar and suggested to Mel that he should have a large brandy.

  “That’ll work for a few hours,” he said, “But I’ll be awake by two or three in the morning. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. That cow snores like an asthmatic hippo.”

  Paul took a gulp of his fizzy drink and looked at a dejected Mel who had his head lowered. It looked like the man would be sleeping on the couch for the night.

  “So...” Paul paused and once he grabbed Mel’s attention, he queried the man. “Wit are ya thoughts on today’s events?”

  “Seriously?” Mel shook his head and rubbed his face. “Probably the strangest fucking day I’ve ever had, to be fair.”

  Paul lowered his head, like a dying flower, and smiled. “I still can’t get my head around it.”

  “Around what?”

  “The infection, seein’ Emma and Gail gettin’ killed, actually killin’ people, and...” Paul paused and rubbed his eyes that were becoming damp. “It’s madness. This whole thing is madness, ya know wit I mean?”

  “You know what?” Mel wandered over to the bar. “I’m gonna take that brandy. I don’t really like to drink.”

  “Make it a large one.”

  Mel went behind the bar, but was struggling to find a decent glass. Once he found one, he popped the glass underneath the spirit and filled the glass up. It was more than a large one, and he went back over to Paul, spilling some of the brandy on the way.

  He sat down and pointed at the glass. “A wine glass. I couldn’t find a proper brandy one.”

  “I’m not judgin’ ya.” Paul raised his hands. “It could be the end of the world. Drink to ya heart’s content.”

  “Just the one.” Mel smiled and looked across at the table and could see Paul gazing at him strangely. “Anything wrong, Paul?”

  Paul stroked his chin and took in a deep breath. “You and Lisa are a strange couple.”

  “Always have been.” Mel took a sip of the brandy and never said a word more. He knew Paul had something else to say.

  Paul eventually said, “She’s quite a bitter woman, isn’t she?”

  Mel revealed a small smile and nodded the once. He took an intake of breath and said, “We had a family tragedy years ago.” Mel confessed and took another drink, a much larger gulp. “Years after, we found out that we couldn’t conceive, so we went down the IVF route, but it never happened. I think she’s still angry about that.”

  “Is that it?” Paul smiled and elevated his eyebrows. “Nothin’ else?”

  Mel thinned his lips and shook his head. “I had an affair with Gail Melrose for three months, but I stopped it weeks ago. I have a feeling Lisa knows, but is too scared to bring the subject up. Maybe she doesn’t want to hear the truth.”

  “Wow.” Paul’s eyes widened with surprise and tried to process what he had been told. Paul wasn’t finished with his questions. “Lisa said that ya never used to be shy of violence. Wit did she mean by that?”

  “Um...” Mel blushed when Paul asked him the question, and he shuffled in his seat uncomfortably.

  “When that IO was in ya back garden, she also asked if ya was goin’ to be a man for once, and then she jokingly asked if ya needed to get drunk first. Wit did she mean?”

  Mel rubbed his hands over his face and leaned back in his chair. Paul could see Mel was uncomfortable and was in two minds whether to go onto a different topic. He decided to wait for a response, as he was dying to know more about this middle aged man and his wife.

  “Thirteen years ago,” Mel began, “I went out with some pals after work. I turned up at the house and was so drunk that I couldn’t remember a thing about it.”

  Intrigued, Paul Newbold asked, “Wit happened?”

  “I woke up the next morning, went downstairs, and could see Lisa had a bag of frozen peas pressed against her face. She nagged me for being drunk the night before and...”

  Paul picked his right ear with his fingernail, scooping out some dead skin, and probed further, “And?”

  “Apparently I beat her up so badly that she was covered in bruises. She never left the house for over a week.”

  “Shit, Melvin.”

  “I know.” He nodded and looked close to tears. “She could have rung the police and had me put away, but she never did. Now you know why I don’t like getting drunk. So there you go. I’m a drunken, wife beating scumbag that also cheated on her. Not great, is it?”

  Paul couldn’t think of anything to say to make the man feel better. It was obviously an incident that had haunted him for years. “I suppose we all have our dark secrets, Melvin.”

  “Oh, and what’s yours?”

  Paul opened his mouth but words refused to come out. He gulped and eventually mumbled, “Not now. Maybe later.”

  “Come on. I’ve spilled my guts, now your turn. What mental scars are you carrying?”

  “I have one, but it’s a dark one,” Paul said and looked saddened all of a sudden.

  “How dark?”

  Paul shook his head. “It’s too dark to tell.”

  Mel could see Paul getting upset and decided to change the subject.

  “Anyway, back to this crisis.” Mel clapped his hands together. “The TV stated that it was a West Midlands problem, but what if they couldn’t contain it? What if it had spread south and north of Britain? Maybe the gas, or whatever it was, was spread out further than the West Midlands? Maybe there was a second or third accident?”

  “Ya thinkin’ too much.”

  Mel picked up the glass and took two large gulps of the brandy, and began to cough. He took another gulp once he got his breath back, and the wine glass was now half empty.

  “I’m gonna have a good sleep if it kills me,” he said.

  Paul smiled and watched as Mel picked up the glass again and downed the rest of the drink.

  “Right.” He slammed the glass down and stood up. “I’m going upstairs before this goes to my head.”

  “Good night, my friend.”

  Mel looked at Paul with a face devoid of emotion and waggled his head. Paul was about to ask Mel what was wrong, but the fifty-two-year old began to speak.

  “What are we doing?" Mel asked Paul.

  The query baffled Paul, forcing the young man to speak out. “Mel, I don’t understand.”

  “We’re nothing important,” Mel said. “Underneath these clothes I’m just blood and meat. We’re just souls that are caged in by bones and parcelled by flesh. Is dying really that bad? Why are we so desperate to survive?”

  “It’s just a natural instinct, I suppose.”

  “But—”

  “Mel, go to bed,” Paul sighed, and didn’t want to hear any more nonsense coming out of Melvin Leslie’s mouth. “Ya gettin’ drunk. Go to bed. I’ll see ya in the mornin’.”

  Mel staggered over to Paul and bent down and gave the man a hug. Paul was taken aback by Mel’s emotional behaviour and patted the man on the back. Mel broke away and there were tears in his eyes as he walked away.

  Paul finished off his orangeade and decided to take another look out of the window. This time he peered out the front and everything seemed quiet
. He looked up to the heavens and could see the blue background covered by clouds that were scattered and were a mixture of grey, pink and white, like he was trapped inside a large marble.

  He imagined what it could be like in heavier populated areas like Coventry, Wolverhampton and Birmingham.

  It wasn’t bear thinking about.

  All those lives that had been lost. Young people. Old people. Children. Babies.

  Paul released a depressed sigh and looked behind him, over to the bar. Getting drunk probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do, but he certainly felt like doing it.

  Paul turned back around and gazed out of the pane of glass; he wondered how long he was going to have to stay at the pub. And then what if the Jamesons came back? Would they have to leave?

  Paul was hoping they wouldn’t come back. Tony had told him that John Jameson was a good guy, but if he returned and asked them all to leave, they couldn’t say no. It was his place, and Tony had told Paul that JJ was a man that looked like he could handle himself.

  Paul moved away from the window and sat down back at the table and thought about his parents. He felt close to tears thinking about the craziest day he had ever experienced.

  He ran his fingers through his greasy hair and groaned, “Well, let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  THE END

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