Apocalypse Cow (13 page)

Instead of a concerned neighbour, out bounded an Alsatian dog. It ran to the bottom of the path, tail wagging furiously, and then looked back. The door had slammed shut. It ran back up and pawed at the wood panelling. While the dog was busy whining, doors began to open all along the street, each one spitting out a household pet. The abandoned dogs remained where they were, soulful brown eyes fixed on the closed doors, while the newly homeless cats streaked off. A solitary goldfish swam in circles, completely unaware of the change in its environment.

Geldof shook his head in disgust. ‘Villains.’

By the time Geldof’s parents returned two hours later, blithely cycling up the middle of the road, he was back home. It was
the
first time in years he had been pleased to see them – he had no idea how many animals were roaming around out there, and on their rickety old bikes they were a sitting target. The ambulance had long since taken the old woman’s body away and a team of men in face masks had removed the dead cat, so his parents had nothing to indicate the drama that had unfolded. They probably didn’t even know about the attack on the politician.

Fanny burst through the front door, leaving James to drag the bikes round the back. Her face was that particular shade of crimson Geldof had christened Self-Righteous Red.

‘Police are swarming all over the streets! They stopped us three times on the way back. They won’t tell me what’s going on. Just told us to go home and stay there.’

‘It’s the virus,’ Geldof tried to explain. ‘A flock of sheep—’

Fanny brushed past. ‘They want to turn this country into a police state, but I won’t allow it, I tell you.’

He followed her into the living room and watched her wrestle off her windproof jacket. James came in through the front door, nodded absent-mindedly at Geldof, and then went straight back outside onto the patio to light up a joint.

‘There was an attack on the street. The old lady across the road died. Her cats did it. I think the virus is spreading,’ Geldof stated.

Fanny spun round, her eyes wild. ‘The world needs to know how repressive our police are. I’m going to blog about it right now.’

She stomped upstairs.

‘I got attacked by a herd of cows two days ago and then
almost
got mauled by a pack of cats while trying to save the woman across the street,’ Geldof called after her.

The only response was the faint sound of whirring as the computer booted up.

‘I’ve decided to follow Satan as the one true god and start human sacrifices. I’ll probably cut your throat tonight while you’re sleeping.’

‘That’s nice, Geldof,’ Fanny called back. ‘I’m busy right now.’

Geldof sighed and decided to return to his novel to take his mind off the events of the day. He was sidetracked by the sound of a police siren. He ran upstairs and poked his head out of the window to see an officer leaning out of his car with a megaphone glued to his lips.

‘This area is now under quarantine. Please stay in your homes. I repeat, stay in your homes. It is no longer safe to venture outside. The army will arrive tomorrow morning to evacuate you.’

Fanny’s head popped out of the next window. ‘We’re not going anywhere, pig. You can’t fool us!’

She disappeared again.

The policeman ignored the outburst and continued repeating his message as the car moved slowly along the row of houses. It had barely gone round the corner when the cats returned, slinking down the street like a gang of juvenile delinquents. The Alsatian that had been left to languish outside, seeing a diversion from the boredom of waiting to be reinstated in its master’s favour, gave chase. The cats didn’t flee. Instead, they ran to meet the Alsatian, which tried to back-pedal, its claws scrabbling for purchase on the pavement.

Geldof fully expected to see the dog torn to shreds, but the
cats
lost interest after a brief skirmish and wandered off. The Alsatian, bleeding from numerous bite and scratch marks, lowered its head and swayed for a few seconds. Then it growled, sprinted straight back to its house and began launching itself against the door. Geldof watched it ram its skull against the solid wood for half an hour, blood spraying out with each impact, until it finally slumped to the ground and lay there, panting and growling.

He slid the window shut and sat on the top step of the stairs, all thought of reading gone from his head. As bad as the day had been, he had a horrible feeling things were about to get a whole lot worse.

8

Armygeddon

The army turned up early the next morning. Two open-backed trucks, each containing six soldiers carrying squat automatic weapons, rumbled along the road and stopped outside Geldof’s house. A megaphone poked out of the window.

‘You are being evacuated to a rest and reception area, where you can be protected until the problem is resolved,’ the amplified voice said. ‘Bring one small bag each, containing enough clothes for a few days. You will be issued with food, blankets and hygiene items at the camp. You have thirty minutes to pack.’

Geldof ran to his parents’ room. ‘Did you hear that? We’d better start packing.’

Fanny was sitting on a bean bag by the window, giving the soldiers the finger. ‘We’re staying put. Once they have us in the camps, they’ll keep us there. It’s all about control, Geldof.’

‘I thought it was about zombie animals running around killing people.’

‘Don’t be naive. The state just wants to keep you in line.’

‘Are you crazy? What if the animals attack our house?’

‘They won’t,’ Fanny replied. ‘They know we mean them no harm.’

James, who was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, nodded in agreement, although he could have been conducting some internal dialogue with himself – it was impossible to tell how engaged he was on any given day.

‘You can’t be serious,’ Geldof said.

‘It’s all about the vibes,’ James said in a languid voice.

So he was listening.

‘Let me get this straight. Your plan is to sit here and hope the good vegan vibes you’re sending out will protect us?’

Fanny and James both nodded.

‘It’s Judgement Day for all the carnivores, Geldof,’ Fanny said. ‘Those poor animals lived a life of servitude to fill mankind’s bellies. Now they’re fighting back. But the righteous will survive.’

Fanny leaned back out of the window to yell more abuse. ‘You don’t fool me! Tell the Man he can shove his camp.’

Geldof snorted. ‘You’re actually enjoying this. Unbelievable.’

He stomped back to his room and looked through his wardrobe. The act of opening the door and exposing himself to the concentration of hemp within sent a fresh wave of itching across his body. Once packed, he went back to the window. Going out now would be a mistake, as Fanny would come after him. He would wait until the trucks were about to leave, and then sprint down.

Some of the neighbours were already dragging their bags to the truck. They must have pre-packed, given the amount of baggage being lugged along. A middle-aged man and woman, with a great deal of puffing and panting, were dragging two
enormous
wheeled Samsonite bags each. Various smaller bags festooned their bodies, the pinch of the straps ruining the lines of their expensive clothes.

When they got to the rear truck, the soldiers stared at them.

‘One person, one bag,’ one of the squaddies said in a broad Highland accent.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the woman replied. ‘We can’t possibly fit everything we need into one bag.’

The soldier raised his heavy eyebrows. ‘You’re not going to your villa in Barbados. You’re going fifteen miles round the corner to live in a tent.’

‘A tent?’ From the look of horror on the woman’s face, the soldier might as well have told her she was going to be living in a septic tank. ‘Then we are definitely going to need all our little comforts.’

She paused to adjust her cashmere scarf and pat down her dyed-blonde hair, and then indicated the truck with a nod of her head.

‘Get them on, Trevor,’ she commanded.

Trevor hoisted a suitcase into the air and got the top corner onto the truck. When he began to push, the squaddie placed a boot on the other side of the case. ‘I said one small bag each. Go back and pack again, or you bring nothing.’

By this point at least a dozen other residents had turned up, each of them toting matching Samsonite luggage in different shades of pastel colours. They gathered in a semicircle behind Trevor, who had got his shoulder under the case and was trying to heave against the soldier’s boot. The other squaddies laughed at their increasingly red-faced colleague, who finally lost his patience and gave the bag a hefty kick. Suitcase and Trevor tumbled to the ground.

‘How dare you!’ Trevor’s wife trumpeted. ‘Our taxes pay your wages. We’re all in the forty-per-cent bracket, you know.’

There was a rumble of agreement from the assembled crowd.

‘I don’t give a rat’s arse,’ the squaddie said. ‘Take all this crap back.’

The residents all began to talk at once, crowding forward with their luggage.

‘Right, that’s it. No bags for any of you,’ the soldier said.

He grabbed Trevor’s wife and began dragging her onto the truck, ignoring the weak blows she dealt him with her expensive-looking handbag. Her neat little pink skirt rode up, revealing matching pink knickers.

Trevor grabbed his wife’s ankle and a tug-of-war broke out. While the squaddie was younger and stronger, Trevor had gravity on his side. Eunice remained suspended in mid-air, waving her handbag and shrieking. The crowd took advantage of the distraction to start attempting to load their luggage, forcing the other soldiers to fend them off, like mariners repelling a boarding pirate force.

As Geldof watched with initial amusement, a rumble rose above the hubbub, deeper and more insistent than the babbling voices. And it was growing louder. Geldof knew instinctively what it was, and shouted out a warning that went unheard.

Round the corner came a herd of cows, shoulder-to-shoulder in a moving wall of beef. The soldier, who now had a handful of pink knickers and was trying to encourage Eunice on board by giving her a painful wedgie, was the first to see them. He let go of the knickers and reached for his gun. Trevor failed to compensate and heaved Eunice off the back of the truck. She landed heavily on top of her husband. The other soldiers now had their
weapons
out and were pointing them at the fast-approaching cows. The residents, still so focused on getting their full luggage allowance they were unaware of what was approaching, thought the barrels were pointed at them. They scattered. At this point they finally saw the cows, which were only about fifty metres away. Their panicked shouts blended with the growing chorus of sneezing, snuffling, grunting and mooing. The guns burst into life, sending bullets cutting through the stampeding cows. Spurts of blood flew up into the air and two of the cows stumbled. They were trampled under the hooves of the rest of the herd.

‘Move, move, move!’ one squaddie yelled, slamming the driver’s cabin.

The truck leapt forward, almost hitting the back of the vehicle in front, which was slower off the mark. Collision narrowly avoided, both accelerated up the street. Trevor and Eunice ran after them, luggage now forgotten.

‘Don’t leave us!’ Eunice yelled.

A stray bullet caught her on the shoulder. She fell. Trevor fearlessly hurdled a hedge and ducked around the back of a house. The others had similarly leapt out of the cows’ path, leaving only Eunice in the street. Geldof’s first instinct was to run down and help her, but the cows were so close he knew he would never make it. She tried to drag herself to the side of the road with her good arm, leaking blood onto the tarmac. Still the cows came on, ripping off wing mirrors and setting off car alarms. The luggage disappeared under their hooves. They were directly under Geldof’s window now. He could smell their beefy rankness; see the sores on their backs, the little fountains of blood created by each bullet.

Eunice was trying to crawl under a parked car when the cows
reached
her. The front runners tried to stop for a munch, but were forced onwards by the sheer weight of those behind them. Eunice was swallowed up by the tide of cows. If she screamed, Geldof couldn’t hear it above the din of hooves striking concrete. It took almost a minute for the cows to stream past and around the corner in pursuit of the trucks.

Once they were gone, there was no sign of Eunice. Her body was probably being carried on by the cows, a reluctant surfer on a wave of hooves. But the animals had left other devastation in their wake. The suitcases were burst open; clothes, makeup, hair-dryers, books, CDs and all manner of household knick-knacks were strewn amongst the two fallen cows that had succumbed to the bullets. One of them was still moving, kicking its legs like a giant dying fly. Car alarms brayed furiously, demanding their owners come out and attend to their wounds.

Geldof backed away from the window and returned to his parents’ room. Their faces were grey.

‘Maybe we should stay after all,’ he said.

School was cancelled until further notice, so Geldof attached himself to the computer. He emerged only to dash across to the Alexanders’ with his parents to watch the early-evening news. Fanny had abandoned her TV boycott and called an uneasy truce with David, brokered by Mary, in what she said were the interests of staying informed. From her earlier comments, however, Geldof was pretty sure she was still enjoying the outbreak, revelling in it as justice for the years of abuse animals had suffered at human hands. Every time a particularly brutal attack was reported on a farmer, an abattoir or anyone even vaguely related to the meat industry (she seemed to especially relish a
cow-led
assault on a McDonald’s in Glasgow city centre), a furtive smile sneaked out to play around her lips. Fortunately, she didn’t vocalize her feelings. Ever since the failed evacuation, the tension had grown until it crackled in the air. Fanny, perhaps sensing this, kept her gob shut.