Class Four: Those Who Survive (3 page)

Home Comforts – Part One

It was only a month ago now since…
it
.

But well, first off, my husband, Donald, and I had been holed up in a holiday cottage on the edge of the forest. It was perfect. We had been there every year since we were married. It was visit number sixteen. When this all happened, those many months ago, we were out there celebrating our anniversary.

The sixteenth.

I remember
that
night. I think everyone does now, like you always knew where you were when the Twin Towers were hit, or when Princess Diana, God bless her soul, was tragically stolen from us. I met Donald the night she died. We were in a pub on a night out; separate parties of course. We just talked the night away. Before I knew it, we were out on the dancefloor. Just something about my Donald.

It was the way he looked at me I think. The moment I first saw those magical baby blues looking across the bar at me, oohh, gives me goosebumps now even thinking about it.

He walked over and I will never forget the line he opened with. ‘Are you tired?’ he asked me. The pub was so loud, but his voice just cut through it all.

I didn’t have a clue what he was on about, and after flapping my mouth open and shut for what seemed like forever, I managed to stammer out a ‘What?’

The corner of his mouth rose slightly. He has…
had
, a lovely smile; used to make any trying day seem brighter.

Anyway, he leant in closer, and whispered in my ear, ‘You must be tired. As you’ve been running round my mind all night.’ He gave me a little wink and that was it. I was hooked. I giggled like a schoolgirl, and he bought me a drink, one of those Smirnoff Mule’s.

Sorry, I’m rabbiting on about stuff. So, it’s
that
night. Donald took me out to a fancy restaurant, one of those where you get lost with all the cutlery. Always got terribly worried if I was doing things wrong, you know?

I
always
seem to do things wrong.

The taxi took us back to the cottage. Donald paid the driver and gave him a generous tip. He was always like that, always made sure he looked after people that gave good service. He was such a gentleman. I walked through the house to the decking at the back. I thought it’d be nice to have a hot-tub to round the night off, you know? Show my appreciation for a good evening.

As soon as I opened the back patio doors, though, the sky just seemed to, well,
bleed
. The light blue and orangey sky just turned red; it was like someone had a great big roller out and painted the sky. Donald had joined me by now, and we were both standing there, looking out at the ungodly scene. He took my hand, held it so tight to stop me trembling, and said, ‘It’ll be okay, Syl. It’ll be okay.’

We never did get into the hot tub that night. It all unsettled me so much. It may have only gone on for a few hours, but it scared me. We sat on the decking with a bottle of red, a nice Rioja if I remember correctly. He had his arm around me the entire time, and we just sat there in silence.

The morning came round. I had slept in fits and starts, kept getting the same dream over and over again.

Hmm? You want me to tell you, Steve? But it’s terribly boring; these people won’t want to hear it.

Okay then, if you’re sure.

I’m at a train station, and I’m waiting for my train to come in. I look up at the clock, and see that it’s due any time now, so I check my ticket and pick up my bag. It’s only then that I look up at the announcement board and see that I’m on the wrong platform.

I start to panic. I look to one side and can see a train coming in. My train. I can feel my heart beating faster and faster. I turn towards the stairs and try to make my way to them, but there are so many people in the way, and I’m trying to fight my way through them, but they just won’t move.

So many of them.

I weave this way and that, and eventually, somehow, get through, but as I reach the stairs I realise I’m already on the other platform. The train doors are shutting though, one by one, starting from the far end. I run to the nearest door and catch it just as it is about to close. I get on the train, put my bag on the floor and breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s then that I look around and notice that the train has no walls, and as it pulls away from the station, it starts going really fast, so much so that people who are sat on their chairs, reading newspapers or checking their phones, are just falling by the wayside. I feel this gust of wind start to pick me off my feet. Just as I’m about to fly off, I wake up.

What does that mean do you think, Steve? Hmm ? Okay, I’ll continue.

Sorry.

So, the day after, we’re packing up. It’s a couple of hours drive back to our house, and we hear this thudding from the decking outside. It gave me quite a start. Donald put his arms around me and calmed me down, said he would go and see what it was, that I was not to worry and things would be okay.

I continued packing, I remember I was putting all the vitamins and tablets back into one of my bags when I heard Donald curse. That in itself was odd; Donald never swore. Well, only twice, but that Doctor really was being quite nasty to me.

I called his name but had no reply, so thought I best go and see what had got him so angry. Donald never normally got angry with other people, it just wasn’t in his nature. Well, there was that time with that Receptionist, but she was a nosy busy-body.

I walked through the cottage and, as I reached the living room, I could hear Donald, well,
grunting
. It was unsettling. So I picked up this walking stick which always lived in the umbrella stand in the hallway. No idea whose it was, but every year we went, it was always there. We used to joke, ‘The old man is still here then, watching us from the wardrobe.’

Clutching the stick I walked into the living room and looked towards the patio doors and there he was, my Donald.

Except, he wasn’t alone. There was another gentleman there with him, outside. The door was wide open and we were losing all the heat from the radiators. As I got closer, my eyesight isn’t the best, another useless thing that doesn’t work properly, I could see they were fighting.

I shouted something. Think it was, ‘Excuse me, leave my husband alone or I’ll call the police,’ or something, I can’t remember. The other gentleman didn’t seem to pay any attention, and I thought he must be one of those Polish people we read about. The ones that Donald always talks about.

You know the ones.

Donald grunts again, and I edged my way towards them. I remember then it sounded like Donald was gasping for air, like he was being choked. Well, it put the fear of God into me, so I held the stick tighter and moved past the little coffee table and headed for the doors.

He saw me then, my Donald. His eyes seemed to ignite as if he was a boiler and a little pilot light had come on. He balled his fist and punched the man on the side of his head, which made him release his hold on him. Donald’s face, which was nearly the same shade as the sky the night before, started to turn back to its normal colour.

The man spun from the impact and knocked into the little patio table and chair set on the decking. He must have landed awkwardly as his arm caught the table and the rest of him folded onto the floor. There was this terribly loud snap, like someone had just pulled a big Christmas cracker. He just lay there on the floor.

Donald rubbed his throat, and his knuckles; he used to do that when…

Anyway, he walked across to me. I asked him who the man was, and he said that he didn’t have a clue. He saw I had the stick, though, and took it from me. I remember I must have been holding it really tightly as it hurt my hands when he took it.

He started to circle round to the other side of the table where the other gentleman was lying. I walked out onto the patio. The garden and fields looked so beautiful; morning dew was making the tall crops bend over so that  they looked like tiny little catapults.

It was then I looked down at the gentleman that had attacked Donald. His arm was still resting on top of the table, but as I looked down to the body that joined it, I saw a large point sticking out where his shoulder should be.

I got closer, and could see that it was the bone from his arm. It was glistening in the morning sun, like the dewy crops. I thought that it was very strange, at least until I looked down at the rest of him.

He was trying to stand up. He seemed drunk or something; his legs were wobbly and unsure, his boots kept slipping as he tried to get purchase on the decking. He was wearing a tracksuit top, silver I think, but there was a gaping hole in the side. Through the tear, I could see lines of red running down his body.

It was then I saw the gentleman’s face. It was the same colour as we had just painted the study in. Garden Folly, I think it was called. It looked most unnatural, but it was his eyes that put the willies up me.

They were white, except for a small black fleck in the middle. His face was dirty and bruised, he didn’t look very well at all.

Donald was standing over him by now, demanding to know what the hell he was doing and why he had attacked him without warning. The man didn’t say anything, he just kind of growled. Those Poles, eh? Don’t bother to learn our language. Or that’s what Donald said at the time.

Donald was shouting at him so much that he didn’t see the man’s free hand reach for him. By the time he knew, it was too late. I’ve never…

…never…

Sorry, just need to compose myself for a moment.

Ahem.

I’d never seen someone bite another person. You’d think it would be the same as when you bite into a roast chicken.

Which we always had on Sundays.

But it’s not. The man grabbed Donald’s ankle and pulled him to the ground. He seemed so strong.

Donald was caught off-guard and landed with an almighty thud on the wood. I was in shock I think, just a watcher. It was like it was on television. You know, that show they have with that Sheriff and his son, fighting those monster things. The man pulled Donald’s leg towards him and just bit into it, trying to chew through his socks; the man’s jaws locked onto his ankle and just tore away.

The first couple of bites came away with nothing but mouthfuls of white fluff. The fifth I think it was.

Yes.

The fifth.

That was when I saw the blood. Donald screamed again, worse than before. The man, the
thing
, chewed on whatever he had torn away. He had barely started when I saw the stick smack against his skull.

The force made the thing spit out whatever he had, then the second smack came, and I heard the crack again. From then on, I remember hearing the sounds and the cracks, but I don’t remember what I saw. Or if I did, I can no longer recall the images. I think that’s a good thing.

Yes. A good thing.

I came to, with Donald yelling at me, telling me to help him get his belt off. I didn’t understand, so he yelled some more until I did what he asked.

It was always easier if I did what he asked; I couldn’t mess things up then could I?

I took his belt off. His hands were covered in these little flecks of blood. It was really noticeable against the white of his skin.

So white. Just like this room really, I suppose. I passed him the belt and he tied it tightly around his calf, said it would do as a tourniquet for now.

Silly me, I should’ve know really. I don’t know what else he would’ve used the belt for, hmm?

He crawled back inside the house, told me to lock the doors, and to call the police. As I reached the phone, he turned the television on, flicked through the channels onto one of those dreadful twenty four hour news programmes, you know the ones. All lies and nonsense, that’s what Donald says.

Said.

It’s still strange saying it like that.

I tried calling the police, but I just got some message on repeat, over and over again.

When I went back through to tell Donald the bad news, he had managed to haul himself onto the armchair and was just watching the television. He looked down at his leg, then at me, and shook his head. He said, ‘The bleeding has stopped, Syl, don’t worry. It’ll be okay, but I don’t think I’ll be able to drive home just yet, plus, it sounds like there’s more trouble everywhere anyway.’

I looked outside at the gentleman who was lying in a big puddle. Donald saw this and said I better close the curtains; it’ll help to keep the unpleasantness out, he said.

After that, I felt much better. So I made us a pot of tea, sat down on the sofa, and we just watched the news reports, over and over again.