Ferine Apocalypse (Novella): 4 Hours (11 page)

The hallway was dark.

What illumination there was spilled from open doorways along its length. Meagre light for what they had to do.

Gallagher had some semblance of self-preservation left, despite being in familiar surroundings.

He didn’t just shout his daughter’s name.

He moved quietly.

Cautiously.

Opened one door and then another.

Stood halfway down the dim corridor and turned to Pearcey as if for reassurance. Raised his shoulders and hands. The self-preservation suddenly all gone-gone-gone, dissipated in the still air of his home.

She appeared then. In the doorway behind Sonny.

Annie Gallagher. His troublesome daughter.

Moved into the hallway.

Making a sound that was something between a hiss and a whimper. It was one of the most awful things Pearcey had ever heard.

Pitiful and yet terrifying.

Pathetic and feral. The sound of something that shouldn’t exist.

It turned out that Annie wasn’t okay after all.

It had gone wrong.

That was what sprang into Pearcey’s mind as he took in the full extent of her. Stared in dismay at her naked form.

The mutation.

It had gone wrong.

She’d become infected and the infection had started its unspeakable process and failed.

Not done a proper job. Half-arsed it and walked away shaking its head.

Somewhere along the line, something had gone wrong.

Annie Gallagher had become something dreadful. Even worse than the other dreadful things that were prowling the streets.

Pearcey knew what the mewling, whimpering sound was.

Pain.

The right side of her face and body had embraced the change. The transformative magic of the infection had taken complete hold and finished with a flourish. Skin that looked like silken wood, corded with thick wires below the surface.

Oddly mechanical. A hideous organic machine.

But the left side of her, oh the left side was a failure.

Bubbled and misshapen.

Shrunken and skeletal in places. Bloated and bulging in others.

If he’d been appalled by the other mutated things that he’d seen, Anne Gallagher made him feel sick.

And sorry.

Her face was a ruin.

An asymmetrical alliance of distortion and waste. Veined and hairless on the right, a shrunken skull on the left. Thin skin clinging to twisted bone. Vestiges of dark hair hanging in greasy hanks.

Annie Gallagher’s mouth had become a monstrosity.

A skewed and horrible hole in her face.

Filled with huge wet teeth.

Jagged, uneven things that slanted to shards and disappeared into her left cheek. That frozen left side leaked thick ropes of liquid. Clear thick stuff shot through with red striations.

<><><>

Sonny turned again, toward his daughter this time.

His unspoken question to Pearcey was forgotten. Sonny Gallagher had all of the answers that he needed.

She limped towards him.

Weak and slow.

Bundled him into the room with a sudden savage strength.

Took him from Pearcey’s view.

Sonny was gone in an instant.

Pearcey stumbled down the dark hall and arrived at the door into which Gallagher had disappeared.

A living room. Worn sofa and eighties shelving units. Filled with the crap that life accumulated.

Dust floating in the rays of a sun dying through the big window.

Gallagher was grappling with her.

Crying.

Talking.

Muttered words. A slurred outpouring of emotion. Whispered between them as her face closed on his.

Words spoken to her. Maybe to himself.

“Oh Annie, no, no. Don’t fight me. Don’t.”

Pearcey didn’t catch it all. He didn’t need to.

Gallagher was virtually holding her upright and at the same time trying to fend her off. She moved in a lop-sided, off centre lurch. Nothing like the monsters that roamed the streets with their animalistic grace and loping speed.

Gallagher tripped, tangled in his own legs.

Fell with a head jarring thump to the thin old carpet. The thing that had been his daughter fell with him.

On top of him.

Scrabbling and snapping.

He grasped her right wrist to stop the claws from shredding him. His muscles bulging as he struggled.

Annie’s left arm scratched at him, but it was ineffectual compared to the razor-tipped right hand. Sonny had that in his grasp.

Gallagher held her neck with his other hand. Her head strained for his face, jaws biting at the air.

Pearcey stood there and watched, the knife in his hand and his hand stayed. Appalled and momentarily stilled.

Dismayed by the situation.

Dismayed by the only answer that he could think of to resolve it.

<><><>

A loop of drool fell from Anne’s awful mouth.

Lay itself across Gallagher’s face in gluey slow motion. Eventually touched his right eye.

He twisted his head in disgust.

Closed his eyes for a split second.

Reflexively loosened his grip on her neck as his instinctive desire to wipe the filth clear went to war with the necessity to hold her away.

It was all she needed.

Her head pistoned forward and her terrible teeth sank into the soft part of his shoulder above the clavicle. Latched on like some warped lamprey’s maw.

His scream ripped through the apartment.

Primal and unspeakable.

Pearcey was moving before he could think.

Part of it was revulsion. Part of it was an attempt to save his friend. Part of it was simply Pearcey acting without thought.

Whatever the motivation, the result was the same.

Pearcey drove the knife into the base of her skull. Drove if deep and upward. Wrenched and hammered the blow to cause as much damage as he could.

Grabbed hold of her repulsive left shoulder.

Felt the skin split as his fingers burst through the surface to grip wasted remnants of muscle and thin bone.

Used that loathsome grip and the blade to heft her off Gallagher.

Hurled her to one side and staggered away, the dripping knife in his hand.

Collapsed on the floor.

Staring at her shuddering form. Entranced by the dying of something that should never have lived.

<><><>

Sonny Gallagher landed on him like that tiresome old ton of bricks.

The blade flew away with his breath. A heavy knee punched into his midriff like a lead weight.

The man’s hand around his throat.

Squeezing the way you’d squeeze the bar on a challenging weight you were about to attempt. The difference being that it was his thick neck rather than an iron bar. Knuckle whitening grip on pliant tissue instead of impervious steel.

One arm pinned by Gallagher’s leg.

The knife gone.

Pearcey could feel stars beginning to threaten.

Could see the silver fish shimmers of unconsciousness flitting at the peripheries and darting across his vision.

Feel the dim discomfort of death flowering in his heart. A willing and welcoming embrace that would enfold him and make it all better.

Gallagher loomed above him.

Face rictussed in grief and fury. Tears and rage dripped from his eyes. Maniacal and beyond reason.

Pearcey squirmed his hand into his jacket and dragged the gun free. Oxygen starvation beginning to cloud his thinking.

He jammed the gun under Gallagher’s chin. Forced it into the yielding flesh below his jaw to try and hurt some sense into the man.

“Don’t do this Sonny.”

Choked the words out.

“Don’t make me kill you.”

Finger hovering the trigger.

And endless instant as he attempted to judge how long he had before consciousness departed and his choices disappeared with it.

Terrible choices.

Something changed on Gallagher’s face. The anger gave way to desolation.

The grip on Pearcey’s throat relaxed and the weight lifted off his body. Gallagher rolled away. Crawled back to the still shivering corpse of what had been his daughter.

Pearcey pulled himself into a sitting position.

Back resting against an old armchair.

Thought about how quickly he’d decided to kill Anne Gallagher and how long it would take for him to learn to live with that action.

Wondered what Sonny would do next.

The man could only spend so long hugging the remains of his only child. Pearcey hoped that it wouldn’t be too long because time was running out.

He pondered how quickly his friend had turned into a monster. For a moment, he’d actually thought that Gallagher had been infected and was mutating.

He tried to clear his head. Concentrate on getting breath back into his lungs.

It was useless to ponder any of it.

Pearcey watched Gallagher hug her and tried to will the weariness out of his bones.

Their time was running out.

He didn’t know how long this had taken, but he knew there wasn’t long before Raylens would climb into the vehicle and drive away.

He glanced over at the window and was sure that he could see an orange tint to the encroaching darkness.

If there’d been a remote possibility at the back of his mind that they could let that crazy fucker go and hunker down here for the night, that hot hue to the sky removed it.

There was no way that he’d sit there waiting to be caught in a towering inferno. Always assuming that more creatures didn’t find them in the meantime.

<><><>

There was no easy way to say it.

No time for kindness and consideration.

They were on a battlefield.

It may not have had all of the characteristics, but it was a battlefield nonetheless. A war zone. Unlike any conflict he’d ever been involved in, but no less desperate.

If he indulged sentiment, they’d still be sitting there as Raylens drove away and flames licked at the door.

They had to move and they had to do it sooner rather than later.

There was no time for grief. No time to reflect and allow sadness to slow them down. Either his own sorrow or Gallagher’s greater grief.

“Sonny, we have to go.”

He didn’t think the man had heard him. There was no reaction. Pearcey wondered what he’d do if Sonny didn’t respond and pushed the thought away.

He’d do whatever was necessary.

After what seemed an age, Gallagher eventually moved.

Extricated himself from the hideous thing that had been his daughter. Sat at her side and turned his head once more to Pearcey.

“Go where?”

Pearcey was momentarily nonplussed.

Where the fuck do you think Sonny? The Costa del fucking Sol for a little mini break.

He pushed that thought down as well.

“Back to the CIMC. Now, while we still have chance. Before that crazy bastard does one with your truck and we’re stuck in the middle of a burning street with our thumbs up our arses.”

He felt brutal as he said the words.

Uncaring and without compassion.

He was neither. He simply wanted to survive.

Gallagher was staring beyond him. Tears rolling down his blank face.

Blood dripping from the wound on his shoulder. Mixing with the blood of his daughter that was smeared on his clothes like an accusation.

His expression remained blank as he shook his head.

“I’m not bothered about the bunker now Carlton. It doesn’t matter. I can’t leave Annie like this.”

Annie wasn’t okay. She was dead. It was a blessing.

Pearcey could feel the panic building. Pressure inside a vessel that was liable to burst at the seams, explode in violence and disaster.

“We have to go. We can’t take her with us Sonny. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how much. But there are people at the shelter and they’ll need us.”

He attempted to calm himself and persuade Sonny. He considered simply knocking him out and carrying him back to the garages. Dismissed the idea because he was too tired and too sick of it all.

“They need our report, our firsthand knowledge. They need you more than anyone. You’re the only person who is capable of keeping that place running. You’re the only one who knows how to maintain the centre. The basic shit. Aircon, plumbing, power. Without you, they’ll be knee deep in their own piss in a week and breathing stale air before that.”

He hoped it would work. It was true apart from anything else.

Hoped it would bring out the best in Sonny.

Make him think about responsibility to the living rather than culpability for the dead.

<><><>

“How bad is the wound?”

Gallagher shrugged. Looked at Anne.

What was left of her.

Mystified. Confused.

“Not so bad. But it hurts. It hurts a lot.”

Pearcey figured that it must. The physical injury and more. The bite was deep and the pain deeper still. He went to Gallagher and helped him stand.

The manic anger had gone out of his eyes and so had the near catatonia that had briefly replaced it. Now there was a bewildered pain that was only partly due to the bite wound.

Pearcey held him at arm’s length and gently shook him.

“I’ll find something to cover her with, but we have to go Sonny.”

Gallagher stepped away and looked back at her.

“I need to clean and dress this. There’s stuff in the bathroom.”

He indicated his neck and shoulder. Tone dead and defeated.

Walked out of the room as if his legs were scarcely able to support his weight.

Pearcey found a duvet and laid it over Anne.

Stood there chewing his lip and counting the seconds.

Counting the cost.

Their time was nearly up.

Wayne Raylens deadline and the target that he’d set himself to beat the sun going down.

Four hours should have been enough but his thinking had been flawed. Employing old methods of calculation. Relying on judgement based on ignorance.

Life had changed in the space of a few days.

Taking things for granted had always held the likelihood of getting you into trouble somewhere down the line.

Now the consequences would be lethal.

Pearcey cursed himself again.

Cursed himself for disregarding his own instinct.

Ignoring the misgivings that he’d felt when he was volunteered and had gone along with it.

The reservations had resurfaced when they reached ground level above the CIMC shelter. But he’d ignored them.

Fools are bad enough. Old fools are insufferable.

<><><>

The muted pop pop sound of gunfire interrupted his reverie. Stopped that journey of self-recrimination in its tracks.

It was a gun.

He was sure of that. The noise dulled by distance and obstruction.

But a gun nevertheless.

A rifle.

Maybe a SA80. How many of them would there be around Lancaster Court at this particular juncture in time.

“Oh fuck, what now.”

Pearcey ran to the bathroom and found it empty. Stumbled through the apartment like some big bumbling clown.

Slamming into doors and bouncing off walls.

Gallagher was in a bedroom. Pulling on a new shirt.

“We’re going.

Now.

Follow me or stay here Sonny. I’m not waiting for you. Something got fucked up and we have zero time.”

<><><>

They ran from Lancaster Court.

Pearcey pausing and pulling Gallagher with him. The man was useless.

Worn out and floundering.

He fought the urge to rail at Sonny. Shout and scream at him to get the piano off his back and shift his arse before their last hopes sank with the sun.

If he’d not followed, Pearcey might have left him, but Sonny was willing.

Just damaged.

<><><>

They staggered to the garage block.

Gallagher a stumbling burden.

Pearcey was expecting the mutated things to be massing at the noise of the gun.

There were very few. The ones that he saw were running.

Escaping.

Just like he wanted to do.

Escape the horror and the responsibility that would destroy him. Find somewhere safe to fix himself and figure out how to continue.

The creatures weren’t interested in meat or hunting. They were too busy fleeing the flames. Raylens had been right. They ran from the fire.

And the fire had gotten closer.

Now that he and Sonny were outside he could hear it. The subdued roar of approaching conflagration.

The buildings around Lancaster Court were smouldering. Heat radiating across the grass.

About to ignite.

Smoke beginning to tinge the air. Roiling in lazy drifts.

Dirty and awful.

A taste at the back of the throat. Acrid and unpleasant. The taste of civilisation burning. The tang of the things ending.

There was a muffled boom that made them both duck and cringe. Something heated to the explosive point.

Pearcey vaguely wondered if the fire would engulf Lancaster Court. Turn it into a funeral pyre for Annie Gallagher. Along with whatever else was still contained within its walls.

The dead and living. Those that were resistant to the mutation and those that were no longer human.

<><><>

They were at Gallagher’s lock-up before Pearcey realised there was something wrong.

That was no surprise. No surprise that he was distracted. It was a blind dash.

Under fire in a hostile environment.

Deal with what was close and just get the fuck out.

No wonder that he virtually fell upon the situation before being able to assess it from a distance.

There were no creatures. No immediate threat.

That wouldn’t last.

They could appear from nowhere.

Swarm like insects or spring from a shadow. He’d learned that much if nothing else in their short foray into the new world.

Wayne Raylens had opened the shutter and moved the pick-up into the driveway. The shutter was still open.

Neither of those things were any great shakes.

It was the corpse that captured his attention.

<><><>

There was a body by the car.

Knife protruding from the centre of his chest.

A kitchen knife, one of those long things. Cheap and cheerful, but sturdy enough and as sharp as you like.

Pearcey tried to compute it.

Failed.

The body was Raylens.

Weird and not so wonderful Wayne Raylens. The new acquaintance that he felt like he’d known too long. The man in the mask. The bayonet wielding, gun toting nutjob.

Splayed out like a sacrifice by the side of their ride home.

Spread-eagled and as dead as yesterday’s news.

The gun was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Angela Gacek.

He approached the car without caution.

The time for caution was gone.

Whatever would happen now was going to happen. He was running on empty and Gallagher looked like he’d aged twenty years in the last twenty minutes.

The world was burning and the night was falling.

<><><>

The driver’s door was open.

Pearcey glanced inside and saw the keys dangling from the ignition.

A sense of relief should have surged through him, but he almost didn’t care.

He felt numb.

Battered and bruised. A deep weariness that was only partly due to his physical condition.

A piece of paper lay on the driver’s seat. Dark smears on it that were maroon black in the dying light.

He was pretty sure that it was blood. Those drying smears.

The smudged prints of fingers dipped in blood.

Pearcey picked up the note and studied it.

Shook his head and nearly smiled.

The smile didn’t quite make it.

he was a bad man

a monster

the worst kind

AG

He’d got it wrong yet again.

Wayne Raylens may well have been crazy.

He was definitely scary.

And dangerous.

Quite possibly certifiable.

Angela Gacek was scarier still.