Ferine Apocalypse (Novella): 4 Hours (7 page)

The figure had a gun.

A rifle.

Maybe military issue. SA80 A2 was his first thought.

Lightweight and formidable. Powerful and deadly.

Maybe a fake, but Pearcey wasn’t about to chance that. The possibility was scary enough.

The rifle was vaguely pointed in their direction.

Wavering, floating. Not aimed directly at them, downward and off to the side, but a flex of the arm and twitch of a finger would make that irrelevant.

The man was wearing a gas mask, the hood of his coat over it.

If the gun was possibly military and current, the mask reminded Pearcey of something from an antique shop. The coat was a thigh length grey parka that belonged in an eighties indie music video.

The combination was unsettling.

Let’s hear it for understatement. A big round of applause please.

Pearcey was pretty much unnerved.

He was at a loss.

The world had gone surreal zombie horror with a twist. Creatures from the twilight zone prowling the streets. Now, into the bargain, some lunatic had managed to creep up on him. A lunatic that looked, for all the world, like some nightmare apocalypse cliché.

It was all getting to be too much. If Pearcey thought he was too old for this shit he was becoming surer by the second. He really didn’t need this latest dose of the bizarre. He had plenty to be going on with.

He slowly stood.

Hands loose at his side, once he was upright.

“I want to come with you. I’ll help do whatever you have to do. Yeah yeah, blah blah, whatever the fuck that is. What I really want is to get into the bunker. That will be
uber
cool.”

The man swung the rifle as he spoke.

The motion held an hypnotic appeal. The barrel seemed huge. The grip stupidly small, resting against the waxy cotton of the jacket.

Pearcey took a moment.

Breathed and tried to think.

If that rifle started blasting away, life was going to get short. If he pulled the pistol in his jacket and took the bastard out it was going to be noisy.

He could do it.

At least he thought he could.

Kill the fucker stone dead in an instant. But if he got it wrong it would be a disaster.

Even if he got it right, it would still be potentially disastrous.

So Pearcey went along with it.

Why not? The world had moved into a place that made crazy appear sane. What was one more shot of insanity in this churning mix of madness.

“The more the merrier my friend. Providing that you stop pointing that gun at me. I’m allergic to friendly fire.”

Pearcey smiled a broad smile and sat back down. Dazzling white teeth framed by a wide brown face. Motioned for the man to come over and join them. He may have been tenser at some point in his life, but he couldn’t recall the time.

And to his amazement, the man came closer and sat.

Laid the gun across his legs so that it was fractionally less threatening.

“Don’t worry about this.”

He indicated the rifle.

“I won’t hurt anyone who isn’t going to hurt me.”

Pearcey thought there might be some friendliness, humour even, in his tone, but it was hard to tell through the distortion of the mask.

<><><>

He seemed friendly enough. Began to talk without any prompting.

“My name’s Wayne. Wayne Raylens.”

He extended a hand and they shook. Pearcey hadn’t noticed up until that point, but the man was wearing surgical gloves. Flesh coloured. The touch of them was ambiguously disturbing.

Pearcey made introductions, but got the impression that Wayne Raylens was hardly listening. Had an ill-defined notion that the man wasn’t interested in other people.

The mask, the gloves, there was beginning to be a certain logic to it, given the circumstances. He wasn’t sure how much real sense it made.

“Where’s your shelter? Is it a full-on bunker thing? Hardened Cold War shit? Man, I have got to get myself inside there. I’m perfect for that.”

Pearcey nodded.

“Yeah, it’s government shelter. Just across the river. Whitehall, Westminster.”

“Wow. I mean fucking
wow
. Awesome. I’ve got to come with you. Where’s this person you’ve got to rescue?”

Pearcey looked to Gallagher.

“Lancaster Court on Park Road.”

The man in the mask snorted.

That’s what it sounded like. Pearcey couldn’t be sure. He might have been gargling. The mask distorted sound.

“That’s a piece of piss. We can walk it in ten minutes. It’s lovely there, Park Road. Is it on one of the high floors? Where we’ve got to go?”

The man leaned forward, as if the answer was important.

Gallagher looked at him quizzically and shook his head.

“No, fourth floor.”

Raylens might have been relieved. His posture seemed to relax.

“That’s good. Being on the high floors is bad. It’s more exposed to the waves. There’s less shielding, the higher you get.”

Pearcey had no idea what to make of that and let it go.

“Where did you come from Wayne? Were you already in here when we came in?”

A nod of the mask.

The canister cartridge like some pig’s snout. The shadowed glass of the lens hiding his eyes.

“I saw
her
first.”

A jerk of the snout to indicate Angela.

“Dipped in here when you arrived. I waited to see if you made any of their signs, or had insect voices, before I showed myself. To be on the safe side, you know?”

Pearcey nodded, although he wasn’t sure he did know.

“You made quite an entrance. On the street I mean. Man, that was
awesome
. Fucking stuntman movie shit. That alien breaking out the window and landing on your car. Ka
boom
.! I knew the noise would bring them. They came out of the woodwork like cockroaches.”

They all looked to the front of the store. The street flickered with predatory movement.

Pearcey turned back to Wayne Raylens.

“Wayne, aren’t you ...err, hot? With the mask, the coat, the gloves.”

He paused before answering. Maybe assessing Pearcey’s sanity for asking such a stupid question.

“Well yeah, fucking
obviously
. But I can’t take them off. The spores would invade my lungs or get into my skin. I’d end up as an alien. Same as all of the others. Same as my mother. She never listened and I’d been telling her for years. Fucking
years
. Telling her that they were coming. That they were monitoring us. Finding out about us.
Measuring
us.”

Raylens was becoming agitated.

Hand clutching the rifle in a way that alarmed Pearcey as much as the creatures clicking along the window. He wanted to ask Wayne more questions.

Where had he got the rifle?

Did he know how to use it?

Where had the vintage gas mask come from?

Lots of others.

He wanted to explain that the mask and the gloves wouldn’t make any difference. That whatever the infection was, the vectors of contagion were far beyond their comprehension.

It was random, whether you got the City Flu or not.

There was no evidence to support any other conclusion.

The only definite seemed to be that everyone who got it either died or mutated into something that bore only a passing resemblance to human.

And he asked none of those questions and offered none of that opinion.

Because he was genuinely concerned that Raylens would do something dangerous. He half considered taking him out. Incapacitating him and relieving him of the gun, and the mask while he was at it. The mask pissed him off and unnerved him in equal measure.

He grudgingly rejected the idea again.

It might go wrong and besides that, Raylens could actually be of some use to them. More than that, could be crucial to their survival.

And as Pearcey pondered things, a calm seemed to return to the man.

Raylens shifted and stood.

Grasped the rifle in both hands.

“We ought to go. It’s getting dark. There’s a back door, I already checked that out. It’ll be easier on foot, so long as we’re careful. And quiet. They have alien hearing that’s attuned to our sounds. You probably know already, but they’re like zombies, although they’re obviously not. You have to destroy their brain or head to be sure.”

He drifted towards the darkness at the back of the store and Pearcey looked at Sonny and Angela.

“We don’t have any choice that I can see.”

They both nodded and followed him as he followed Raylens.

<><><>

To say Pearcey had misgivings would have been another understatement. Somehow, in the space of a couple of hours, he’d managed to find himself in a situation that had spiralled out of control.

He was trailing after some nutjob like a lost school girl.

And he didn’t see any other course of action.

Wayne Raylens was howling at the moon. There was no doubt on that score. He made king crazy of the clan crazy look like the last sane man on earth.

It may have been caused by the catastrophe, but Pearcey had a feeling that good old Wayne had been wearing tin foil hats long before the Collapse event.

Wayne Raylens led them through two dark doorways.

Into a storeroom that was darker and dingier still. Racking crammed into the space without any suggestion of logic or planning.

The shelves were piled high with of an assortment of stock. The floor was strewn with cardboard boxes and old style mouse traps.

Two of the traps held mice. Desiccated dry things that were pinned on the spikes of the traps.

It occurred to Pearcey that he hoped Mr Anwar’s pricing policy had been competitive, because his housekeeping and hygiene standards left a lot to be desired.

Irrelevant thoughts when he had weightier matters to worry about.

He needed to focus.

Raylens stood by a heavily bolted door.

Old but sturdy.

Timber reinforced with steel plates.

It had the look of homemade. That would be about right.

Mr Anwar watched the pennies so that the pounds could look after themselves. Do it yourself was usually a popular option when your gaze was continually drawn to the bottom of the balance sheet. When you couldn’t resist a regular glance at the growing pile of pennies.

In the short term anyway.

Pearcey thought that cutting corners had a habit of catching up with you at some point.

A small bunch of keys were already hanging in one of the two locks. Raylens unlocked those and slid back the bolts.

The porcine mask swung around in their direction.

“Are you ready?”

All three of them nodded but didn’t speak.

<><><>

What struck Pearcey as they emerged was that it really was getting dark.

He was expecting to be half blinded after the gloom of the storeroom, but it wasn’t any great shock.

The light wasn’t that strong. In fact, it was worryingly weak. Clouds obscured the May brightness,

The sun was low, and it was only going to get lower. The light was slanted, casting huge shadows.

He mentally brushed it away, the concern about the light. He’d get it done as fast as he could and that was all he could do.

The door squealed as it opened to its full extent.

They were in a gated yard. Enclosed by crumbling brick walls. High enough to prevent you seeing over. Punctuated by old wooden gates.

They heard the scuffling sound first.

Then the talons as they appeared at the top of the wall.

For a few seconds, it was like some hideous guessing game. What’s on the end of these corded clawed hands?

The moment was blissfully brief.

There was a scrabbling sound.

Claws on brick.

It vaulted on to the narrow top of the wall.

Perched there on all fours.

Fixed them with an utterly animalistic stare. A hunting thing regarding potential prey. Food that hadn’t been caught yet. There was nothing human in that stare.

Its mouth chittered.

A twitching chewing movement. As if it could imagine the taste of their flesh and blood and desperately wanted it. Hungered for that taste the way a parched throat hungers for water.

Whatever unknowable thoughts were drifting through its head, it made a fairly quick judgement.

Pearcey didn’t really think there’d ever been any doubt.

It dropped into the yard and came at them.

<><><>

However crazy Wayne Raylens was, and Pearcey was pretty much convinced that he was nuttier than a bar of fruit and nut, the man acted decisively.

There was no delay.

No hesitation.

Before Pearcey could move, the man had jumped in front of them. Not graceful or practised, just fast.

Scarily fast.

There was a fearlessness, a certainty, in that speed. It unsettled Pearcey as much as the lethal weapon and the ridiculous but nevertheless intimidating mask.

The rifle was shouldered as he moved.

The bayonet was in his hand without Pearcey seeing how it got there. It seemed to simply appear from inside his parka.

<><><>

And of course, what else would it be but a bayonet?

An antique bit of ephemera salvaged from God knew where. Blade sharpened and polished, handle stained with old sweat.

Some relic from some conflict somewhere in space and time.

Like the mask.

Crazy Wayne was an eclectic collector, so surprise was the order of the day. He’d surprise you at every turn.

He collected conspiracy theories like stamps and hoarded weapons like life insurance policies.

He may have been scared of things, but they weren’t the things that normal people were scared of.

He was concerned about aliens reading his thoughts and whisking him up into the sky to probe his private parts with phone home fingers. Probe his mind with organic filaments thinner than the finest strand of hair.

He thought the streetlights moved and watched him as he walked down the road. Recording his movements and thoughts. Sent those recordings to faraway galaxies and puppet clones in positions of power. Leaders that could unpeel their faces and reveal Cthulhu reality beneath the human façade.

He worried where the next invasion was coming from, not the next meal.

For Pearcey, he’d become another unknown quantity in a world that was now dominated by deadly unknowns.

Pearcey was sick beyond words of unknown quantities.

<><><>

Raylens dealt with the creature with ruthless efficiency. A minimum of fuss. Despatched it without pause.

As it ran towards him with the yearning, hungry gait that Pearcey had already come to recognise, Raylens went to meet it.

There was no fear or hesitancy.

No lack of confidence in his movement.

The antique bayonet flashed forward.

Raylens seemed to almost embrace the creature as he buried the blade into its gaping mouth.

Slid it between bared teeth and punched it out of the back of its skull.

A splash of maroon and a strangled squeal of inhuman agony.

Pearcey filed the technique for future reference.

<><><>

Wayne Raylens stood back, withdrawing the long blade in the same motion.

Accomplished and competent.

Let the creature fall, weakly jerking and thrashing on the ground.

Pearcey tried to balance conflicting emotions.

Tried to calculate their survival chances factored in with the fluctuating elements. Looked round and assessed the others.

Angela, the girl woman in black, hiding by the door.

Ready to bolt back inside.

Gallagher gaping, the steel bar dangling from his hand, limp and unready.

Raylens turned to them all. Walked a little closer.

“They’re not reading our thoughts anymore or abducting us. They’ve learned all they need to know. This is the battle now. The invasion. Clever that they’re using our own bodies.”

He fiddled with the mask and spoke again.

Muffled speech.

“Clever, dirty alien
bastards
.”

Gallagher looked to Pearcey. Perplexed.

Pearcey ignored him. He’d made his own assessment of Raylens and Gallagher was welcome to do the same. It didn’t change the fact that, as of that precise moment, Raylens was their best shot at getting to Gallagher’s home.

And, more importantly, his daughter.

Besides which, he really didn’t want to upset Raylens. The guy was clearly insane, had an automatic weapon, and seemed particularly adept at handling sharp implements.

That added up to think
twice before offending
in Pearcey’s book.

Especially when you needed the nutcase in question.

<><><>

Raylens indicated the gate to the yard and they trailed after him.

He produced a key to the padlock and chain that secured it. Clicked it open and pocketed the padlock along with the key.

They emerged into a dingy alley that must have served as a service road for the shops. Littered with rubbish and empty boxes. Black plastic bags that were split and spewing their contents.

Raylens turned left and started walking.

Stopped and turned back to them when they didn’t immediately follow.

“Keep up fuckers. We don’t want to get separated out here.”

Pearcey, despite any number of misgivings and an urge to smash the mask from his face, had a tendency to agree.

They’d taken twenty paces when the two creatures appeared in front of them at the end of the road.

One huge.

Naked.

Hideous and hairless. A body that looked hard and terribly thin. Criss-crossed by thick tuberous lines below the surface of a skin that held an aspect of cured leather.

Another smaller creature at its side.

Dressed in the tattered remnants of what might have been business trousers and a work shirt. Hanging off it like skin that was shedding.

Slow, skulking movement that stopped abruptly as they caught sight of possible prey. A momentary pause, stock still and poised, as they evaluated the potential.

Decision reached, they ran at them.

From behind him, he heard Gallagher curse.

Pearcey glanced over his shoulder and his heart fell. A sudden sinking despair added to the apprehension at what was in front of them.

There was another.

Running at them from back where they’d come from.

Gallagher moved to meet it, blocking its path to the girl who stood rigid, frozen against the high brick wall of one of the yards in the alley.

“Worry about the other two, I’ll do this.”

Whispered, barely spoken as Gallagher clutched the steel bar and braced himself to battle the beast.

Pearcey swung back and was amazed to see that Raylens was twenty feet away, jogging towards the first two creatures that had appeared. The antique bayonet back in one hand. With the other, he unshouldered the rifle.

For one awful moment, Pearcey thought the man was going to start shooting. It would have been understandable, those things were like the worst wild animal you could imagine.

And more than that. A nightmare given substance, a bad dream rendered in strange flesh and buckled bone.

But the noise would be calamitous, bring more of them like rotten meat will draw flies.

It didn’t matter, Raylens was already too far away for Pearcey to change anything.

The creatures were slightly staggered in their approach. The larger one was faster, longer legs eating a little more ground with each loping stride.

Raylens met them at an angle.

Shuffled and dodged at the last possible second.

Drove the bayonet under the jaw of the first. Up and into whatever was beyond.

Used the rifle as a lance to fend off the second, deflect it as he turned and withdrew the blade from the first. It wasn’t pretty or graceful, just brutally effective.

The smaller creature stumbled, claws skittering and losing grip.

Fell and bounded to its feet again, savage and spitting.

It didn’t stand a chance. Raylens advanced and repeated the trick he’d demonstrated in the yard.

Slammed the bayonet between its teeth.

Stood and surveyed the damage he’d done. The two twitching things on the litter-strewn ground at his feet.

Pearcey shook off his paralysis.

Dismissed the sense of mild awe that Raylens inspired in him.

Dismissed the desire to go over and inspect the results of the man’s handiwork. Instead, he turned and ran to Gallagher.

<><><>

The girl in black, Angela, was where she’d been.

Leaned against the wall as if it might absorb her, camouflage her existence. As if crumbling red brick hues could mask the starkness of monochrome shrouded humanity.

Gallagher was on his knees. The steel bar held limply in his hands.

The creature lying a little further away.

Thick mutated blood spreading an unholy halo around its unholy head.

In his own way, Gallagher seemed as efficient a killing machine as Wayne Raylens.