Flesh-Eater (Book 1): Fear the Fever (2 page)

“G
ood morning darling, you’re up early.”  Derek kissed his wife on the cheek, patting her bottom as he did so.

“Morning,” she sang.  “I’ve got the fundraiser bake sale on tomorrow so I thought I’d better get cracking on some muffins and cakes,” she said, as she picked the bowl up from the bench and proceeded to beat the eggs vigorously.  “How did the spray go last night?”

“Yeah, good.  Hopefully we’ll be rid of all the little suckers now.”  He poured himself a strong coffee.  “Zeke up yet?”

“Mmm hmm.  I sent him over to the chook pen to get me some more eggs.”

“Good-o.”  He sat down at the table, opening the morning paper.  “I think we’ll just take it easy this morning.  Was a bit of a late one, so I’m in no hurry to get out in those fields just yet.”

“Fair enough.  You work too hard as it is.”

“I just do what needs to be done.”  He looked up at Mary with a smile.  “I don’t suppose any of that baking is going spare?”

Mary laughed.  “I guess I can spare one.”  She offered him a plate with a selection of muffins.  “There’s blueberry, cinnamon and apple, or banana chocolate chip.”

“Mmmm, they all smell delicious!  I may just have to sample one of each.”  He grinned, selecting a blueberry muffin from the top.

“Oh you!”  Mary flicked a tea towel in his direction, a smile playing across her face.

“Call it quality control.”  He winked.

“My muffins are always quality,” she huffed, turning back to her bowl.

“Of course, my love.  That’s why I want to eat them all!”  Derek loved to tease her.  She made the best cakes, muffins and, well, everything!  She was never happier than when she was in her kitchen cooking up a feast for her family and friends.  Hot apple pies – with homemade pastry and all, blueberry strudel with hand-whipped cream, scones, biscuits, cakes – you name it, she could make it.  It’s a wonder that Derek and Zeke weren’t the size of a house with all the wonderful baking she made!

Derek got up and stood behind his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he whispered in her ear, giving her goose bumps.

“Flattery, will get you everywhere.”  She smiled, turning her head to plant a kiss on his nose.  “Go on then.”  She nodded at the plate on the bench.  “Have another one.”

“Well, if you insist,” he said, helping himself to a cinnamon and apple muffin this time.

Mary dusted her floury hands on her apron before rummaging through the cupboard for more ingredients.

“Oh shoot.  I don’t suppose you’d be up for a trip to town?”

“Anything for you, my love.  What do you need?”

“Vanilla, chocolate chips and icing sugar.  I’ll need a big bag of that.”  She wrote it down on a piece of paper for him.  “Get the good vanilla, you know, the one with the seeds in it.”

“Yes ma’am.  I’ll go as soon as I’m finished my coffee.”

“Thank you, darling.”

The door flew open and Zeke walked through, holding an arm load of eggs.

“Oh heavens!  You gave me a fright.”  Mary held her hand to her chest.  “What’re you doing throwing the door open like that?”

“Sorry Ma, I forgot to take a basket with me and I didn’t wanna break ‘em.  I had to kick the door open.”  He motioned to his armful.  “No free hands.”

“Silly boy.”  Mary tutted.  “Well, bring them here then.”

Zeke made his way over to his mother, stepping gingerly so as not to drop any eggs on the floor.  Mary grabbed them one by one, out of his arms.

“My word, the chooks have been busy!”  She smiled.  “I’ll be able to do plenty more baking with these.  Might even rustle up a batch of pancakes for lunch if you like.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Well then, you might want to add maple syrup to that list of yours too then, love.”

“Got it.  Anything else?”  He drank back the last of his coffee and placed his mug in the sink.

“Actually.”  Mary said, looking at her flour bag.  “I think I might need another bag of flour from the barn.  Could you be a dear and grab one for me please?”

“Of course.”  He kissed her on the cheek once more.  “Zeke, could you run and feed the pigs?  You can have the rest of the morning free after that.  It looks like it may rain later, so we probably won’t need to water the crops this morning.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Derek made his way to the barn.  The kitchen in the house was cosy, but not really big enough to store all the baking goods that Mary required.  Derek had built a pantry of sorts in the barn, where she could store all her bulk bags of flour and sugar and any preserves she had made.

The door to the pantry was slightly ajar when he walked in.  Zeke mustn’t have closed it properly when he was loading the shelves with the chutneys that had been made the day before.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, when he saw the hole in the side of one of the flour bags.  “Must be mice in here. Where are ya, ya little beggar?”  He scanned the shelves, noting that the flour was the only thing that seemed to have been touched so far.  He grabbed it down from the shelf.  He was sure he’d heard a faint hissing sound before he felt a sharp claw drag its way down the back of his neck.

“Ah!  Jesus Christ!” he yelled out, instinctively touching the scratch and spinning around to find the culprit.  A tiny baby mouse was lying dazed on the dirt.  Without hesitation, Derek lifted his foot and planted it firmly on top of the tiny body, twisting his heel to make sure it didn’t survive.  “Let that be a lesson to y’all,” he said to the empty shelves.

Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he dabbed at the scratch on his neck.  There was a surprising amount of blood for such a small thing.

He hoisted the sack of flour onto his shoulder and went back to the house.

“We’ve got mice!” he announced, as he flopped the sack on the table, a puff of flour floating out.

“What?”

“Bloody mice!  One of the little buggars jumped on me, would you believe?  Scratched me too, the little shit.”

“Come here, let me have a look.”  She beckoned him to her.  She pushed his shoulders to make him sit so she could see better.  “Ooh that’s actually quite nasty.  It looks almost like a bite mark.”  She ran to get the first aid kit from the bathroom.  “Here, we’d better put some tea tree oil on it, don’t want you getting an infection now, do we?”  She wet a cotton ball and dabbed at the wound to clean it before applying the oil.

“We might have to move the stuff in the pantry.  I don’t think anything else has been got at yet, but if that one was in there, then you can be sure there’ll be more.  It was only a baby and that means the mother has to be around somewhere.”

“A baby did this?”  She sounded surprised.

“Yep.  Saw it lying on the ground after it fell off me.  Squashed it good and proper.”

“Oh Derek, that’s disgusting.”

“What would you have me do?”  He circled his arms around her middle.

She sighed.  “I don’t know.  It just doesn’t sound nice.”  She pursed her lips.  “I’ll get Zeke to hunt out the traps after he’s finished with the pigs.”

“Yes, you’re right.  Snapping their necks is a much nicer way to go,” he teased, pulling her in tight.  “I’ll go fetch those things you wanted now, love.”  He stood and brushed her lips with his before grabbing his coat and hat.  “Be sure to tell Zeke to set the traps in the pantry as well as around the barn.”

“Yes.  Got it covered, don’t worry.”  She walked him to the door.  “Drive safely.”

“I always do,” he said, jingling his keys and whistling as he sauntered towards his Chevy truck.  He gave a small wave before taking off down the gravel drive.

By the time he had reached the outskirts of town, Derek had started to feel a bit under the weather.  His face was flushed and his hands so clammy, they kept slipping from the steering wheel.  He had to constantly wipe them on his jeans to remove the moisture.

Luckily there was a park out front of the supermarket, and he was able to park without a hitch.  Clutching the handle, he pushed the door open, and on shaky legs, he stepped down from the truck.  He staggered through the automatic doors of the store and shuffled slowly down each aisle to find the supplies Mary had asked for.

He had to keep wiping his eyes as his vision blurred several times – possibly from the sweat that was trickling down his face.  He had never felt so terrible in all his life.

To his knowledge, he hadn’t been around anyone else who had been sick, so couldn’t understand why he felt so wretched all of a sudden.  He wondered if somehow he had spilled pesticide on himself without noticing.  Surely he couldn’t have poisoned himself?  Could he?

Stumbling to the counter, he lost his balance and collided with another man.

“Hey!  Watch it, jackass!” the man said, as he retrieved his fallen groceries.

“Sssorry.  I didn’t see you,” Derek mumbled, bending down to help.  The man snatched his items from his hand.

“You should be more careful,” he grumbled, as he walked towards the door.

Derek made his way to the cashier.  Holding the counter for support, he fumbled with his wallet, pulling out the cash he needed.  He swiped his hand across his forehead before handing the money over.

“You okay, Derek?  You don’t look too flash,” the cashier said.

“I’m fine, Tammy.  Just a bit of a fever I think.”  He didn’t want people to know he may have accidentally poisoned himself – a tad embarrassing.

“Make sure you look after yourself.  Get that Mary of yours to cook you up some soup.  Zeke can handle the farm for a day.”

“Yeah, I might just do that.”  He attempted a smile.  “Thanks.”

Once outside, he loaded his purchases in the truck.  He looked down the road to where the pharmacy was.  It was only a few blocks, surely he could make it that far.  Locking his eyes on his destination, he slowly ambled down the street.  Hopefully they would have something to ease this fever.  He was now sweating so much that his shirt was clinging to him.

He had to grab onto a lamp post outside the pharmacy to catch his breath.  His legs were so shaky, he could barely stand, but he forced them to move.

“Come on!” he cried out under his breath.

Making it inside the door, he blinked to clear his eyes once more.  He clutched a nearby shelf, and eased himself along the aisle until he was almost at the counter.

“Derek?  You alright?” Bill asked.  He was the pharmacist, and an old friend.  They had gone to school together, many years ago.

“Not too good actually,” he panted, reaching for something to hold on to.

“You should be at home, not out and about.”

“Yeah.  It just came over me.  I think… maybe…”

“Here, sit down a minute, catch your breath.”  Bill dragged a chair around from behind the counter.

“Thanks,” Derek said gratefully.  “I think… I may have… got some … pesticide on me… last night,” he rasped.

“Really?  That’s unlike you.”

“I know.  I can’t… think of any… other reason… to be feeling like this, though.”

“Hang on.”  Bill went out the back.  He came out carrying a bottle.  “This should hopefully have you feeling better.  Make sure you keep your fluids up, it’ll help to flush it out.”

“Thanks, Bill.”

“No problem.  Are you going to be okay to get home?  Do you want me to call Mary?”

“No, no… don’t bother her… I’ll be fine.”  He took the bottle from his friend and pushed himself to his feet.  He nodded and tipped his hat before shuffling out the door.

The fresh air made him shiver, as it swept over his damp clothes.  His face, however, felt as though it was on fire.  He gulped in the air, trying to summon the energy to get back to the truck that suddenly appeared miles away.

After only a few steps, he was out of breath again.  Hands on his knees, he bent over trying to slow his breathing.  A wave of nausea hit, and he had to stumble into the nearest building to find a toilet.  He could taste acid in the back of his throat, as his breakfast started to come back up.  He swallowed it down, which set off a bout of coughing.  Stumbling into a stool at the bar, he continued to cough uncontrollably.

“Hey, are you okay?”  Someone put their arm under his, supporting his weight.

Derek, still coughing, motioned for a drink.  The bartender set a glass of water in front of him.  He grabbed it, taking a large mouthful.  It eased the burning in his throat, so he drank more.  An eruption of coughing hit him again, and he spat half of the water across the bar.

“He needs a doctor!”

Derek shook his head as he tried to stand, and another wave of nausea hit.  He stumbled forward, the other man still supporting him.  His vision was clouding over.  He could barely make out two feet in front of him.  The room began to spin, and blackness took over his sight as he fell to the ground.

P
utting on his sweatpants and trainers, Chad made his way out the door for his morning run.  Down the road a few blocks, past the school, around the basketball courts and back home again.  Every day, the same run.

Even today.  Game day.

It was an away game, and they were on strict instruction to meet at the bus by eleven.  Coach had said, “If you show up late, you get benched.  No exceptions.”

This was one bus that Chad was not willing to miss.  As starting quarterback, this was his chance to show all those big city boys what he was capable of.  He had heard rumours that there may be some talent scouts there today and he was determined to be in the best shape possible.  Anything to get out of this hick town he reluctantly called home.

Once back from his run, he had a quick shower, and then downed a protein smoothie – he had taken to drinking those after reading that it helped to kick-start your metabolism.  If it was going to help him burn off fat and build muscle, then he was more than happy to partake.

He knew some of the other boys on the team were taking steroids for the very same reason.  Stupid mistake, as far as he was concerned.  To get anywhere in this sport you had to play it smart, and drugs were definitely not that.  Not only was it illegal, but it screwed with your mind.  He had seen some of these guys blow up over the smallest of things.  One thing Coach did
not
tolerate, was fighting.  It meant instant dismissal from the team.  They had lost some of their best players this season alone, all due to outbursts of testosterone.  It just wasn’t worth the risk.  Not when football was his ticket out of here.

His parents wanted him to take over the family business after graduation, but he had other ideas.  He finished packing his gear for the game, remembering to bring his jacket and tie for after the match.  He needed to make a good impression on the scouts if they were to offer him a scholarship.  Bringing his ‘A game’ on the field wasn’t enough, he had to be impeccable off the field as well.

Looking in the mirror, he slicked some gel into his hair, twisting his fingers around until it looked perfect.  He spritzed himself in cologne and straightened his shirt.  Bracing his hands on the vanity, he stared at his reflection, mentally psyching himself up for the game.

“You can do it!  You’re number one!  You got this!” he said to himself.

Bag in hand, he strolled through town to the bus depot.  As he passed the supermarket, one of his team mates came barrelling out the door, a look of murder in his eyes.  Chad placed his hand on his chest to stop him.

“Ross?  You okay, bud?”

“Get off me man!”

“Hey, you know Coach won’t let you on the bus like this.  What happened?”

“Just some jackass not looking where he’s going!”

“Is that all?”

“He made me drop everything!  I was grabbing supplies for the trip!”

“Okay, but you’ve still got them, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, no harm done then, eh?”

“I guess.”  Ross’ eyes were looking less murderous now.  He was still fidgety, but that would ease with the walk to the bus.  Chad had had plenty of practise talking these guys down.  They couldn’t afford to lose any more players.

“Come on mate.  Let’s get you to the bus.”  Chad slapped his friend on the back and grabbed one of his bags.  “Jesus!  Did you buy the whole store?”

“Almost.”  Ross grinned.

They made it to the depot with time to spare.  After loading their bags into the carrier at the rear of the bus, they climbed on board and took their seats.  There were still quite a few bare seats.  Chad checked his watch.

“They’re cutting it a bit fine,” he said, noting that it was quarter to eleven.

“They’ll be here,” Ross said.

One by one, the players showed up.  At five to eleven, they were only missing one.

“Has anyone heard from Zuckerman?”  Coach called out, checking off his clipboard.

A collection of “No’s” rang out.

“Wait!  I think I see him!”  They all peered out the side window at the figure running down the street towards them.

“Yep, that’s him alright.”  One of the others laughed.

“Sorry, Coach.”  Zuckerman panted.  “Slept in.”  He put his hands on his knees, catching his breath.  “Did I make it in time?  Am I still on the team?”

Coach looked at his watch, then back at Zuckerman.

“You are one lucky son-of-a-bitch.  One more minute and you would’ve been benched.”  He took the bag out of his hand and carried it to the back of the bus.  “Do not let me down Zuckerman.”

“I won’t, Coach.  I promise.”

If there was any other player as dedicated to the game as Chad, Zuckerman would be it.  They had been friends for several years now, ever since the first day of try-outs.  He was one of the good guys in Chad’s eyes, and he deserved a scholarship more than anyone.

Coach jumped in the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.  He let it idle for a few minutes while he gave the boys a pep talk.

“We’ve worked hard all year for this, boys.  It’s time to make it count.  There are going to be some very important people there today.  People who could change your lives for the better.  I believe in you guys.  You’re a strong team.  I want you to put everything into this game.  Can you do that?”

The bus erupted with cheers.  Coach nodded, tipping his cap, before taking his seat and slowly manoeuvring the bus out onto the highway.  Someone started up a round of “
We are the Champions
” and soon the whole team was belting it out.  They were in high spirits.

Chad noticed that Ross was sitting quietly – which was unusual for someone hopped-up on steroids.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Huh?  Ah, yeah.”  Ross turned his head to face Chad.  His eyes were bloodshot and his forehead had a light sheen of sweat on it.

“You sure?  You don’t look so good.”  He lowered his voice.  “Are you using?”

“What?  No!  I mean, not today anyway.”  He pulled his shirt out from his body and started fanning himself.  “Is it hot in here?”

“Nah man.  I feel fine.  Are you sure you’re okay?  Maybe you ate something bad?”

“I don’t think so.  I don’t feel sick, just hot and sweaty.  I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Here, drink some water.  That might help.”  Chad handed him a bottle.

“Thanks.”

Within half an hour, sweat had started to pour off Ross.  His sleeves were saturated from wiping his brow.  He was slumped in his chair, his head lolling about with the movement of the bus.  Chad was starting to worry.  What if it was contagious?  He couldn’t afford to get sick before the biggest game of his life.

“Hey, get up, I need to see Coach.”  He nudged Ross.

“Wha?”  He swung his head to the side.

“Get up.”

He sighed, but slowly pulled himself to stand and stepped out into the aisle, taking hold of the chair across from him for balance.  Chad pushed past and made his way to the front of the bus.

“Coach?  Something’s wrong with Ross.  He doesn’t look good.”

“That’s too bad.  We’re almost there, he can see medical when we stop.”

Chad looked over to where he had been sitting.  Ross was leaning over one of the seats.  He looked like he might pass out.

“What if we all get it?”

“Nothing spreads that quickly.  You’ll be fine.  It’s probably just car sickness.  Go sit down.”

He walked back towards his seat.  Ross was having a coughing fit.  He was struggling to hold himself upright, coughing all over everyone.

“Someone get him some water!”  Chad called out, grabbing hold of his friend and helping him to his seat.

“I… I… don’t… feel...”  He panted between coughs.  “I… can’t… breathe.”  He was starting to panic.  Chad was fighting to support his weight.

“Come on, bud.  Let’s have a seat.  You just need to rest.”

“No!   I… can’t… breathe!”

Ross went limp in his arms.

“Ross?”  Chad shook him.  “Ross?!”  He spun around.  “Coach!  He’s passed out!”