Surviving the Fall: How England Died (5 page)

Saturday 21st May, evening, Cornwall

After comforting Annie until she slept, Jack joined the clean up patrols.

“They got in through the woods,” said James as they walked around the perimeter of the fence, the sun setting. “Must have been nearly a hundred of them. We think they were from the old people’s home. It’s about two miles away. So many of them I guess our fence just gave way.”

“We’ll need something stronger,” said Jack.

“We’re getting some cars and caravans out there now, use them as barriers until we can think of something more permanent.”

They stopped by the edge of the woods. The evening was peaceful, a dark red sky reflected in the sea. Almost as it the blood from the park had drained into the water.

“How is Annie?” said James.

Jack shook his head. “She’s not good. I should be with her.”

“You should. You should go now. You’ve done enough to help today.”

“Have I?” asked Jack. “Will anything be enough?”

His knee was numb with pain, every muscle in his body ached, and his hands were red raw to the touch, covered in burst blisters from wielding the sledgehammer.

“Who knows what the hell is going on, Jack. Or how long it will last. We need to keep strong, pull together. Until help comes.”

“If it comes.”

James rested his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You need some rest, we all do. That nursing home thing has got to be a one off. We’ll get the stragglers, lock this place down. I’ve worked here for six years, I know it like the back of my hand. I’ll be up tonight, making sure we get that fence in the woods sealed.”

Jack saw the blackness and rings under James’ eyes. “You need rest too.”

“I can’t,” replied James. “If I do, I start thinking of my son.”

Images of Annie flashed through Jack’s mind. Her smiling face at last year’s birthday as she opened her presents. Then her screams as she watched her mother dying.

“I’m going to go back. I’ll come find you at first light.”

“Thank you,” said James. He turned to look into the woods, where the rumble of engines could be heard.

Jack walked back to the chalet, where his daughter was waiting.

His daughter without a mother, who would never have a mother again and who had to deal with watching her mother being killed by monsters. What sort of chance did she have?

The chance that I give her, he thought, as he picked up his pace.

I’m not going to stop. She’s going to make it, we’re going to make it.

He broke into a run, he wanted to show his daughter that he was there for her, that he wasn’t going to leave her, that they were going to survive, they were going to live.

He saw her face looking out of the window of the chalet. She smiled when she saw him, and ran to the front door.

The Inn at the End of the World

Chapter 1

Mac, the landlord of the Fox and Hounds, pulled another pint for Johnny. Bitter, as always.

“I tell you Mac, you ought to close, get things locked up. This virus…” said Johnny.

“Not before we finish our pints though,” said Gaz from the end of the bar.

Mac chuckled to himself, the sound deep and rounded through his thick frame. “Don’t worry fellas, I ain’t closing this place anytime soon. If you’re sick, you still need a pint.”

He looked up to the muted TV and saw the now familiar images of the military barricading the motorways, flames in London, and the Prime Minister’s face, no doubt calling for calm. Funny he wasn’t standing in Downing Street. The white wall behind him suggested he was far from Downing street, probably miles away from the madness.

“Oi, Mac, another pint please!”

Mac nodded to Gaz, “Coming up.”

Gaz and Johnny were his only customers tonight. Two die hards that made their way to the pub no matter the weather, nor the state of their health or finances. A young couple with a daughter had been in earlier, on their way to Cornwall, but they left straight after dinner. It was a quiet night alright.

“Hey Mac, mind if I light up?” said Johnny.

It was nearing eleven. Mac couldn’t imagine any new customers, never mind someone causing trouble over an old fella having a smoke inside. Not on a night like this, with everything that was happening.

“Sure, Johnny, knock yourself out.”

Johnny nodded his thanks and lit up his thin and bent hand-rolled cigarette.

Gaz sipped on his pint, looking thoughtful. “This virus, then, Mac. Sounds like one of them flesh eaters. What do you think?”

“I don’t know Gaz, I’m no doctor.”

“Nah, sure, but from what they say on the news, and them pictures on the internet…”

“Can’t ever be sure what you see on the internet. Could be kids with a make up kit for all I know. Probably is.” Mac poured himself a small whiskey.

“Ok, but if it is one of them flesh eaters,” continued the young man, “it must be eating the brain too, driving everyone crazy. I mean, I’ve seen it on the news, and it looks real enough - they had that one video where you saw that fella biting another fella.”

Johnny nodded, “Aye. Haven’t seen that video again though.” Smoke billowed around his head as he spoke.

“It’s being covered up I reckon.” Gaz took a sip from his pint. “You have to be pretty mad to eat someone, don’t you?”

Mac nodded his head, “Definitely something wrong with you if you have to eat someone.” He noted the fire was down to embers, it was getting late. Probably a good time to check on Angie. “You fellas alright for a minute? Give a shout if anyone comes in.”

He went over and poked the fire, then made his way upstairs. He walked past the B&B rooms and to his bedroom at the end of the dimly lit corridor. His wife was in bed, watching TV.

“It’s getting worse,” said Angie.

The TV news showed police and soldiers pushing back crowds of people in the darkness of London.

“I thought I said it’s best not to watch that.”

Angie waved him away. “What’s it matter. What happens, happens.”

Mac sighed. “Ok love. Anyway, I thought you’d be up, I wondered if you wanted some water or anything?”

She smiled at Mac, “That would be nice.”

He fetched a glass of water from the sink in the en suite bathroom, and put it down on her bedside table. He moved her walking sticks out of the way and rested on the side of the bed, giving her a quick hug.

“Oh, get off me, you big softy!” But she held on to him, tight. “Do you think we’ll be alright?”

“I don’t know love,” he said. “We always have in the past.”

“But this is different, Mac. Oh!” Angie let out a gasp.

He followed her gaze to the television. The picture had gone, in its place static.

“Mac…” Angie’s voice was high, filled with fear.

“Ok. Probably just the signal…” He changed through the channels, but nothing, static on each one.

“Mac, what’s happening?”

He shook his head and stared at the screen, “I don’t know.”

“Who’s downstairs?” asked Angie.

“Just Gaz and Johnny.”

“Can we close up?”

He squeezed his wife’s hand and gave her a smile. “No problem. I’ll lock up. They can leave when they leave.”

“Ok. Thanks.”

He kissed her on the forehead and got up to go, “And turn that tele off.”

Downstairs he found Gaz standing underneath the large TV that hung over the fire place. He was pointing the remote control at the TV.

“Looks like your TV is dead, Mac. Must be the aerial.”

Mac knew it wasn’t the aerial - he had cable.

“I’m going to lock up fellas. You’re welcome to stay the night of course.” Both Gaz and Johnny lived alone.

“Cheers Mac,” said Gaz. “I only live round the corner though. I’ll just finish my pint and I’ll be on my way, I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Mac walked to the front door and turned the deadlock, then bolted it. He tested it with a rough shake. “Don’t be daft lad. Get your head down in one of the rooms upstairs.”

Gaz started to protest again, but Johnny interrupted. “Listen to what he says Gaz. Mac knows his business. Don’t you Mac?”

Mac was testing all the windows were locked, and only glanced at Johnny.

“Mac thinks something funny is going to happen tonight, that’s right, ain’t it?” He lit another skinny cigarette. “Reckons we might be best not walking the streets.”

Gaz sat down and finished his pint, a confused look on his face. “What you mean?”

“The virus,” said Mac.

“Oh.”

“Here lad, have another drink. On the house.” Mac pulled Gaz another pint of lager, and they sat in silence for a while, only the sound of the fire crackling softly. Mac thought how peaceful it all was, without the TV. It reminded him of back in the seventies when he first opened the pub, just a young lad, with Angie his beautiful young bride. No TV back then, no fruit machines. Just the noise of conversation, of laughter, of life.

Gaz broke the silence, “So you think the TV going off is to do with the virus?”

Johnny answered, “I think that when there’s riots, and when the police and army are shutting down whole cities, and when there’s a virus infecting all from America to China, that maybe it’s just best to stay put. Amongst friends like.”

“Ok,” said Gaz, his face suddenly pale. Gaz lifted his pint, a slight shake in his hand, and took several large gulps a little too quickly. “Since it’s on the house then, best make use of it…” He gave a weak smile.

“Careful son,” said Mac, “you don’t want to be passed out anytime. Anyway, you two, I’m going to go up and see to the missus,” said Mac. “She ain’t sleeping well. As I said, you fellas can help yourselves to the booze, but don’t go daft. No-one’s staying in any of the rooms upstairs, so take your pick.”

“Cheers Mac, I’ll see to it that we get sorted,” said Johnny, his voice croaking as the late night and cigarettes began to take their toll.

“Night Mac, and thanks,” said Gaz. “Reckon they’ll have the TV fixed tomorrow.”

“Reckon they will,” said Mac. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, “Oh, and don’t let anyone in.”

Chapter 2

“Ok Angie, that’s them two sorted. Are you right? Do you need help with your night business?”

Angie shook her head. “I’m fine love, my leg isn’t too bad tonight. Managed to get to the bathroom and stand for a good few minutes.”

Mac changed into his pyjamas, “Well that’s good to hear, life in you yet!”

Angie laughed and threw a pillow at him, “Enough life in me to give you trouble, Bill MacIntyre!”

Mac caught the pillow and threw it back beside her, smiling as he did so. “I don’t doubt there is my dear.”

He quickly went to the toilet and cleaned his teeth, then climbed into bed. He pulled his wife close to him, getting comfortable. Then he frowned. “Dammit. I forgot something.”

“What is it?”

“Never mind, I’ll just be a minute.”

Mac made his way downstairs again, turning sharp right at the bottom of the stairs to the cellar door. He opened it and descended the stairs, turned on the dim light and fought his way past beer kegs and pipes to find what he was looking for. Tucked away in the corner of the room was an old crowbar.

He gripped it tightly with two hands and felt the weight before making a practise swing. It felt stiff and heavy in his arms. He swung it a few more times until used to the action.

Mac took the crowbar with him back upstairs, the mumbled conversation of the two drunks at the bar drifting up behind him.

“What do you need that for?” asked Angie when he got back to the bedroom.

“Just to be on the safe side. You know what people are like when their TVs aren’t working.” The joke fell flat. He could see the worry in Angie’s eyes.

“You really think things here might go, well, like in London?” she said.

Mac shook his head. “Not at all love, but you know me, still an old boy scout, best be prepared, dib dib dob.”

“I’ll dib dob you…” She cuddled in next to Mac. He turned off the light and lay still, his worry keeping him awake. He couldn’t let Angie see him worried, scared even, but he was. He felt his heart beating fast and strong under his pyjamas. He reached his left hand down beside the bed and felt the cold metal of the crowbar. In reach. Good.

Mac awoke with a start. Another bang on his door, and Gaz’s voice, high with panic calling his name. Mac grabbed the crowbar and jumped out of bed.

“What is it?” shouted Angie.

“It’s Gaz, don’t worry love, I’ll sort it out.”

Mac opened the door and slipped out into the corridor, closing his bedroom door behind him. Gaz stood in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, his thin frame even more apparent without his usual baggy layers.

“What the hell are you doing? It’s three in the bloody morning,” hissed Mac with a quick glance at his watch.

Even in the darkness of the corridor, Gaz looked scared. “You have to come downstairs - someone is trying to get in.”

“What?” Mac didn’t wait for any further explanation and charged downstairs.

Johnny, still dressed, was leaning up against the front door. The only light was that of the optics from behind the bar. A half empty whiskey bottle sat on the bar - it looked like Johnny had been having himself a late night party.

The front door rattled against the bolts and a muffled voice came from outside.

“Who is it?” whispered Mac as he sneaked up beside Johnny.

“Don’t know. I was having a few more drinks, and suddenly the door started banging. I ran up, woke Gaz, told him to get you - thought I should get back down here and guard the door, like. Sounds like a man and woman.”

As if to confirm this, a woman’s voice from the other side of the door shouted, “Please, someone, open the door, my husband is injured, he’s been attacked.” The voice was that of a youngish woman, but it was shrill with fear, and punctuated by sobs.

Mac motioned to Johnny and Gaz to stay by the door. He tread lightly to the bay of seats to the left of the door. The window there would allow him to look outside.

He opened a tiny gap in the curtain, being careful to allow no light out. His pub stood on a country road leaving the town of Frome, with no buildings nearby and therefore no other lights.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw two shapes. The larger figure, the man, sat against the wall of the pub, not moving, holding his neck. The woman was up against the door. Shouting, banging on the door. She looked frantic, like a rabbit, her head turning in all directions, as if being hunted.

Mac returned to the two by the door.

“Do we let them in?” said Johnny.

The banging on the door became more frantic, “Please! Let us in, he’s going to die!”

Mac shook his head. “We let no one in. He’s been attacked, you know what that means?”

Johnny nodded and Gaz said, “What you mean?”

“The virus, you idiot,” said Mac.

The woman banged again, her shouts now more like sobs.

Gaz looked at the door, then at Mac and Johnny, “Maybe he don’t have it, maybe it was a big dog or something?”

Mac didn’t respond, but held his ear against the door, listening.

Johnny looked at Gaz and held up his finger to his lips.

The banging stopped, but the crying continued.

“Sounds like she’s giving up,” said Johnny.

“Aye,” whispered Mac. He sneaked round to the window again and peeked out to see the woman kneeling by the man, her arms around him, her body rocking with sobs. “They’re on their way out of here, I reckon.”

Suddenly the lights came on. Mac squinted in the sudden brightness as he pulled the curtain shut, but he knew it was too late, the woman’s head had snapped round at the light.

“Bill MacIntyre, you let those poor people in,” said Angie, who was stood at the bottom of the stairs. She was in her nightgown, holding on to the door frame, breathing heavily, sweat on her brow. Her left hand held on tight to her walking stick, shaking.

“Bloody hell woman, what the hell are you doing down here! You’ll bloody kill yourself coming down those stairs,” he ran to her and took her by the arm. She shrugged him off and pushed him away, nearly falling over as she did so.

“You let them in Mac! We don’t turn away people who need help!”

Mac, surprised at the sudden ferocity in his wife took a step back. He looked back to the door of the pub, where the banging and shouting had returned, with increased vigour. Johnny and Gaz stood still, knowing this was not their argument.

“Mac, let them in.”

Mac shook his head and held out his hands. “We can’t, Angie, you don’t understand, they might have that virus, we let them in and we’ll all get it.”

Angie steadied herself on the frame of the door and took a few steps forward to prop herself up on the side of the bar. She let go her hold and took a few tentative steps. Her legs shook.

“We ain’t never turned anyone away from here that needed help.”

Mac stood rooted to the spot as his wife struggled towards him. As much as he wanted to help her, he knew she wouldn’t let him.

“And I didn’t marry no coward,” she breathed as she got within a few steps of Mac, the pain apparent on her face. “Now, you open those doors, and you help those people.”

She fell the last few feet into Mac’s arms and let out a small moan.

Mac grabbed her tight and quickly lifted up her slight body. He turned to the two by the door. “Let them in. Be careful. Any funny business…” He nodded to the crowbar he’d left propped up by the door.

Mac carried his wife upstairs. “You silly old bat,” he said. “You know how to push my buttons alright.”

He laid her down on the bed. She forced her eyes opened and smiled at Mac. “Told you I still had it in me.”

Mac kissed her on the forehead. “I’d best get back down to make sure those two turnips don’t do something daft…”

The injured man was laid out on one of the tables, the girl holding his hand and sobbing, her head down. Johnny stood by the man, his fingers pressing against the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. A trail of blood led from the door to the table, its source obvious - the man had a large gash in his neck, a large square of flesh hung back exposing the man’s tendons. Blood was pooling slowly on the table.

Johnny shook his head at Mac.

“He’s dead?” whispered Mac, being careful the girl couldn’t hear him. Johnny shrugged. Mac came over and felt for a pulse. He felt nothing. The slowly trickling blood suggested he had bleed out. There was nothing left to give.

“Have you phoned an ambulance?”

Johnny held up his mobile phone, “Dead. Land line dead too.”

Mac felt the man’s chest, no rise or fall, no beat.

Maybe if he had opened the door earlier…

He sat down next to the woman. “Hello love, my name’s Mac, this is my pub.”

She looked up at him. Young, maybe in her late twenties, brunette, her cheeks stained with mascara and eyes red with crying. “He’s dead isn’t he?”

Mac nodded. “I think so.”

She sat back on the chair and let out a sob, a hopeless empty sound. Mac looked down to her two hands, holding her pregnant belly. Mac closed his eyes and cursed quietly. He wished Angie was still here, she’d know what to say.

He took her hand. “Why don’t you come upstairs, we can get you a room. You can rest up for the night.” He nearly said that things would seem better in the morning, but he suspected that things would get worse.

She snatched her hand away from him and let out an angry cry. “That bastard! He just jumped at us, from nowhere, just grabbed Ed and bit him on the neck, like an animal. Ed pushed him, and then we ran. He killed him.”

“They’ll catch him,” said Mac.

“Bu they won’t will they? It’s the virus. That virus that we’ve been seeing all over the world, it’s here isn’t it?”

Mac nodded. “It might be.”

She wiped the tears from her face. “Get me a drink. A whiskey.”

Mac motioned to her belly, “Are you sure you should be…”

“Get me a fucking drink!”

Mac nodded to Johnny who was already on his way to the bar. He poured a generous glass for everyone.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t… I just don’t feel that any of this is real. It all feels like I’m not here somehow, things like this shouldn’t happen. Am I in shock?”

“You might be. Thanks Johnny.” Mac took a sip of his whiskey and passed a glass to the woman.

Gaz sat down on the other side of the woman, “What’s you name?”

“Ellie,” she said.

“I’m Gaz. This is Johnny.”

She didn’t respond.

Gaz said, “We’re all staying here tonight. Mac and his wife are real stand up, you won’t find better. They’ll look after you, especially Angie. She’s in bed, but you can meet her tomorrow.”

“We have to call someone,” said Ellie, ignoring Gaz and turning to Mac. “Don’t they need to know if someone is dead? The police, the ambulance?”

“Phones is dead,” said Johnny.

Mac said in a soft voice, “You should stay here. I’ll sort you out a room. I can walk down to the town tomorrow and get the right thing done for your Ed.”

Her eyes met Mac’s and he looked into a vacant sadness. “It’s not safe to go out, is it?” she said.

“No, it’s not.”

“Ok. I’ll stay here. Thank you.”