14.

THEN

December 25, 2014

Alan tapped the red button on the side of the binoculars that belonged to Greg. He perched himself on a straight-backed wooden chair in the spare bedroom in Bobbie and Abigail’s home and. The zoom-in mode transported him within several feet of Greg, Mary and Bobbie. They’d drawn straws to see which three would risk their lives and cross the main road towards the Texaco garage convenience store.

Abigail waited on tenterhooks downstairs, nerves in tatters. She watched their progress from the living room window and would throw the front door open when - if - they made it back to the sanctuary with provisions.

Although Alan silently thanked God for not drawing one of the shortest straws he didn’t want to be watching from the confines of a locked farmhouse as his closest friends placed themselves in great peril.

The odds on them surviving were stacked towering against them. If they wanted to persevere and be patient then they needed food and drink to keep them going. It wouldn’t do any good staying indoors out of harms way if they were going to starve to death in less than a week.

Through the lens of the binoculars, Alan watched as Greg followed closely behind Bobbie and Abigail as they hurried across the street onto the Meadow garage parking bay. The convoy of caravans and cars sat idly. Their once gleaming bodywork had now been reduced to rusting boxes of metal, dirt obscured from the plumes of dust swirling in the shrieking wind.

Tony would’ve never have let that happen if he were alive, Alan thought.

Tony Little who a couple of years earlier had been seen by Greg and Bobbie digging up a corpse only someone whom had buried the body would have known was there. Tony had evidently killed and buried the corpse. Only, like something out of and EC comic book from the 1950’s, when he dug it back up the corpse still had life in it.

Alan fought back the bile rising in his oesophagus and returned his full attention on the figures crossing the filling station and disappearing inside the store. He wiped a film of sweat off his furrowed brow. Then he took a sip of water.

The silence didn’t do anything to abate the anxiety. The silence possessed a foreboding ambience that froze the marrow. The silence had a supernatural eminence that could only be felt on a subliminal level, creating a profound trepidation Alan couldn’t explain. Its presence enveloped him and Rhos Meadow, shielding it from all tranquillity; an invisible bubble ensconcing around the small town from the world beyond.

The thunderous blast that shattered the silence sent Alan toppling backwards off the chair. He crashed to the floor, paralysed with fear. In the next moment, he leapt to his feet and rushed to the window. He bent and blindly grabbed the binoculars and focused on the Texaco garage store. The binoculars were useless in his trembling grasp. He willed himself to stop shaking but had lost all control of himself.

The blast that had resonated from across the street was the sound of Greg’s shotgun going off. If the gun had been fired, something unforeseen had transpired. Something Alan didn’t dare think about. And yet, it was the not knowing what had happened that caused his body to shake and his mind to become disarrayed. The whirlwind of panic assailed Alan similar to how he’d envisioned that little girl assailing Harold Banks.

‘Alan. Did you hear that?’ Abigail shouted.

‘Don’t open that door whatever you do,’ Alan bellowed. ‘Not until they get back.’

‘What’s happened?’

In spite of the ludicrous question, which Alan had no answer to, he shouted, ‘Could be Greg had to shoot one of the infected; had to happen sooner or later. Stay alert. They’ll be back any time now.’

He listened to Abigail’s footfalls moving away from the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Please be all right,’ Alan murmured.

He used the cuff of his shirt to wipe the beads of sweat from dripping into his eyes. Then he almost head butted the windowpane at the sight of the convenience store flying open.

‘Oh fuck, no,’ Alan whimpered.

The harrowing sight of Bobbie half carrying, half walking Mary across the street while Greg watched their backs was surreal. Alan had to remove the binoculars and peer out the window with his own eyes to believe what he was seeing.

Greg pivoted like a trained soldier and darted across the parking bay. A figure donning a white apron sprayed the rectangle window with red fluid then moved out of Alan’s peripheral sight. Greg used his right leg to kick the Meadow Fish Bar & Restaurant/Café open. A brilliant white flash ignited from the shotgun before being consumed by the inexorable dark.

A couple of minutes later Greg emerged. The barrel of the shotgun coughed blue smoke. He opened the weapon and an empty shell popped out. Greg reloaded and buried the butt of the shotgun into his shoulder and jogged across the road.

As Bobbie and Mary drew closer Alan could see all too clearly the crimson liquid pumping out of the vicious neck wound. The red fountain stained Mary’s white hood sweater. Her pallid face had shrunk around prominent cheekbones. Bobbie struggled with exertion to carry Mary whose strength ebbed as rapidly as her life fluid poured out of her.

Alan dropped the expensive binoculars and darted for the door. He cornered the banister faster than Usian Bolt and flew down the stairs. Abigail stood in his way and he shoved her to the floor towards the front door. There was no time to deliberate his actions and the risk he put himself in. Alan no longer cared about himself. Mary was dying. Bobbie was struggling. Greg had to be overcome by shock and grief. If more of the infected saw them they wouldn’t make back inside.

‘What the hell happened?’ Alan cried.

The ragged pieces of flesh around the neck wound flapped in the breeze.

Together, taking an arm each, Alan and Bobbie got Mary up the path. The front door opened and Abigail swayed on her feet, eyes rolling.

‘Ab, get a bandage or something to staunch the flow. Now.’

Abigail held onto the doorframe in a white-knuckle grip. She snapped out of her dizziness, whirled and darted up the stairs. Her heavy footfalls shook the stairs. Alan and Bobbie dragged Mary into the living room and gently lowered her onto the sofa.

Immediately, Bobbie slapped his hand over the gushing wound and pressed hard. Alan ran to the kitchen, drew cold water from the tap and filled the glass. He returned and brought the rim of the glass to Mary’s lips. She sipped the water, drinking greedily. Bobbie backhanded the glass, knocking to the floor and spilling a pool on the carpet.

‘What the fu -’

‘Our tap water is contaminated, remember? You’re making it worse givin’ her that shit.’

Without answering back, Alan bent down and took the glass back to the kitchen. He filled the glass with Diet Coke.

Greg slammed the door shut behind him, threw the bolt, dropped the shotgun on the floor and rushed over to his wife. Mary guzzled the Diet Coke until a coughing fit assailed her.

The sound of Abigail’s footfalls thudding on the stairs preceded her. She threw the safety pin on the floor in haste and wrapped the roll of bandage around Mary’s neck. Greg lifted Mary’s head off the sofa. The white bandage instantly turned scarlet.

‘You need to keep pressure on the wound, Bobbie,’ Abigail said. ‘The bandage itself won’t stop the blood.’

Alan averted his gaze from Mary’s snow white face. Her head lolled onto Greg’s shoulder. The tightly wrapped bandage would only soak up so much blood for so long. Inevitably, Mary’s neck wound would need to be treated. Alan was no doctor or surgeon. However, the fact hat it was her neck and the wound was so deep meant it had to be fatal. Eve if they did have a signal and could get her to a hospital on time, the likelihood that Mary would survive was astronomical.

‘Guys, what he hell happened?’ Alan said in a hoarse voice.

Mary’s eyes slowly blinked and then closed.

Greg and Bobbie exchanged a look of despair.

‘You saw us going into the store, right?’ Bobbie asked.

Alan nodded.

‘When we went inside we grabbed a basket each and started roaming the store for provisions. About a minute into doing this we heard a creaking sound. At first I told Greg it was just the wind outside. Nothing to worry ourselves over. Then we heard a muffled scream coming from restaurant/café next door. It must’ve been one helluva scream if we could hear it through the walls.

‘I know this sounds callous but I wanted to ignore it and get outta there. In hindsight that’s what we should’ve done. But Mary said it could be someone we knew who needed our help and were all alone. Greg’s always said she’s too good for herself. But as Greg had a weapon and whoever it was desperately needed our help we acted on our conscience. Or rather we acted on Mary’s good conscience.’

‘But I didn’t see you coming out until the sound of the shotgun going off. When you were carrying Mary.’

Bobbie nodded. ‘Yeah. We went the back way. There’s a storeroom which was open. If you go in there and follow the shelves to the far wall and turn to your right you’ll see the fire exit. Open that and you end up in a hallway. Ignore the fire exit and take the door on your left and you’ll find yourself in the back of the fish bar and restaurant. That’s what we did.’

‘Then what happened?’ Abigail wanted to know, sitting down next to Alan.

‘D’you remember our reaction to 911?’ Bobbie asked both Alan and Abigail. ‘Remember how you came over Alan with the news. We turned the TV on and watched the second plane fly right into the tower. The orange-red explosion that rocked us out of our seats, as though we’d been hit. Then the collapse of the trade centre towers and mushroom clouds swarming over all those innocent people, blocking out daylight.’

‘Yeah. I remember,’ Alan said.

‘I remember saying to you that the people who were there at the time; their lives would never be the same thereafter.

‘What I saw in the restaurant/café changed my life for good. I have never been so frightened in all my life. Not purely because of the macabre I saw before me with my own naked eyes but the surrealism of it all. The shock that makes even atheists pray to God. I kept saying in my mind “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. How can it be? It’s too horrific.” My conscience reminding me that it was real. It was happening. And it was happening to me. And what I saw was too horrific. But I saw it nonetheless.

Bobbie didn’t speak for a couple of minutes.

‘You still haven’t answered the question?’ Abigail pointed out.

‘I’m wondering whether it’s a good idea to tell you or not. Some things are best not knowing. I understand now why men and women who come back from war don’t talk about what went on over there. Some things are best not knowing.’

‘Just tell them and get it over with,’ Greg said.

Bobbie threw his hands up in the air as if to say “fine”.

‘We saw...’ He paused, taking a deep breath. ‘We saw Dennis Wilson, Sara Banks and Brenda Davies kneeling on the ground bent over something we couldn’t see at first. Greg took the lead. A shattered coffee mug was on the floor. Greg’s foot inadvertently kicked a shard across the linoleum. They turned and stared at us at the same time. They -’

‘They’re infected. Their eyes were swimming in dark blood,’ Greg said, seeing Bobbie struggling to tell the story.’

‘Brenda got up and rushed at us. Greg swung the shotgun like he was batting for Boston Red Sox and cracked her on the side of the head with the stock. She staggered into the counter and slapped the floor hard. She got up and ran out of the place.

‘As they got up we could see what they were huddled over.’ Bobbie stopped and rubbed his hands down his haggard features.’

‘What they were huddling over was the remains of Caroline Jacobs,’ Greg continued.

‘Remains?’ Abigail asked.

Remains it was,’ Bobbie said. ‘Sara, Brenda and Dennis had pried open her ribcage with inhuman strength. They’d been devouring her insides like starving children in third world countries discovering chocolate cake. We’d interrupted their meal.

‘Greg trained the shotgun on Dennis. Dennis stood still, chest going up and down. He was still chewing chunks of intestine and other pieces of flesh. To say it was grotesque would be an understatement. I mean this was Dennis Wilson we were staring at. Nice as pie Dennis. The nice guy who’d cooked our food in that stifling kitchen all day, six days a week. If he wasn’t working in the kitchen you didn’t see him. Probably too exhausted to do anything besides go home at the end of a long day and collapse on the sofa.

‘The difference between us and them is we care. Greg couldn’t bring himself to shoot Dennis. Mary and I understood. I’ve never shot anyone, neither has Greg until today. It’s as if there is this invisible barrier preventing you from doing such a thing because normally it’d never cross your mind.

‘Meanwhile, behind us - unbeknownst to us - Brenda Davies had skulked back into the room. She leapt on Mary and sunk her teeth into her neck. Mary screamed and flailed, doing her utmost to get Brenda off her back. I grabbed a bloodied kitchen knife and rammed it into Brenda’s back without thinking. Brenda groaned, released her vice-like teeth from Mary. Mary collapsed into one of the booths. I staggered over a saucer and landed painfully on my rump. Brenda towered over me, blood dripping from her mouth. Her eyes were black and glinting with a malevolent fervour. I couldn’t move if I wanted it to, and had I been on my own I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.

‘Brenda’s head explode in a fountain of red mist, bone and ragged flesh. I instantly closed my eyes and shuddered at the cold blood drenching me.’

‘That must’ve been the gun shot we heard,’ Alan said.

‘Greg ran at Dennis and smashed the butt of the shotgun into his face. Dennis got knocked back several yards, grunting and grasping his shattered nose. Then we helped Mary to her feet and got the hell outta there. Greg went back in when we were outside and shot Dennis in the skull, obliterating the left side.’

Greg, who had been cradling his wife’s limp head in his hands, looked up at his friends and said in a hollow tone, ‘Mary’s dead...’

***

Abigail shook her head in denial. ‘If she’s dead how can she still have a pulse?’

Greg glanced at Bobbie and Alan, pleading with them that they weren’t thinking what he was thinking. Alan removed his glasses. His eyes seemed to shrink. When they met Greg’s gaze they expressed a profound sorrow. Bobbie nodded once, knowing what Greg was thinking.

‘Oh, God,’ Greg whimpered.

‘What? What is it? Someone tell me,’ Abigail cried.

‘When Mary wakes she’ll no longer be... Mary,’ Alan said, fighting back tears.

Bobbie put an arm around Greg who started sobbing. ‘You know what has to be done,’ he said. ‘To keep her memory alive and set her spirit free you must do it. Mary would’ve wanted you to in these circumstances. You know that deep down, don’t you?’ Bobbie rubbed Greg’s shuddering shoulders using as gentle voice as he could.

After a minute passed, Greg nodded in acquiescence.

‘I don’t want to do it here,’ Greg said.

‘That’s fair enough,’ Bobbie said. ‘Where’re you gonna do it?’

‘Our house. Mary loved our house. If it came to this, then that’s what she would’ve wanted.’

‘I’ll carry her to your house. When it’s done bring the shotgun back with you. When we survive this nightmare we’ll give her a proper burial. She deserves that much.’

***

Alan and Abigail said a tearful goodbye to Mary Zane.

‘Be at eternal peace,’ Alan said, crying.

Abigail made the sign on the holy cross, placed the palms of her hands together and prayed for the first time since she was a young girl attending Sunday school.

In a trancelike state Greg busied himself loading the shotgun. He didn’t cry any more. Instead he stared impassively at the weapon and waited by the front door.

Bobbie lifted Mary’s flaccid form off the sofa, her skin cold to touch. Then he followed Greg outside in a slow amble. Abigail and Alan stood by the door, heartbroken.

‘We should’ve never had drawn straws,’ Alan said. ‘If I’d been man enough, I’d have grown a pair and gone to the store with Bobbie and Greg. None of this would’ve happened.’

‘Yes it would!’ Abigail snapped.

‘Mary had been standing with her back to the door Brenda came out of. Mary didn’t refuse to go over there or whine, you remember? What happened to her is ghastly and fuckin’ scandalous. But don’t you start being guilty and weak. I can easily blame myself too, you know? But I don’t. I blame the infection that has taken over this town and whatever force has cut off all communication.’

‘We may not survive this ordeal,’ Alan pointed out.

‘Then we’ll sure as hell go down fighting.’

Bobbie could hear Alan and Abigail’s voice but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He stared at Greg’s back and wondered what was going through his mind right then. How would he feel if Abigail had been bitten and become infected? Devastated was an apt word but it wouldn’t express his emotions. His whole world would be destroyed. The whole purpose of fighting and living wouldn’t mean anything to him any more. Yet Greg remained stoic. It slightly unnerved Bobbie. A minute of crying wouldn’t be enough for a pet rabbit let alone your soul mate.

He dearly hoped Greg wasn’t bottling his emotions. It would be better if he let it out as soon as possible. They needed Greg if they were going to survive. Or was survival a naïve thought? A futile plan?

Perhaps Greg felt enraged, Bobbie thought. That made sense.

They arrived at Greg and Mary’s beautiful home. Bobbie carried Mary inside and lowered her gently on the floor, relieved that she hadn’t awoken as a feral beast and taken a huge chunk out of him. He said a heartfelt farewell and blew her a kiss.

‘Do what you have to,’ Bobbie said, standing. ‘Say goodbye to the woman you loved and whom loved you. Kill the monster before it is born in her. Make your last thought and emotion be something happy and filled with love.’

Bobbie rested a hand on Greg’s shoulder and gently squeezed. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. Then he stepped out of the house.

***

The crumpled shape leaning against the wall looked nothing like the woman Greg fell in love with and asked to marry him. The shotgun trembled in his grip. He didn’t know if he had the fortitude to go through with this. Of course, he knew that it would be in his best interest to pull the trigger sooner rather than later. However, this wasn’t some mad pet dog that had gone Cujo on the family and had to be put down. This was the only woman whom he ever loved.

Before he’d met Mary in Neath/Port Talbot College, Greg had been a lost soul. His parents disowned him after he failed all of his school exams and had to go to college to get good enough grades to be able to get a job. He managed to get qualifications as a plumber and applied for an apprenticeship. Yet he had to turn his life around for his health too. The late nights in pubs and clubs drinking until he woke up in his bed the next morning hung over with no recollection of what happened the night before had to stop. He would either wind up dead or in prison, totally unaware of everything.

The world stopped spinning on its axis one day. A moment of time frozen paradoxically for Greg and Greg alone. The one who achieved this by merely existing was Mary.

Greg closed his eyes and as vivid as DVD he watched the memory unfold.

He met Mary’s gaze across a room filled with a hundred people. It could have been a thousand for all it mattered because in that single, breathtaking moment their eyes locked and the room dissolved and it was just Greg and Mary.

She smiled. Her golden brown eyes smiled too. Greg’s heart fluttered. He smiled too. Yet he knew his smile didn’t match Mary’s. He stood transfixed and only moved when a college rugby player nudged him forward in the queue.

Greg could feel his pulse in his neck as he purchased a Diet Tango. He walked down the aisle in a trance, staring intently at the back of Mary’s head. Her curvy mane of brown hair shinning like the soul within.

He shocked himself when he came to a halt beside her and blurted, ‘Hi.’

A couple of Mary’s college classmates giggled. Yet Mary ignored their juvenile behaviour and said in a voice as soft as silk, ‘Hi. How are you?’

‘What? Oh, good. No, great. Brilliant.’

The girls guffawed. Mary didn’t bat an eyelid. She sat gazing up at Greg her beautiful smile etched across her features.

She asked him what he was studying. Greg reciprocated the question. Then he introduced himself. Mary did the same. They shook hands.

That had been the first time they’d spoken. Not long after Mary and Greg quite often met each other in the canteen at lunchtime and got better acquainted. They were best friends throughout college and everyone assumed they were going steady. Yet Greg had been nervous as hell when he asked if they were more than friends.

From that day on every day Greg woke he cherished every moment. He never drank excessively again. He would have two or three pints and no more. If for some reason Mary and him were out for more than a couple of hours, after the three pints Greg would then drink soft drinks. If anyone asked why, Mary would tell them straight, ‘Because he’s got some sense not to ruin a perfectly good evening.’ No one ever had a response to that and that made Greg laugh every time.

Now here he was in the present, finger covering the trigger on the verge of ending Mary’s life. The one person who’d saved him from a life of despair. His mum and father had given him life, but Mary had been the one who’d resurrected him from hopelessness.

He bent over and buried his nose into her curvy brown hair and inhaled the enchanting fragrance.

‘I love you, Mary. Love never dies.’

Greg squeezed the trigger.

The recoil knocked him on his rump. He hit the back of his head on the carpeted floor. When he sat up and saw the massacre he’d created he felt his entire life force die inside him and a rage too powerful to contain was born.

Greg balled his hands into taut fist, arched his head back and contorted his features. A flush of scarlet swam to the surface. Veins protruded like small blue serpentines.

The guttural scream that escaped Greg would have deafened any living creature within the house at that time. He threw the steaming shotgun to the other side of the spacious living room, smelling the cordite. Then he rose, pivoted and left the house he’d once called home and strode down the street in the opposite direction of Bobbie and Abigail’s house.