The Last Plague Read online

  Some of the infected were naked and covered in blood.

  Frank wondered with a wave of hot panic if Catherine was amongst the infected. If she was, he would kill her. He would kill her quickly.

  They gathered as a pack, darkened limbs and torn skin. The Field brothers discarded the severed arm and regarded Frank’s group. Gibbering mouths opened to reveal black tongues and chattering teeth. Twitching hands grasped the air; hands that were deformed into sharp points of bone and muscle. Palsied arms folded into themselves. The sound of growling grew louder within them, until it was all that could be heard.

  There were other faces that he recognised. It was too painful to remember them as they had once been. They were monsters now.

  “Oh shit,” said Joel, backing away.

  Ralph stopped drinking.

  Florence grabbed Frank’s hand.

  The pack of infected broke into a run, and before Frank could turn and flee, they had already halved the distance between them.

  Ralph threw the vodka bottle at the pack, and it hit one of the infected, knocking her down. Ralph turned and ran.

  We’re not going to make it, Frank thought.

  They ran past Magnus’s house.

  Frank glanced back to see the infected within ten yards. Ralph was already flagging, breathing hard. Joel whimpered as he ran.

  One of the infected reached for Ralph. Something wet and black emerged from its mouth.

  Ralph looked at Frank, a final exchanged glance.

  The infected thing let out a scream, reached out and snagged the back of Ralph’s jacket.

  Ralph cried out.

  The back of the infected thing’s head exploded.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Another infected went down. A bullet whirred past Frank’s head, into the chasing pack. He turned.

  There were two men standing on the road, five yards back, one with a rifle and the other with a shotgun.

  The man with the rifle shouted, “Get down!”

  Frank dragged Florence down with him. Ralph and Joel hit the road on their stomachs.

  The two men opened fire. Frank hugged Florence, burying her face in his chest. The world around him became an explosion. He screamed and Florence screamed with him.

  Frank screamed until his throat was raw.

  Then there was silence. Frank raised his head. The smell of blood and smoke hung in the air.

  The two men reloaded their weapons. The infected were littered all over the road, many of them still twitching. The road was red and mushy. Arms and legs lay at broken angles, twisted and smashed, ripped from bodies. Pulped remains. One of them, a woman with most of her face obliterated by buckshot, reached out to Frank as he rose. He stepped away from the infected woman. Her hand grasped at the air, her muffled grunts desperate and gasping. She opened her mouth and a dark green fluid slipped onto her chin.

  He was glad he didn’t recognise her.

  The woman slumped upon the road. Her bleeding wounds lessened their flow as her heart finally stopped. Her eyes remained fixed on Frank.

  Ralph and Joel got to their feet. They looked at the bodies on the road, struck with awe.

  The men with the guns raised their gas masks.

  The man with the rifle was old and limping. He was in his late sixties with a face like pale, creased leather and a grey beard. He was short and narrow. The other man was younger and red-bearded, with large eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered. They reloaded their weapons.

  The men stopped five yards from Frank. They eyed him warily.

  The old man grinned. “Frank Hooper. I thought you were dead.”

  Frank nodded. “I thought you were too, Roland.”

  * * *

  They walked to the edge of the village, where the houses gave way to fields. The distant cries of infected drifted through the air. The day was darkening, becoming colder. Frank was hungry and exhausted.

  Roland Pratt was friends with Frank’s parents. “Here we are. Mary should be waiting for us. We don’t want to be outside when it gets dark.”

  The other man was Henry Pratt, Roland’s nephew.

  Roland knocked on the front door and waited. The lock clicked and the door opened. Mary Pratt greeted them with a nervous smile. She was a short, plump woman wearing a long dress and a stained, white apron. Her grey hair had been tied into a bun. Roland gave her a quick hug and entered the house. Frank and the others followed him. Henry locked the door, threw the bolt.

  They were in a hallway. The only light was from candles flickering by the walls. The house smelled of old shoes and sweat. Frank had been here before when he was a teenager and had come here with his father. It suddenly felt strange that he hadn’t visited the house since then.

  “I thought I heard gunshots,” Mary said. “I was worried.”

  Roland kissed her on the cheek. “No need to worry, dear. We encountered some of the corrupted ones. We made short work of them.”

  “Good,” she said, smiling. “That’s good.”

  “Mary, you remember Frank Hooper, don’t you? John and Lucy’s son.”

  “Yes, I do. I hope John and Lucy are safe in France,” she said. “And Ralph Barrow and Joel Gosling. I remember all of you lads!” She looked at Florence. “And who’s this pretty thing?”

  Florence eyed her warily.

  “Ah, shy, is she? Never mind. All little girls are shy.”

  “Hello, Mary,” Frank said.

  Ralph and Joel greeted her, too, offering polite smiles and nods.

  Roland smiled. “We found them near Piece Lane, being chased by the demons. A whole pack of the bastards.”

  “Roland and Henry saved us,” said Frank. “We were very lucky.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Roland.

  “You’re all safe now,” said Mary. “Safe and sound.” She held her hands together and smiled. “Now, who wants tea and cake?”

  * * *

  Victoria sponge, buttered scones, and tea weakened with powdered milk. Frank stifled a burp and relaxed into the armchair. He was drowsy from the rich food. He was ready to burst. His stomach had shrunk.

  Florence was eating her third scone. Crumbs stuck to the edges of her mouth. She was sitting on the floor next to Frank. Ralph and Joel were slumped on the sofa. Joel was rubbing his stomach with one hand, holding a mug of tea with the other. Ralph was devouring a fourth slice of cake. He was on his second cup of tea.

  It was a brief, glorious respite. Frank savoured it.

  Candlelight painted the living room. The curtains were closed over the wooden planks nailed over the windows. Roland and Mary were on the other side of the room, sipping from their own mugs of tea. Henry was leaning against the doorway, still holding his shotgun, staring at the floor.

  Before Mary had served the food and drink, Frank had recounted their journey to their hosts, finishing with the loss of Magnus.

  Mary, Roland, and Henry had listened in silence.

  “Do you know what happened to my wife?” Frank asked.

  “And Anya, my fiancée,” said Joel. “She’s missing.”

  Roland looked at Mary, then at the floor. A shadow passed over his face. “They’re gone. They’re all gone.”

  “Gone where?” asked Joel.

  “Gone away,” replied Mary. “All gone away.”

  “They were evacuated,” said Roland.

  It felt like worms were making a home in Frank’s guts. “Evacuated?”

  Mary said, “People turned into monsters. The demons roamed the streets, made it their playground. We stayed here while people died. After two days we went outside. Many of the demons were gone, and there were other survivors. Catherine and Anya were among them.”

  Frank wanted to smile but couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew she was safe.

  “Then the army arrived,” said Roland. “They took most of the survivors away.”

  “Where did they take them?” asked Joel.

  “There’s a camp on the coast, apparentl
y. Near Sidmouth. Apparently they’re evacuating people from Britain.”

  “Why didn’t you go? Frank asked.

  Mary held Roland’s hand. “We wanted to stay here, so we hid. This is our home. We’ll never leave.”

  “We’re safe here,” said Roland. “We’ve got enough supplies for a long time. We don’t need electricity. We’ve got the stove to cook with. We’ve always been self-sufficient. We’re safer here than in some filthy camp, and we’ve got guns, just as importantly. We’d rather die in our home with our own ground under our feet.”

  “I can empathise with that,” said Ralph.

  Frank and Joel exchanged a look. Joel’s eyes were wide, wet and glassy. But the relief was evident on his face and the stiffness had drained from his body. Frank felt like collapsing into a fit of hysterical laughter. He wanted to hug and squeeze Florence and tell her that she would see her adoptive mother very soon, and they would be a family together. And then things would get better. He wanted to believe that.

  “It’s the Devil,” said Roland.

  Frank looked at the old man.

  Mary nodded her head, pursing her mouth.

  “All of this,” said Roland. “It’s the Devil’s work.”

  Ralph snorted.

  “Don’t be so cynical,” said Mary. “The Devil’s come up to see us, and he’s spreading his evil, making people become demons. Making them kill and spread the evil to others.”

  “The Devil’s out there,” Roland added, raising one finger and gesturing outside. “He’s walking upon the earth. He’s recruiting for his unholy army and he wants our souls. Maybe we’ll all meet him eventually. Maybe he’ll come knocking on our door soon…”

  A shiver passed through Frank. He felt stupid for being so easily spooked. He glanced at Ralph, and Ralph’s grin was like scar tissue. It was a mocking grin. Ralph was shaking his head.

  Frank willed him not to say anything.

  “The Devil?” Ralph asked incredulously. “Bollocks. Utter bollocks.”

  “Why are you so doubtful?” asked Mary.

  Ralph sighed. “So, if the Devil is really the cause of this plague…or evil, as you call it…where is God while all this happens? Is God ignoring us? Doesn’t God care? Is God just watching while everybody dies?”

  “I’m sorry about Ralph,” Frank said to Mary and Roland. “He’s an opinionated atheist.”

  Their faces were blank. But there was piousness in their eyes.

  “I’m not an atheist,” said Ralph.

  “Then what are you?” Roland asked, and one corner of his mouth curled upwards. “Please tell us. We’d like to know what you are.”

  “I’m an anti-theist.”

  “What is that?” asked Mary.

  “It means that not only do I not believe in your god, but I also find the idea of your god, and any other god, appalling. If he’s real then why did he let my parents die? What did they do wrong? Were they demons? Were they possessed? Were they evil, like you said?”

  Neither Mary nor Roland answered. Their eyes gleamed.

  “That’s enough,” said Frank. He looked at Mary and Roland. “I’m very sorry about Ralph. I’m sorry if he’s caused any offence.”

  Ralph was glaring at Frank. He could see him in his peripheral vision.

  Roland and Mary smiled together.

  “No offence taken, Frank,” Roland said, his voice calm and soothing. “We understand that young Ralph is suffering the loss of his parents.”

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” said Ralph. “Don’t talk down to me. Fuck off.”

  “And we sympathise with you, Ralph,” said Mary. “Your mother and father were good people. They didn’t deserve what happened to them. No one stricken by the evil deserves it.”

  “We’re sorry if we upset you, Ralph,” said Roland. “Please accept our apologies.”

  Ralph said nothing. He folded his arms and lowered his head to look at the floor.

  * * *

  Three hours later, and darkness pressed against the house, craving to be let in so it could swallow the candlelight. Florence was asleep. Frank, Joel and Ralph formed a circle on the living room floor sipping cups of Bovril that Mary had made for them. They were studying the map.

  Mary and Roland hadn’t taken Ralph’s insulting behaviour personally. They were resolute in what they believed, and Frank couldn’t help admiring them for it, even if he didn’t agree with it.

  “I miss Magnus,” said Ralph.

  “Yeah,” said Joel. “Feels strange without him.”

  Frank nodded.

  “We’ll never see him again,” said Ralph. “Except maybe in dreams and nightmares.”

  They drank. Florence muttered in her sleep.

  “We’ll leave in the morning,” said Frank. “Find a car somewhere.”

  “It’s a long journey,” said Ralph. “What if the camp isn’t there when we get there? What if everyone’s gone?”

  “Please don’t say that,” said Joel.

  “It’s a possibility,” said Frank, scratching his face. “They might have already been evacuated from the country by the time we arrive.”

  “Do you really think it’s just Britain that’s been affected by the plague?” Joel asked.

  “It’s probably global,” said Ralph.

  “It’s irrelevant,” said Frank. The other men looked at him. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?”

  “And what about Florence?” Ralph asked him.

  “What about her?”

  “Have you thought about leaving her here with the Jesus freaks? Is it a good idea to bring her along with us, all the way to Sidmouth?”

  “She’s coming with us.”

  “She’ll slow us down.”

  “No more than you will. She probably would be safer here, and I have considered leaving her with Roland and Mary, but I promised to look after her.”

  “You could let her decide,” said Ralph.

  “No. She’s too young to make that decision. I know what’s best for her.”

  Ralph stared at him. Frank looked away.

  “I think we should get some sleep,” said Joel. He yawned, stretched his arms. “Big day tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like we’re going on a day trip to the seaside,” said Ralph.

  Frank smiled, finished his drink. “Joel’s right. Time to get our heads down.”

  Just as they settled down on the living room floor, a deep roar came out of the night, resonating from somewhere in the village. The cry of something stalking in the darkness. Something walking the back roads.

  Frank blew out the candle. He shut his eyes, feeling sick that Magnus was gone, but also exhilarated by the possibility of finding his wife tomorrow.

  He would not sleep much tonight.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  When Frank awoke in the morning he thought Magnus was in the room, skulking in the corner and sniffling. When he realised Magnus was gone, something within his chest shrivelled.

  The others woke up around him. Ralph cleared his throat, then realised he couldn’t spit it out, so he swallowed it. Joel was ashen-faced and lethargic, dark patches under his eyes. The line of his jaw was stark and his cheeks were sunken.

  Florence looked frail, all bones and skin.

  They breakfasted on biscuits and apples brought in by Mary. They sat in the living room while an early morning mist rolled down the streets. There was a sense of anticipation and expectation in the air.

  And fear. Always fear.

  * * *

  Roland offered them his car as he, Mary and Henry had no intention of leaving the village. Frank accepted it gratefully.

  They left the house not long after the sun broke the horizon, burned away the mist and threw the day’s first shadows upon the ground. The cloud cover was sparse and light, but grey. Maybe there would be rain. The chill in the air sharpened itself against Frank’s skin, cleared his nose and made his eyes water. His breath was white vapour.

&
nbsp; Roland and Mary gave them some extra supplies, including a spare tank of petrol. Henry stood at the foot of the garden and watched the street, his shotgun at his hip. They packed the car – a Vauxhall Astra – in a hurry.

  Ralph, Joel and Florence waited in the car.

  “Goodbye, Frank,” said Mary. She hugged him. Her body was soft and motherly against him. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. Frank blushed.

  “I hope you find your loved ones,” she said.

  Roland shook his hand. “Stay safe. Good luck out there.”

  “Thanks for everything,” Frank said.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Mary. “We’re glad to help.”

  “Go with God,” Roland said.

  Ralph coughed to suppress a laugh.

  Frank got into the car then looked back at them through the rear window.

  They waved. Florence waved back at them.