Part One is Here

Krystal – Thursday: Plague Day

Nothing moved. The city was swimming in a dirty fog that covered every street and every body and made the tops of the crashed cars look like hundreds of tiny islands. The fog stretched from Shepherds Bush to Limehouse and got closer every second. And everywhere it went, those stupid enough to hang around dropped like drunks on a heavy night out.

Ed had stopped watching. He was sitting with some of the others in a circle, talking about stuff. She’d tuned in a moment ago and it sounded like they were talking about their lives. What made them happy, what they liked doing at the weekends, all the sorts of things people spoke about when the ship they were on started sinking.

Part of her longed to join in, but she thought sharing her best begging stories and ‘escaping being sexually harassed by overweight businessmen’ stories probably wasn’t the escapism they were looking for. So she stayed by the window and watched.

On a whim, she wandered across the tower and peered out the other side. The M25, the colossal circular motorway that surrounded London, was deadlocked, covered in stationary cars. The roads leading out of London were quiet, now, though they’d been heaving earlier. For everyone who’d died in the centre, many more had escaped.

They should escape. Why were they sitting up here, waiting to die? She knew the answer to that. They were scared. It wasn’t something she’d admitted to much before, despite the last three years of her life being pretty much one big scary movie. A dull one, but scary nonetheless. But she’d spent the last hour or so trying hard not to wet herself and the tops of her jeans were darkened from where she was wiping the sweat off her hands.

The fog was getting closer and maybe if they’d gone the moment it happened, they might have felt safe but now there was no chance. Why had they stayed? She’d seen this before. Some terrible disaster happened, the first thing was people panicking and running and screaming. But they’d all just watched, eyes wide and hands gripping the railing as half of London was killed by some mysterious attack. Would it come up here?

A man came from behind the counter and handed her a cup of tea, leaning against the railing and staring out. ‘Bad traffic, huh?’

‘Oh yeah, they’re gonna be pissed about that.’

He gave her a weak look and she thought for a moment he was going to cry.

‘Thanks for the tea?’

‘Hey, why not? Why are we still here?’

She laughed and blew on her tea. ‘Yeah, I was wondering that. My excuse is I don’t have a TV, so this is the first chance I’ve had to watch anything like this. What’s yours?’

‘I had tea to serve.’

‘Oh yeah, it’s all about the job. What do you really want to do?’

‘Live through this?’

Why had she asked him? What was she going to say if he asked her the same thing? At least he’d given her an out.

‘How about you?’

‘Yeah the same. You know, stay alive, get back to my cardboard box in one piece.’

‘What?’

‘Oh yeah, I’m homeless. This is the longest I’ve been in a building in, like, years.’

‘Good that’s terrible. Why?’

‘Why haven’t I been in any buildi—’

‘No, I mean, why are you homeless?’

She looked at him a little more closely. He was young. Not as young as her but not as old as she’d thought. Maybe eighteen. He looked really young, but the eighteen year olds she hung around with all looked forty so maybe he was older than he looked.

‘You really wanna know?’

He nodded earnestly and for a moment she felt sorry for him. He hadn’t seen anything of the real world. This place up here, far above it all was like a model for his life. What did he do? Student maybe? Learning shit that made no real difference to anyone. Had he ever even met a homeless person before?

But he had soft eyes and looked genuinely interested.

‘My dad started touching me. Nothing much at first, then he wanted to share baths and stuff and I was twelve and just had my first period and I knew it was creepy. So I told mum and she laughed at me and told me not to be ridiculous. Told her again and she got angry and sent me to my room. Told the school counsellor and somehow mum got blamed so I was living with dad. He left me alone for a bit, then started with it again so I ran away.’

His face changed. He had these smooth cheeks that were hollowed slightly and flushed with little red sunbursts beneath soft eyes that wanted to ignore what she was saying. He wanted to pretend it wasn’t true, only he couldn’t. So instead he stared at her like he could heal with just a look. Krystal kept herself from sneering and stared right back.

‘Why didn’t your mum believe you?’

‘She already knew. She just wasn’t willing to change her life. She thought dad was this golden person and even when she had the chance to shop him, she took the blame and went away. She’s just as messed up as he is. Was. I don’t know them anymore.’

The man nodded again and sipped his tea. His hand shook and she wondered if it was to do with what she’d said or the fact that far below them, the ponds that surrounded the building were filling slowly with fog. The circle was still going, filling the room with the soft murmurs of misplaced hope. She didn’t know why she was so sure it wouldn’t help.

 The idea of dying being not so bad if you were with someone, or believing in something made her want to vomit. Dying was dying, same as cold was cold and hungry was hungry. Who cared if you told other people about it before you went?

The guy with the tea stared down at the ground as the fog sent exploratory tendrils around the base of the building. She nudged him.

‘It won’t reach us up here, will it?’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t see why it should. Doesn’t seem to be coming up at all. I suppose there’s always the air con—’

His face went white. She’d always thought that was a bad description, like, no one’s face went white. But he looked like someone had shoved a vacuum cleaner somewhere and sucked the blood out of him. His tea hit the floor and he raced across the room.

The people in the circle barely noticed, so Krystal ran after him, dumping her own tea on a table. He rushed into the corridor and down to the lift where he hammered at the button, swearing under his breath.

‘Hey, hold on, what’s up?’

‘The air con, the bloody air con. It’ll circulate air all round the building. If the fog gets in down there, the air con’ll bring it up here.’

‘Oh.’ She realised just then she’d been somehow thinking they were safe. She’d imagined them sitting it out, far above the Earth and emerging unscathed into a new world, where things like homelessness didn’t matter any more. How the hell had she done that? She had though and now it was crumbling in her mind.

‘What do we do?’

‘Try and switch the air con off.’

‘Do you know how to do that?’

He shrugged and let out a breath as the lift arrived. As they descended he kept thumping his hand against the wall. ‘Why didn’t I think of it earlier, bloody sodding dammit.’

‘Well, you did have tea to serve.’

It brought him up short and he looked at her. He was on the verge of tears again, but at the earnest look on her face, he burst out laughing instead. It was an uncomfortable sound, like he was trying to convince himself something was funny, but it was better than the crying or the thumping.

The doors slid open and she followed him down the corridor. The place was deserted. Why had no one come up and got them? Maybe down here it was the more normal disaster scenario; everyone for themselves. He ran straight behind the reception desk and into the room beyond.

She glanced around before following, expecting someone to jump out and demand to know what she was doing. There was no one though. The glass doors at the front showed a scene like something from a Frank Herbert book. The fog was dense and carried tiny black particles, so it looked almost like smoke. And it was coming closer every second.

Swearing emerged from behind her and she ran into the room. The guy stood beside a huge grey box mounted on the wall. He had it open and within were hundreds of switches. There was a diagram on the back of the door but it made no sense to her and from the look on his face, none to him either.

They stood side by side staring at the switches.

‘You sure one of these is the air con?’

‘Pretty certain. Not completely, but pretty.’

‘Shall we just switch all of them then?’

He looked at her, eyebrows trying to escape into his hair. ‘This is the lights and all the power. No more tea.’

‘I can live without tea.’

She reached out, not giving him a chance to argue and flicked the bottom right switch. Nothing happened so she started on the rest. After a moment’s pause, he joined her, starting from the top. They had nearly met in the middle before the lights went out.

There were no windows in the room and it was utter darkness. Feeling really stupid, she asked, ‘you still there?’

‘Yeah. I can’t hear the air con any more.’

‘So we did it?’

‘I think so. We should go into the lobby, there’ll be some light there. Oh hey, I’m James.’

‘Krystal. Blame my parents.’

He chuckled and they started to cross the room. She put her hand out as her foot caught on something and it landed on his arm. She clutched it and he moved until their hands met. Without another word, they took baby steps across the room, accompanied by the thumps and thuds as they walked into desks or chairs or a hundred other things she’d paid no attention to on the way in.

She sniffed. There was the weirdest smell, like mold. She’d slept on enough cardboard boxes to recognise the scent of something rotting. It smelt damp as well, like her hair after a frost. James’s hand tightened in hers and she squeezed back. It got tighter still and cold and when she tried to pull free, he clung on, hand fixed in place.

Then she heard a thump and he fell and pulled her down with him.

Next Instalment Monday 22nd September

Part One is here

Alex – Thursday: 6 Days to Plague Day

Who was this guy? The world was shifting beneath his feet. It had shifted last week when he’d seen the future, but he’d explained that away as a hallucination, something he imagined to help him understand his need to have a child.

But that wasn’t so easy now. Not when the man who created the hallucination had, only a few hours ago, been pouring water over his face and burning him with cigarettes. He hadn’t imagined that. But who was he? There were no such things as ghosts and werewolves and vampires and demons and all the other stuff he’d enjoyed so much until he discovered science.

Science had changed so much in his life. It had given him direction and ambition. But the truth was no longer clear cut. He had to admit there were things beyond science, things he couldn’t explain, things no one could explain. And that made the hairs on his arms stand up and his mouth go dry. Because it meant he had to admit the man sitting across from him in the train seat wasn’t human.

‘Who are you?’

The man shifted his face from looking out the window and made eye contact. His eyes were weird, shifting and changing, just like his skin. Alex had barely looked at him when he’d sold him the flowers and only a little more in the horrendous future he’d taken him to. But it was obvious he was odd. How had he not noticed it before?

Why would he? Why would he have suspected a flower seller of being some strange being capable of torture and making him see the future?

‘My name is Luke.’

‘I mean, what are you?’ The words felt like dead weights dropping from his lips. How could he be asking someone that?

‘That’s a better question. I’m an angel.’

‘I’m sorry?’

Luke cracked a smile, the same one he’d had when he began torturing him. It was the sort of smile worn by people who know more than you and think they always will. Alex wasn’t convinced that in this case it wasn’t entirely justified.

‘There are plenty of other explanations of course. I’m a figment of your deranged mind. I’m a side product of that foul shit you cooked up and sold to the government. I’m you, your alter ego, making you take control of your life and right the things you’ve done wrong.’

Alex was already shaking his head. ‘You aren’t though. You aren’t any of those things.’ He paused, head still rocking from side to side. ‘If you’re an angel, how come you tortured me? Aren’t angels supposed to be loving, caring beings?’

‘Ahh, well, that’s an excellent question. I tortured you because I needed information. And because it was fun. As far as us being loving, caring beings, try a comparison. Your doctor. He or she has the job of keeping you well. Would you describe them as loving and caring? Do they give you a hug when you arrive at the surgery? How about the police. They care for your wellbeing and ensure you’re safe. How about them? Many hugs recently?’

‘That’s different, th—’

‘Why? Why should we be any different?’

‘You aren’t human.’

‘Exactly. So what possible reason could there be for us to act like we care about you?’

Alex opened his mouth and closed it again. His entire knowledge of the bible extended as far as knowing there were two testaments, possibly, and that it featured God and Moses and a bunch of other guys and not many women. What was there in there about angels? Without knowing, he couldn’t really argue either way.

‘So why are you doing this? Why are you trying to stop us getting poisoned if you don’t care?’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t care. Only that my caring isn’t the fluffy kind. It’s the practical kind, which is far more useful than the former.’

Alex leaned back in his seat, forehead creased. ‘You’re an angel.’

‘You catch on quick, most impressive.’

‘Angels aren’t real.’

‘Neither are zombies, but you know what, you’ve just made them a reality.’

Alex felt the blood drain from his face and gripped his trousers as his hands shook. ‘They aren’t zombies as such, not entirely. They merely operate through instinct using a simpler system, it’s not—’

‘Will they eat brains?’

Alex stared at his hands. ‘They’ll eat anything that will sustain them. Protein’s best, meat. Doesn’t matter if it’s raw or cooked. At a push, they’ll eat vegetables, but they’d have to eat a huge amount to stay alive.’

Luke burst out laughing, shaking his head. ‘You’ve created vegetarian zombies. Not just made a myth, but a genre-busting myth. Most impressive. Some of my old colleagues will be most jealous.’

‘They aren’t vegetarians, not by a long shot. But I haven’t created anything. I’ve made a weapon that will, conceivably, create them. But it’s safe, that’s why I gave it to them. They’ll make it safe.’

Luke stared at him, incredulous smile on his face. ‘You really believe the government can be trusted with anything? I’ve been a human for all of a week and I already know that. Admittedly, I’ve watched them dance from screw up to screw up for the last few millennia, but still…’

Alex got to his feet. ‘I need a pee, back in a moment.’

He set off down the carriage until he reached the tiny toilet and crammed himself into it. He sat on the closed seat, staring at the wall while his hands shook. Luke was right. He’d created something terrible and his self-control lasted all of a few days before he cashed in. He had to get away. He had to get Lisa and get out the country, as quick as possible.

They could run far enough to escape whatever came of the plague. They could go to some remote island surrounded by sea. Maybe in the pacific, Tonga or Fiji. But he had to get away from that crazy bastard first. He thought he was an angel. For a minute, Alex had believed it. Now though, he just thought the man was crazy.

He unlocked the door and peered out. Luke was just visible through the coats and elbows sticking out into the walkway. Alex crouched down and crept out of the toilet, heading the other way down the train. He reached the last carriage and squeezed himself into a corner seat. The next station was in the arse end of nowhere, but he could still get a cab or something from there.

His fingers drummed against his leg, eyes fixed on the door between the two carriages. He’d be wondering where he was by now. How long before he decided to search? The train announcer told him the next stop was approaching and he shifted side to side. He was in a group of four seats and the other two occupants were staring at him like he had two heads.

He opened the window and tried not to fidget. The train slowed and the station signs flashed past. He got up and headed for the door. Waiting in the space between the carriages, he heard something and turned. A voice, soft and calm, cut through the noise of the stopping train.

‘Tell me, Alex, what’s your greatest fear?’

The train rattled to a halt and he reached out to keep himself steady. A burst of pain shot up his wrist and he glanced down to see a stump where his hand should be. Blood dripped lazily from it, as though it had better things to do but couldn’t be bothered.

He screamed and grabbed at it with his other hand. Only that one was absent as well and his stumps banged together. The pain made every cigarette burn irrelevant and he dropped to his knees, vision closing in. He came to moments later to see eyes staring at him, an entire carriage-full of people watching this crazy man rolling on the floor.

His hands were whole and very much present. Luke came bustling up the carriage and helped him up. Alex was vaguely aware of Luke offering an apology to the others on the train.

‘I’m so sorry, change of medication. Don’t worry, he’s fine.’

He allowed Luke to steer him back to their seats and settle him down. His hands were still there and he poked and prodded at them, biting on a finger to make sure. What had happened? Luke’s voice drifted over the tiny table between them.

‘Tell me, Alex, what’s your greatest fear? The last five minutes would suggest you’re rather partial to your hands, but I question whether it isn’t the loss of the world you live in that doesn’t cause more hardship. The baby and now your unwillingness to believe in me. Don’t like change much, do you?’

Alex narrowed his eyes and said nothing. He rubbed his hands together and felt the grating pain of a few minutes ago. It had been real, as real as the airships of his future vision. ‘What are you?’

‘I’m your saviour.’ The grin was back. ‘Sounds good, doesn’t it?’

Next Installment Thursday 18th September

Part One is Here

Jackson – Thursday: Plague Day

Jackson strode out over the bridge. He made sure the trucks were long gone of course. There was no point in tempting fate. The silence was lessened here by the swell of the Thames beneath his feet.

His mind reeled, from questions about himself to questions about what was happening. But the one he kept coming back to was why he was alive and no one else was. Why had he been chosen? Was this some kind of punishment for all those years of treating God like dirt? Was it payback after the years of crime? It was no less than he deserved, but perhaps there was more here than this. Perhaps he was being given a chance. A second chance to do something real with his life. To make a change.

He stared down into the water and his fists clenched as he nodded. He would make a change. He already had. Whatever was happening in London, he had been kept alive to fix it, to make it better and he would. If it was the only thing he ever did. It would be the one thing he did that was good and pure and not motivated by the dark needs that he could still feel inside, trying to claw their way up.

The children were keeping them down. Stamping and kicking at them, screaming all the while.

He turned back and headed to what he was already referring to as ground zero. The police had been heading for the Houses of Parliament, so that’s where he’d start. He stomped hard, revelling in the thud of the pavement beneath his feet. Every step took him further from the countless hours spent in the park.

He realised that he had no idea how long he’d been there. He had no way of knowing how long the children had been climbing inside him and tearing him apart. Tears sprung up in his eyes and he stumbled to a halt and fell to his knees. He had deserved nothing less but still it hurt. His punishment had been brutal, beyond brutal. Had he really deserved all that?

He climbed to his feet and resumed his walking, bringing every step down with a thump. His knees began to hurt but he couldn’t stop himself. An image flashed before his eyes, of a child’s face beneath his boot as he brought it down. He shouted and swung his arms as if to bat the image away but it was stuck firm in his mind.

He growled and kept walking. This was a test. It was all a test. What was happening here was a test to see if he was worthy, if he should be allowed into heaven. Just like mam had said, he had to work at it. Every day he had to work at it and eventually he’d be let in. This just made it easier, because he knew what he had to work at.

The streets were covered in bodies. They were stiff and twisted into strange positions. If he blurred his eyes he could imagine he was looking at mannequins, molten in the sun. A fog lay over the ground, thick enough that some of the corpses were obscured from view. A weak wind tried and failed to move it and he felt like he was floating through the city.

Buildings sprung from the fog, untethered and ready to float away at any moment. He sniffed. Enough of the romantic bullshit. He had to keep his eye on the prize, whatever it was. He didn’t really know what it was. He couldn’t save these people, they were already dead.

He stopped, squinting through the afternoon sunshine. A hand thrust up through the fog, like a flag on a ship far out to sea. Against the dirty brown of the mist it stood out stark, white and stiff. The closer he got, the more convinced he became that it was just an unfortunate pose, that the owner was just as dead as the others.

His feet scraped on the concrete and he hesitated. Ten feet and then five. He was about to turn away when the hand slowly opened and closed, the fingers twitching. He swallowed and took a step backward and a hand closed around his ankle.

He tumbled onto his arse, swearing as he went down. He landed on something soft and jumped up quicker than he’d gone down. The hand scraped against him again and he looked down, but the fog hid everything. He lashed out and hit something. He lashed out again, shouting this time, but missed and nearly went arse over tit.

Jackson ran. He didn’t think about where he was going. His feet caught against bodies and he went over, tearing his trousers and the knees beneath them. His hands were bleeding as well by the time he reached the bridge, but he couldn’t stop. It was quieter here and the fog hadn’t settled. It was appearing in wisps before being dragged off by the wind and drifting down the river.

He arrived on an island. On both sides of the river the dirty fog lay thick and heavy. There were no bodies in his small space, nothing but him and the railings and the water far below. The buildings hovered, floating on a sea that shifted and spun. He could stay here. He could stay here and be safe. Nothing could get to him, not if he stayed alert and focused.

He put his back to the railing and waited. It didn’t take long.

The first thing he heard was the scraping, as though someone with a gammy leg was making their slow way across the bridge. When he spotted them, his teeth went straight through the lip he’d been worrying. He didn’t know whether it was the blood or just his scent, but as it trickled out his mouth and down his chin, the person he’d spotted – and he still used the word person then – jerked to a stop and stared at him.

He’d learn soon enough that the blood hadn’t helped. He’d learn all about the blood, but at that moment, all he knew were the eyes. They were dead, sunken and dry, yet still seemed to glare at him with a malevolence he’d have recognised had he been one of the children he’d taken in the last five years. The man’s hair was coming out, tufts and patches covering a blotchy scalp.

The person lurched back into motion. It didn’t move fast but it didn’t hesitate either and came with a purpose that suggested inexorability. As it reached the top of the bridge, he realised that it did indeed have a gammy leg. One foot was dragged along, twisted to one side. Jackson took a deep breath and then burst out coughing.

The thing smelled. There was rot, like meat left in the fridge too long and something else. A sort of wet mustiness like a wooden shed that’s got damp and started growing mould. It crept into his nostrils and throat and clogged him up and he furiously rubbed his nose in an attempt to dislodge it. It made no difference and he tried to take shallow breaths as it came nearer.

He’d say, when asked later, that at this point he weighed up the options. He thought about running and decided against it. But the truth was, his legs refused to move and it was all he could do not to fall to the floor and pray for something. The person didn’t stop. It raised its arms and that was the moment he was galvanised into action.

He shouted, barely recognising the high-pitched squeak that emerged, and grabbed the arms. They felt hot, not at all like the bodies he’d examined a few minutes earlier. And the moment he closed his hands around them, they jerked and yanked and almost pulled him off his feet. The creature was strong and unyielding and Jackson didn’t stop to think.

He pulled it toward him and past him and to the edge of the railing. Its chest struck the bar and a sound like wood striking metal echoed over the river. Then Jackson grabbed it by the legs and heaved. It went straight over the barrier and dropped like a stone in to the Thames.

It sunk in just the same way, but he kept watching, waiting for it to bob to the surface. It was the watching that nearly killed him. He smelled them first and spun around. Two of them stood no more than fifteen feet away and if he hadn’t been in full panic mode, he’d have said they were smiling.

He couldn’t throw them both over. He reached for the small of his back and pulled out his knife. It was a bowie knife, the kind he’d always wanted as a kid. With his first pay check from the Chinese men he’d gone and bought one and hadn’t left it at home since. Just thinking of the two men brought sweat to his brow, but he was glad for the knife.

The people came at him and his breathing sped up. They both stretched their hands out, like the old versions of Frankenstein and he hacked at them. The one to the right lost some fingers and he hacked a large chunk out of the other’s palm. Their blood was thin, like watered-down gravy with bits in and it went everywhere.

It struck his top and he jumped back, shrieking again. He half-expected it to start hissing and melting through the material, but it just clung there, carrying the same smell of mould. His attackers seemed oblivious to their new wounds, they just kept on coming. He gritted his teeth together and stepped forward.

With a shout he imagined was a battle cry, he buried the knife hilt deep in the one on the right’s eye. It made a squelching sound as it struck and he heaved. The other one grabbed his shoulder and he lashed out, fists swinging wildly. He caught it on the chin and it staggered back. He followed it with another blow to the face and it fell over.

He turned back to the one with the knife in its eye. It lay prone on the floor and the smell of rot grew suddenly stronger. His eyes widened as the skin began to slough away, layers of it crumbling to the floor. With nose wrinkled, he stepped closer and pulled his knife free. It was accompanied by another squelching sound that he did his best to ignore.

The second was getting up, no worse the wear for his punches and he readied the knife. He knew what he was fighting. He’d spent the last ten minutes pretending they were something else, or at least hoping they were, but his subconscious knew all too well. There were so many things wrong with it he wanted to scream. But at least he knew how to kill them.

The zombie came at him and he punched it in the face then jammed the knife into its ear. It went in easier than he expected and he lost his footing, falling over on top of the creature. As it struck the ground, the body beneath him gave way and his elbows sunk deep into its chest. The warmth of the lumpy blood soaked into his shirt and he groaned as bile filled the back of his throat.

He rolled off, flicking ineffectually at his shirt. He smelled of it and imagined he could taste the rot in his mouth. He yanked his shirt off, keeping it from touching his face. The body at his feet was going the same way as the first, skin rotting before his eyes. He pulled his knife clear of the mess and stood.

Jackson looked across the city. How many of them were there? Hundreds, thousands? More, so many more. But he was God’s soldier and he would fight them one by one. It was what he was supposed to do. He raised both hands above his head and roared and if it came out slightly squeaky, he didn’t care.

Next Installment Monday 15th September

Part One is Here

Bayleigh – Thursday: Plague Day

Someone was screaming. The sound was horrible, like the person’s throat was raw and all that came out was this animal howl. Something grabbed her shoulders and she shook it off and spun around and before she knew what she was doing he fist connected with Layla’s jaw.

Layla went flying, smacking off the wall of the alleyway and onto the floor. The screaming cut off and she put her hand to her throat, realising where the noise was coming from.

‘God, I’m so sorry, I’m so—’

‘It’s fine, it’s fine, just…’

Layla held her arms out and Bayleigh fell on her knees and they held one another until the tears came, like the shower after a hard day at work. Only they washed nothing away. But it felt better than the blankness that had got its claws in her before Layla grabbed her.

She pulled away and turned around. She didn’t want to look but she had to. She had to check. He was still there. His hands, so warm and loving, looked like something from a comic book, twisted and curled up and grotesque. She heaved and put her hand over her mouth. Vomit trickled from either side and she put her head down and let it come out.

Layla rubbed her back, murmuring something about it getting better. Bayleigh began to laugh. It started quiet but escalated until she couldn’t control it and she was scared of herself but couldn’t do anything about it. She was trying to say something though the gasps but she couldn’t form words.

Layla backed away and crouched against the wall. Her forehead was creased and she looked like a deer about to bolt. Bayleigh pushed her nails into her palms and stared at Ali’s body until the laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started.

‘It’s already got better. Hasn’t it? Wasn’t that what happened last week, with the flower seller? It got better, it all got better…’

She was crying again and she felt rather than saw Layla come back over and stand above her. When she looked up into her eyes, she saw something that surprised her. They were hard. Not bad-hard, just, resigned. Layla reached out a hand and pulled her up. Bayleigh rubbed the palms of her hands over her eyes and took a deep breath. They peeked out of the alleyway again.

The street was littered with bodies in all directions. People had fallen as they ran and were stretched out in all sorts of weird poses. Bayleigh’s gorge rose again and she took a deep breath. She looked sideways at Layla. He friend was staring at the bodies like they weren’t even there and she wondered if the hardness wasn’t something else.

They tiptoed out into the street as though at any moment something or someone was going to explode from somewhere. But the chaos of earlier had ended abruptly and now the silence was almost as unnerving. The city was dead. Why weren’t they?

‘Why are we here?’

‘Because we ran?’

Bayleigh sniffed. ‘No, I mean, why aren’t we, you know?’

‘Dead?’

‘Yeah?’

Layla shrugged and picked her way between the bodies toward the shop opposite. She flung her next words back over her shoulder. ‘I dunno, but I’ve wanted that jacket for ages and I don’t think anyone’s gonna mind if I borrow it.’

There was a boutique clothes shop on the far side of the road and Bayleigh watched open-mouthed as Layla wandered in and walked into the window display. She pulled the jacket off the model, checked the label and put it on. Happy with the fit, she strolled back out into the street.

‘Layla, that’s stealing.’

‘From who? Everyone’s dead in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘I…’ She was struck dumb for all of two seconds then stepped forward and grabbed Layla by hew new lapels. Her words came out in a hiss she recognised no more than her screaming from earlier. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, my boyfriend’s lying on the floor over there. It’s still stealing. And when did you start stealing?’

Layla frowned, looking at her feet. Her voice was small. ‘What’s happening?’

Bayleigh took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. But we need to stay who we are and not start acting like lunatics.’

‘Hey, it’s just a jacket.’

‘It doesn’t make any difference.’

‘Jeez, who died and made you the law?’

‘Everyone, actually.’

Her voice had changed again and become hard-edged and blunt. Layla’s eyebrows rose from their frown and she stared at her boss. Some of the hardness went and what lay behind it reflected what Bayleigh thought might be waiting in her own mind. It wasn’t just a reluctance to accept but a willingness to choose a different reality to escape this one.

She shook her head. ‘We’re together and we’re still alive, so whatever’s coming, we can handle it, right?’

The edge was replaced by shaking, but she sounded convincing to her own ears and Layla nodded, playing with her fingers. ‘Can I keep the jacket though?’

Bayleigh barked a close approximation of a laugh and crossed to peer into the shop window. ‘Don’t think anyone’s going to mind.’

She looked around. It was the stillness more than anything. When she was the only one moving it felt like everyone was looking at her, even though they lay face down for the most part. But when she stood still, the city might as well be empty. There were no pigeons and the wind was almost non-existent. Only a pennant hanging from one of the posh shops further down the street stirred occasionally.

She longed to shout and scream to fill the silence, but she could still picture the soldiers perfectly. She didn’t want them to know she and Layla were still alive. What had they done? Why had they done this? Who were they? And why the hell were the two of them still alive when everyone else wasn’t?

Layla gasped and Bayleigh watched her stand on tiptoes and wiggle like she was dancing.

‘What is it?’

Layla turned to her, face pale and Bayleigh felt her blood run cold. She tried to run to her friend but there were too many bodies and she stumbled on them. She caught herself before she fell and made it to Layla’s side. ‘What is it?’

Layla pointed at a spot where the road ran down into a deep gutter. ‘Rat.’

‘What?’

‘Rat. There was a rat, a big one.’

Bayleigh’s laughter was fuller this time and carried some genuine humour. ‘You’re really worried about a rat?’

‘It was chewing on his arm.’

Bayleigh swallowed the saliva that filled her mouth and crouched beside the body. His face was twisted in a grimace as though he’d hurt himself falling to the floor. Perhaps he had. Perhaps he wasn’t actually dead but trapped in some horrible stasis where he could feel everything but not move.

Her fingers shook as she pressed them against his wrist. There was nothing there; no pulse, no warmth, nothing. He was dead and the corner of his trousers bore little ratty teeth marks. On second inspection they weren’t that small. She pulled his trouser leg up and looked at skin beneath. There were marks, red indents, but the rat had stopped the moment it broke the skin. Presumably, Layla scared it away.

She had an image of a mountain of rats feeding on the corpses and turned to her friend. Layla had gone from pale to white and had one hand outstretched, pointing, shaking. Bayleigh followed the finger and her heart slammed in her chest like a hammer, ferocious and exhausting.

Someone was sitting up. In the centre of the street, one of the dead people was sitting straight up. She couldn’t see her face, but she was stiff and her head moved slowly as though she was trying to loosen it. Bayleigh wanted to go over and check she was alright. Another person, a little further down the street did the same and the chill thawed a little.

The smoke was obviously temporary. It didn’t explain why it had happened, but it did mean Ali would wake up. She drew nearer to the woman and stopped with distance still between them. There was something about the way she moved her head, something a bit Exorcisty, that made her skin crawl.

From the front, she got a better view of the woman’s face, but her long dark hair still covered too much to be sure. Then the woman flicked her head from side to side. It was a normal gesture, but it looked affected and strange and was even creepier than the original movement. It exposed her face and Bayleigh screamed.

Her skin was the colour of pale concrete and her eyes were red and sunken. Veins sprang like tributaries all over her face and as her mouth opened, she saw teeth that belonged to a ninety year old who’d never brushed. The woman fixed her eyes on Bayleigh and a sound somewhere between a growl and sandpaper against a metal wall emerged. Then she lurched to her feet and came at her.

Next Installment Thursday 11th September

A slightly different cover image this week. It’s far creepier, but I’m not sure whether I like it. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Part One is Here

David – Thursday: Plague Day

The song came to an end and he noticed that the sounds outside had changed. The sirens were making weird noises like they were being sick and there was screaming too. He pressed pause and glanced over his shoulder.

His eyes widened as he saw the approaching hordes. People running toward him, hands in the air, mouths open wide and screaming. What was happening? The beginnings of curiosity stirred in his gut but they were drowned out by the need for peace and quiet.

He got off his bench and braced himself. The crowd surged past him so he was assailed by smells and sounds, all too close and too strong. Someone caught his arm and spun him round and straight into the path of someone else. She slammed into him and they hit the ground together. His elbows bashed against concrete and he howled in pain.

The woman screamed something at him but went before he could respond. All he could see were legs and feet flying past. All heading the same direction. The wrong direction. He got onto his hands and knees and began to crawl.

He caught a foot in the head and spent a minute or two curled up with his hands over it. Then he got up and went on. The crowd were thinning and the way was clear enough for him to get to his feet. He dashed the last part and got back under his arch. He sat against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and stared out at the world.

He found some other music, Coldplay this time, and the man was singing something about London. The tune brushed his heart and made him shiver and shudder until he couldn’t stop shaking. The people were gone now. He could see them further down the river, still running and screaming.

Nearer, though, were the ones who hadn’t made it. Some had been trampled, faces smashed against the concrete. But some of them were just frozen, arms locked solid and hands curled into claws. He couldn’t see anything wrong with them, but they weren’t moving. He closed his eyes.

If he imagined hard enough, he could blank out the bodies. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was close enough. He was home.

Something rumbled overhead and he jumped and scrambled out from under the bridge. A train bashed and clattered past and he watched it head over the river and further out of sight. His eyes strayed to a lone figure on the edge of the foot bridge. He could see the shapes of bodies up there, but this one was standing.

It was frozen, no doubt of that, but somehow it had balanced and now stood lone sentry over the river. His eyes were drawn back to the railway tracks. Something flashed in the distance and the sound reached him, a low roar that grew and then faded. There were flames and smoke.

He turned up his ipod and stomped to Embankment station. It was empty save a man in the ticket booth leaning against the glass front, eyes still open and staring. David watched him for a while, waiting. The man didn’t move. David waved his hand before his eyes but still nothing.

He shrugged and strolled on, up the street to The Strand. There were more bodies up here and it reminded him of the movie Saving Private Ryan, when the beach was littered with dead soldiers. This had that same smokey, unreal thing going on. That was the first time he realised how foggy it was.

It clung to the ground like an early morning smog, dark and curling around his legs. It hadn’t been down at the river, but up here it was hard to escape. He had the strongest urge to jump up and down and try to get away from it, but there was nowhere to go. He dashed into the nearest shop and slammed the door.

There were bodies in here as well, people lying prone over their baskets and bags. A serving girl was slumped at the counter, her face in an open till. David carefully pulled her back and then laid her flat on the floor. She was cold and stiff. He bit his lip, but he neither dropped her on the floor nor ran screaming from the shop, so that was something.

He heard a sound and realised it was himself, muttering and giggling. The music was joyous and epic and he yanked his head phones out and tossed them across the store. Then he swore and raced after them, shoving them back into his pockets. He was hungry.

He left the shop and walked to Marks and Spencers. In the food court he cleared a space in the corner, pushing the bodies far enough that he could eat without having to look at them. Then he gorged himself, eating as much of everything as he could. He’d done the same when the place was empty, but it felt naughtier this time. He kept glancing around for the person who would come in and drag him away.

Stomach bloated and burping, he staggered back onto the Strand and ambled toward Trafalgar Square. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he wasn’t stiff and dead on the floor and didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he’d been in the other city, the empty city, when it had all happened.

Trafalgar Square was filled with bodies. They weren’t all the horrible stiff corpses. The panic he’d seen earlier had happened here as well and there were people covered in blood, sprawled where they had been trampled to death. They were somehow so much worse than the others. It was like… what was it like? He didn’t know. He had known, just then, but it was gone now.

His eyes saw movement on Whitehall and he ran across the street to the corner. As he got there he saw a flash of dark uniform and stopped in his tracks. A million things were running through his brain, but the main one repeated over and over. Someone had done this. This whole thing wasn’t an accident. Someone had done it.

He backed away until he felt something approaching safe and crouched in a doorway. Then he stuck his head out until he could see what was happening. There were four trucks in the street, moving slowly away from him. They were travelling slow enough for soldiers to walk alongside. He wasn’t sure they were soldiers though. They had no marking, no… what was the word?

They wore grey and carried guns and were about the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen. He was sure of nothing anymore, but he was close to certain that if they saw him, his life was over. He almost stepped out and waved at them. Almost.

But they were here and alive. He looked behind him at the bodies and bile filled the back of his mouth. They were all dead.

They were all dead.

They were all dead.

They were all dead.

They were all dead.

Dammit. He slammed the palm of his hand against his temple and bit down hard on his tongue. He was alone again and he wanted peace but not this much, not like this. He took a step out from hiding. Then the soldier nearest him stopped. He was staring at something on the side of the road. Without any further warning, the gun slipped off his shoulder and he opened fire. He kept it up for a few seconds before stopping and shouldering the weapon.

The scariest thing was that not one of the other soldiers even registered the gun fire. They just kept right on walking. David slipped backwards and crept into Trafalgar square. He reached Nelson’s column and looked back down Whitehall. He could still see the trucks as they neared the end of the road.

One in the middle was different from the others and smoke poured from it into the sky. But the smoke didn’t rise into the blue. Instead it sunk, like it was heavy, until it pooled around the base of the trucks and moved like water as the soldiers waded through it.

David crouched closer to the column and watched until he could no longer see them. Then he turned and ran and didn’t stop till he was halfway through Soho.

Next Installment Monday 8th September

Part One is Here

Luke – Thursday: 7 Days to Plague Day

Alex pulled at the ropes and growled again. It was interesting, seeing a smart man like him reduced so quickly to someone so feral. Perhaps he still knew something he hadn’t owned up to, some secret that Luke needed to know.

The decision had been swift and simple. This stupid man had sold his discovery to the government and signed a secrecy order so he couldn’t tell anyone. Anyone except Luke of course. However, he’d still been unwilling to speak, so Luke had been forced to kidnap him, bring him to this empty warehouse and tie him up. It was purely for research purposes of course, solely in pursuit of the truth.

He’d kept it simple so far. He’d bought some cigarettes and applied them to some out-the-way places. Now he was trying water torture, pouring buckets of water over his head in quick succession. It would be far more effective with a hose pipe, but it was better than nothing.

Alex shook his head, scattering water across the floor.

‘I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me.’

‘They probably will. But they’ll do it humanely. I’ve been watching men kill one another for thousands of years, so trust me, I’ve got some great ideas of my own.’

He paced back and forth in front of Alex. ‘All I need to know is what you gave them and where they took it an—’

‘I don’t know. I don’t bloody know. My girlfriend will have called the police by now. I’m having a baby. You told me to have a baby, how can you do this?’

His growl became a sob and his head rocked forward onto his chest. Luke knelt before him, grabbed his hair and pulled his head up. ‘I didn’t tell you to have a child. I showed you the future and you ignored it.’

‘I didn’t ignore it. I’m having a child to stop it.’

‘Only you’ve just sold your future and that of every other person on this planet and your baby won’t be born for another seven months. Except it won’t be born at all, because your girlfriend’s going to be dead long before that ever happens.’

‘But you said he’d stop it.’

Luke shoved his head back and stormed away across the huge open space. He ground his teeth together. He couldn’t argue with that. He had said the child would stop it, because that’s what his list said. Only somehow the fates had changed. And he knew exactly who to blame for that.

The Father.

It wasn’t just a set up in the list and subjects. This wasn’t just a ruse to get him out of the Flights. It was about screwing him up as much as possible and killing the human race along with it. But why? What did the Father have to gain by killing his people?

Unless this part wasn’t the Father. Unless someone had been watching it all and found a way to tweak things just enough. Or maybe it was all a coincidence. Maybe someone was messing with Alex and had no idea Luke would be here at all. If that was the case, he might have an advantage. He stomped back to the scientist.

‘What about a cure? You don’t have to say anything, but how quickly could you make a cure?’

Alex looked up at him, eyes sharper now. ‘I don’t know. I could make one, but it could take a while. I need to get back to my lab.’

Luke hissed and turned away. He needed to get it back from the government. It didn’t matter how quickly he made a cure, they could kill thousands of people before they even realised what was happening.

Why did he care so much? He’d have cared before he came here, but everything had changed the moment he became human. He hadn’t felt this way for hundreds of years and it felt good. But there was something gnawing at him, chewing away inside. A cancer that made him want to make this work and want to save humanity. And he didn’t know what it was or where it came from.

If he could ignore it, he could stop worrying. But the world would be awfully boring without anyone in it. And he had no idea how it would affect him. Perhaps this whole thing was about making him human then putting him here to die. Was this the Father’s way of finally getting rid of him without being blamed? He stopped short in his pacing, goosebumps running up his arms.

Could he die? He was mortal now, in a way. What would happen if this body died? Would he return to the Flights or was this it? He hadn’t entertained the notion for even a second but why should he? The Father had sent him here, body and all. There was nothing of him left above, so why would he return?

The cure was a dead end. He could be dead a hundred times over before it was created or useful. He spun around and went for Alex. His arm slammed into his chest and knocked him over. The chair and man slammed into the concrete and the air rushed from his body.

Luke crouched beside him and put his thumb against Alex’s eye. He pushed just hard enough for him to feel the pressure. ‘Tell me or I put your eye out. Time’s up and my patience is gone.’

Alex squirmed and whimpered, shaking his head from side to side, but getting nowhere. Luke pushed harder. He had a second when he thought he was going to have to go through with his threat and shuddered at the thought of having eyeball all over his finger with nothing to wipe it on. Then Alex coughed up.

‘Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. God, who are you? It was the M.O.D. They came in these trucks, two big armoured trucks in brown and green with these soldiers with gas masks and guns. Real guns in bloody England. They took the formula and my test vial.’

‘So you don’t know how to make it now?’

‘They didn’t take my board. That has the new equation.’

Luke grunted. ‘What were you doing, leaving that sort of equation on a board?’

‘It wasn’t me. Well, it was, but not that one. That one just appeared. I think I did it in my sleep or something, or had some kind of blackout.’

Luke chuckled quietly and took his hand off Alex’s eye. ‘It wasn’t you. You aren’t that smart, not yet. Someone’s been screwing with me and using you to do it. Where did they take it?’

Alex looked at him with his chin jutting out as though he didn’t want to accept the truth about his amazing discovery. Luke brought his thumb back and Alex shook his head, whimpering. ‘I don’t know. They said something about Yorkshire, some place up there.’

Luke sat back on his haunches, groaning. Not only could he die but he had to go to the back of sodding beyond to deal with a bunch of hicks and peasants. Someone was laughing. And the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that it wasn’t the Father. He didn’t have the imagination for this. And as much of a bastard as he was, he wouldn’t kill the entire human race just to get rid of him.

But someone else would. The question was who. The answer wouldn’t matter though, if he didn’t get hold of the damned plague and hide it somewhere no one was ever going to find it. Perhaps he could combine the two things. He needed to speak to Az, which meant a summoning.

Plague first, then summoning. One thing at a time. Speaking of which…

‘You’re coming with me.’

The man groaned and closed his eyes and Luke patted his cheek. ‘You’ll be fine. It’ll be fun.’

Two hours later they left Alex’s room and headed for Paddington.

 Next Installment Thursday 4th September