Apocalypse Cow (19 page)

What on earth have we stumbled into?
Lesley thought.

A fat, bearded man, who was panting as if he were the one who had just been almost torn apart by wild dogs, stepped forward.

‘Terry,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be dead?’

Geldof eyed the newcomers suspiciously as they sat at the table gulping down vegetable stew. Terry, David’s cousin from the abattoir attack, claimed they had been in the Western Infirmary all this time, and on the surface level there was some evidence to back that up. The old lady, who was lying on the sofa with her eyes half-closed and blood seeping out of her shoulder, looked like a casualty and Terry had been wearing the awful kind of flapping robe issued for operations. But their story was fishy in the extreme.

According to Terry, they had hidden in the hospital until they were forced to flee when rats flooded up from the cellars, leaping onto bed-ridden patients and devouring them alive. They then stole a car and drove through the West End, which Geldof had seen on television choked with cars, to the house in Bearsden. As Terry spoke, Lesley kept glancing at the others, as if evaluating whether they were swallowing the story. Nobody else seemed suspicious. Geldof knew that when a group of adults were assembled, the opinions of a
fifteen-year-old
didn’t count for much. So he kept quiet and decided to remain watchful.

Fanny wasn’t happy about the new arrivals: her face almost puckered in on itself when she realized another three people would be staying, one of them a relative of David’s, with whom hostilities had merely been suspended. David kept wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and glaring at Fanny.

After a while, Geldof ventured upstairs to get away from the overwhelming stench of Old Spice coming from Terry, who had braved the cold shower and changed into some of James’s clothes – an ill-fitting pair of purple trousers and a black jumper – before apparently helping himself to the rogue bottle of aftershave, an unwanted Christmas present that had been lying on a shelf for at least five years.

The twins were at the window in the hallway at the top of the stairs. As Geldof approached, he saw Tony’s arm twitch as if he had thrown something. A volley of barking ensued from the dogs, which were still milling around outside.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

The twins jumped back, only relaxing when they saw it was just Geldof. All the same, Tony sounded rather guilty when he responded, ‘Nothing.’

Geldof brushed past them and stuck his head out of the window. The dogs were running around in wild circles, taking it in turns to peel off like fighter planes from a circling squadron and launch themselves at the fence.

‘You’re going to get us killed, you idiots,’ he said.

Malcolm bared his teeth. ‘What did you call us?’

Geldof’s first instinct was to flinch and grovel. Yet when he looked down at his feet, he was surprised to see he was
standing
his ground. ‘I called you idiots. Have you forgotten what happened in the field?’

Tony looked down, but Malcolm raised a fist. Geldof was shaking, whether with fear or anger, he wasn’t sure. ‘You’re going to hit me? With everyone downstairs? You’ll be tossed out in the street with the dogs.’

They faced each other in the hallway, Geldof fighting the urge to back down. It wasn’t that the twins were not still violent maniacs – they were. It was just his fear of the animals overrode everything else. Being punched would hurt, but far less than having his hand bitten off. And behind the twins’ scowling faces he still saw the two scared little boys who had fled from the cows.

Malcolm finally lowered his fist.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll find another way to get you,’ he said.

Geldof felt an unfamiliar thrumming sensation shoot up his windpipe, making him want to open his mouth and roar.

God’s blood, I believe this might be triumph
, he thought, turning his back on the twins to grin.

He didn’t have much time to enjoy the moment, however. The dogs’ barking had intensified and they were no longer throwing themselves at the fence. Instead, they were lined up in the middle of the street, ears standing up, hair bristling, staring at something rushing towards them. At first Geldof thought it was the shadow of a fast-moving cloud, but it was dusk and there was no sun in the sky.

He was aware of footsteps on the stairs as the adults ran up to see what the commotion was about. The shadow moved towards the dogs, flowing under parked cars and over the remains of the dead cows, covering the whole width of the road and stretching back for at least ten metres. There was
movement
within the mass itself. It seethed, as though it was made up of thousands of smaller shadows. When it was level with the Alexanders’ house, Geldof blanched and slammed the window shut.

‘Rats,’ he said.

The rats clambered over each other as they streamed eagerly towards the dogs. The pit-bull ran to meet the rodents and snapped up a big fat one, which it shook and lobbed aside. It didn’t have time to snag another. Within seconds it was carpeted in grey, brown and black furry bodies. The other dogs were quickly engulfed.

‘Where did they come from?’ Lesley asked.

‘The river, sewers, tunnels, abandoned factories, old mine shafts, rubbish tips: take your pick,’ Geldof replied. He looked at Terry with raised eyebrows. ‘Maybe they’re the same ones from the hospital. Do you think they followed you as well?’

Terry looked away.

‘Will they come into the house?’ Mary asked.

‘Only if they see or hear us,’ Geldof said.

They all looked at each other and then backed away from the window in silence.

When Geldof went back to the window half an hour later, the rats were gone, leaving behind picked-clean dog skeletons to keep the cow carcasses company. He shuddered and went to bed early to avoid the tension in the living room. With three new people to accommodate, Geldof had been shifted to the floor in his parents’ room. Mary and Lesley were now in his room. He didn’t know for sure if they would both be sleeping in his bed, but that was an assumption he was not afraid to make. As he lay on his side, his head propped up on
his
jacket, he imagined the two women, naked, pressed up against each other. Their nipples rubbed together, prompting gasps. Then they began kissing, their moans coming faster. Even in his fantasy, Geldof felt a stab of jealousy at someone else being with the woman he loved, so he decided to rectify matters. He walked into the room. Mary was pulling the sheets back invitingly when the door clicked open and his mother’s quiet voice intruded on his fantasy.

‘We’re going to run out.’

‘Yeah, it’s a disaster,’ James replied.

‘How much is left?’ she asked.

‘Not much. Maybe enough for fifteen joints.’

There was the sound of a soft slap. ‘Not your dope. The vegetables.’

‘Ah. I dunno. Ten kilos of potatoes, the same of carrots. Some parsnips.’

‘We don’t have much dried food left either.’

‘We’ll have to make a supermarket run.’

‘What about those rats?’

‘They’re gone, man. Nothing to hang around here for. It’ll be totally cool.’

‘If you say so.’

There was a pause, and then Fanny whispered, ‘Do you think Geldof’s asleep?’

‘Yeah, I think so. Why?’

‘A quickie’s better than nothing. We can be quiet.’

Geldof’s eyes snapped open. The full horror of what was about to happen paralysed him. By the time he thought to open his mouth and say he was awake, it was too late. He put his fingers in his ears to block out the moist noises coming from the bed and prayed it would indeed be quick.

11

These little piggies went to market

For the next two days, the occupants of the house availed themselves of every nook and cranny to avoid each other, gathering at mealtimes to eat what only Geldof and his parents knew were their fast-dwindling provisions. The injured woman drifted in and out of consciousness. Even when awake she was too dopey to speak, although she managed to swallow the painkillers Lesley gave her and would accept a little soup and water that Fanny spooned into her mouth. Her breathing was becoming increasingly erratic and her skin was stretched so tight across her delicate bones it seemed almost translucent, revealing a network of gnarled veins.

They were all waiting for something to happen: the power to come back on, the army to return and announce it was safe to come out, Mary’s bra to spontaneously drop off (well, only Geldof was waiting for that one). But the monotony just went on.

Then on the third morning Lesley ran into the living room
holding
the abandoned radio aloft like a trophy. ‘Why did nobody say you had this?’

James looked up from where he was doodling a new assault course for the squirrels – rather pointlessly, Geldof thought, unless he was planning to replace the nuts with a severed human finger to attract them back. ‘We can only get foreign channels.’

‘I speak French,’ Lesley said.

Mary, who had appeared in the doorway, hurried over. ‘Turn it on then.’

The radio burst into life and Lesley flicked through the channels until she found some French. She listened intently for ten seconds then shook her head. ‘Cookery programme.’

She spun the dial again and this time came up trumps. ‘Great. There’s a news bulletin just starting.’

Geldof called the others out from their various hidey-holes.

‘Anything about us?’ Terry asked.

‘Not yet,’ Lesley responded. ‘There’s another strike in Paris, students are setting fire to cars in the suburbs and a couple of French tourists have been kidnapped in Mali. Oh, hang on. Here we go.’

Everyone leaned closer. ‘Britain still in quarantine, nobody going in or out. Army culling animals, but struggling to cope. No clear idea how many people are dead. Conservative estimates say tens of thousands. Aid agencies delivering food to camps, worried about those trapped at home. No outbreaks of virus outside of Britain. Lock-down expected to continue for the foreseeable future. And now Laurent with the weather.’

There was a grim silence.

‘Shit,’ David said. ‘Another couple of weeks of lentils.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, David, people are dying,’ Mary snapped. ‘We’re lucky to have anything to eat at all.’

James cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, about that.’ He looked over at Fanny, who nodded. ‘We have a food situation. Like a “there’s not much left” situation.’

‘What? I thought you were self-sufficient,’ David said. ‘Didn’t you always say you could survive for a year if there was a nuclear war?’

Fanny blushed. ‘That was for just three of us. I’m feeding ten people here.’

‘How long do we have?’ Lesley asked.

‘A day or two,’ James confessed. ‘We need to go on a food run. There’s a Tesco four miles from here. We can go by the back roads.’

‘Will there be any food left?’ Mary asked. ‘Before the TV went out they said people were panic-buying.’

‘If it’s either that or starve, I’ll go,’ Terry offered.

‘I’ll go too,’ said Fanny, holding up a hand to forestall James’s protests. ‘I’m the one doing all the cooking so I know what to get.’

James didn’t look convinced, but Geldof knew he was struggling under the crushing weight of a lifetime being bossed about and would not be able to oppose Fanny’s command.

‘Don’t worry,’ Terry said. ‘If it looks dangerous we won’t go in.’

‘You’ll need someone to act as a lookout while the others get the food,’ David piped up. ‘I’ll go along as well.’

‘I’m not sharing a car with you,’ Fanny declared, crossing her arms. ‘Getting away from you for a while is part of the reason I want to go.’

David looked contrite. ‘Look, I know I’ve been a pain, and I’m sorry. I’m very grateful for your hospitality. I just want to help out to say thank you.’

Fanny knitted her eyebrows and regarded David. ‘That’s surprisingly gracious of you. OK, I suppose you can come.’

‘That’s settled then. Let’s leave the food up to Fanny, but we should make a shopping list of other things,’ Terry said.

‘Good idea,’ Lesley replied. ‘I need some ciggies. Some booze too.’

Suddenly everyone was shouting out essential items: toilet paper (which had been rationed to four sheets per wipe), toothpaste, soap, shower gel, batteries and so on. Once Terry had scribbled everything down, they prepared to set off.

‘You should take some weapons,’ Lesley suggested.

‘There are no tools of death here,’ Fanny countered. ‘We’re pacifists.’

‘It doesn’t have to be a real weapon. Maybe a cricket bat or something?’

‘There are tools in the shed,’ James said. ‘Pitchfork, spade, you know.’

‘Great, let’s go then,’ Terry replied. ‘Geldof, can you keep an eye out at the window, see if the street’s clear?’

Geldof ran upstairs and hung out of the window. A few minutes later, his mother, Terry and David emerged beneath him. He scanned the street and the neighbours’ gardens. Nothing was moving. He gave the thumbs-up sign. James appeared and handed a pitchfork to Terry and a hoe to David.