Death Day (20 page)

    He looked around the room. A posh place really, he thought. Fitted carpets, brand new wallpaper, colour television. They even had a stereo. Bob compared it to his own house. The threadbare rugs which barely covered the floor in the living room, peeling wallpaper. The stink of damp which seemed to hang in every room. God he hated his home, but as yet he could see no way out. No respite from the rows between his mother and father, the squabbles with the kids. He didn't earn enough to buy a flat of his own, not even to rent one. Property was scarce in Medworth and he didn't fancy moving out of the town and leaving his mates. Bob realized that he was just going to have to learn to accept things as they were. After all, that was life for people like him. He knew it and he also knew that there was nothing he could do about it. It was like having your life mapped out for you, following the same routes as your parents. Only his route led to a dead end.

    He tried to push those thoughts to one side and concentrate on the matters at hand. He let his fingers stray to Kelly's breast and he managed a quick squeeze before she knocked it away.

    'Get off,' she bleated.

    He sighed. He hoped tonight wouldn't be a waste of time. If he didn't get to screw someone pretty soon, his mates would know. They were starting to get suspicious already. Bob shuddered as he thought of their derision if they did ever discover he was still a virgin. Of course he had boasted conquests, as do all young men, but he was getting worried. What would they think of him? Some blokes in his gang had fucked more than ten girls. He hadn't even got as far as kissing one yet. Bob was a master of bravado but his facade was beginning to crack. If he didn't score tonight he'd be a laughing stock.

    He slid his hand once more to her breast and, once again, she knocked it away.

    He gritted his teeth and a secondary thought passed through his mind. What if he fucked it up? Kelly would be sure to tell his mates. Bob began to become more nervous.

    'Get us another drink,' said Kelly, reaching for the cigarette packet on the coffee table beside her.

    Bob got to his feet and scurried across to the drink cabinet. He poured a large measure of vodka into Kelly's glass, hesitated a moment, then filled it right up, adding just a touch of lemonade. Perhaps if he could get her pissed it would improve his chances. He poured himself another beer and returned to the sofa.

    She blew a stream of smoke into his face and giggled.

    He waved it away with his hand and tugged on her hair. She squirmed.

    'You bastard,' she said, smiling, 'don't be so rough.'

    'I thought you like it rough,' said Bob, trying to sound experienced.

    'Who told you?'

    'A few people.'

    She giggled and took a large gulp of her drink.

    'Are you sure your parents aren't going to get back early?' he asked agitatedly.

    She put down her drink and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her. He felt her mouth against his, her tongue pressing against his lips. He opened his mouth a little but she pulled away, a grin hovering on her lips.

    'You do know how to kiss, I suppose?' The question was heavy with scorn.

    He grabbed her, more assured now, pulled her towards him and pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue probing. After a moment he pushed her away.

    'That better?' he said, smugly.

    She giggled. 'What have your mates told you about me?' she wanted to know.

    'This and that,' he said.

    'What does that mean?'

    He felt her hand on his thigh and he swallowed hard, his penis growing swiftly within the tight confines of his jeans. She noticed the bulge and allowed her hand to stray to it, stroking it through the thick material.

    'You like sex,' he told her.

    'Who told you?' She giggled again, her movements becoming more urgent.

    Bob shuffled uncomfortably, aware of his swiftly growing excitement.

    'Your mate Dave,' she began, 'he's got a big cock. One of the biggest I've seen.'

    'What are you? Some kind of expert?' he said.

    She giggled again. 'I've seen enough to know.'

    He felt her hand fiddling with his zip, easing it slowly down and he had to grit his teeth to control himself. She gazed at the bulge in his underpants and smiled, holding it firmly in her expert hand. Then, smiling, she backed off and unbuttoned her blouse. Bob never took his eyes from her large breasts, especially when they spilled forth as she unhooked her bra. The nipples were already erect. Bob didn't think he could control himself much longer, but the thought of what his mates would say gave him that extra bit of control that he needed.

    Kelly eased herself out of her skirt and stood before him, just the white of her knickers covering that part which Bob sought so desperately. Through the thin material he could see the dark curls of her pubic hair. Swiftly he whipped off his tee-shirt and flung it to one side, kicking his jeans off simultaneously. For one ridiculous second, he realized that he still had his socks on. Hurriedly he pulled them off and knelt on the floor beside her. She pushed him back and tugged his underpants down, revealing his rampant organ.

    At first he thought she was going to laugh, but she nodded admiringly and ran her fingers along the hard shaft, pausing for a moment at the swollen, bulbous tip. Bob closed his eyes. He didn't think he could hold back any longer. He thought about anything to distract him from the sensations. West Ham losing the cup final, death, unemployment.

    She stopped stroking him and he relaxed, watching as she removed her own knickers. She lay back, waiting for him. Bob hesitated, the uncertainty returning. What if she did tell the others?

    'Well, come on,' she said. 'I mean, you do know what to do?'

    He clambered on top of her, trying to force his erection between her thighs.

    'Careful,' she said, becoming agitated by his clumsy efforts.

    He repositioned himself and tried again. This time she grunted angrily and rolled to one side.

    'I don't think you know how to do this,' she chided. 'I think you're a bloody virgin.'

    The word stuck in his mind and he could feel himself turning scarlet.

    'I know what I'm doing,' he lied, trying to sound forceful.

    'Dave knew what to do. He gave me a good fuck. So did Paul.'

    'Fuck Dave,' he growled, 'and bloody Paul. I know what I'm doing.'

    She rolled onto her stomach and looked away from him. Bob felt the tension growing. He swallowed hard. What were the others going to say? The mouthy little whore was bound to tell them. In a last desperate attempt to save face, Bob grabbed her hips, raising her bottom into the air. Then, with a finesse which he didn't realize he possessed, he slid into her from behind. She moaned pleasingly and pressed back to meet his urgent thrusts. Bob was ecstatic. He knew it wouldn't be long before he reached his climax but he didn't care. He felt like shouting it out:
"Goodbye, virginity!"

    There was a scratching at the front door.

    Both of them froze, locked together like some kind of surreal statue.

    The scratching came again, louder this time. There were footsteps on the front path.

    'Oh God,' gasped Kelly, 'it's my Mum and Dad.'

    'I thought you said they were going to be late,' Bob blurted, hastily withdrawing and snatching up his jeans. Both of them pulled on their clothes as best they could, expecting the door to open at any moment and to see Mr and Mrs Vincent standing there. Kelly couldn't begin to imagine their reaction. Bob, gasping for breath, tried to force his erection back inside his jeans while pulling on his t-shirt. In his haste he forgot one sock. Kelly stuffed her knickers and bra beneath a cushion, taking care to remind herself to remove them later.

    Finally, the two of them threw themselves back onto the sofa, red in the face, waiting for the door to open.

    There was no sound.

    'I thought that was them,' whispered Kelly.

    Bob exhaled deeply. If he'd lost his chance because of a false alarm he'd leave right now. He began to wonder if it was all a set-up. Were Kelly, Dave and the rest of those bastards he called mates playing a bloody joke on him? The thought stuck out strongly in his mind and, when he saw Kelly begin to giggle, his suspicions were confirmed. He got to his feet, pushing her to one side and made for the door.

    'You set this up,' he shouted, 'you fucking scab.'

    Kelly shrugged, her grin fading.

    'I'm going to kill those wankers when I get hold of them,' he snarled. This was it, this was the bloody limit. He wrenched open the hall door, flicked on the light and tore open the front door.

    'Right, you cunts…'

    The words were cut off as powerful hands fastened themselves around his throat.

    Bob was driven back into the hall, propelled by the force of his assailant. He slammed into the wall, cracking his head and, for a second, everything went black. But he recovered and grabbed for the hands which were throttling him. He caught sight of the face of his attacker and his stomach contracted. The mouth drawn back in a deathly grin to reveal yellowing teeth, the scratch marks and cuts on the cheeks and forehead and, worst of all, the blazing red eyes of Ray Mackenzie.

    The pressure on his throat increased and he felt spittle froth on his lips as he fought for breath. Mackenzie had him against the white wall, slamming his head repeatedly against it until the white paper began to sport crimson smudges. Bob knew that he was blacking out. In his last moments of consciousness he saw another man dart towards the living room. He too had those same burning red eyes.

    

    

    Kelly heard the struggles from the hall and got to her feet, suddenly frightened. She screamed as the thing which had once been Peter Brooks entered the room. The living dead creature fixed her in that red stare and advanced towards her. Kelly screamed Bob's name. He could not help her. Already lying dead in the hallway, his lifeless form was jerked savagely about as Mackenzie tore his eyes from their sockets, ignoring the blood and vitreous liquid which splashed onto him.

    Kelly was weeping with terror, big salt tears pouring down her cheeks. But, with a final surge of strength, she leapt for the kitchen door, vaulting the coffee table in the process. The Brooks thing lunged after her and caught her arm, raking it with broken nails. The girl screamed again but shook free and flung herself through the open door, forcing it shut behind her. Even with her back pressed against it, she knew she would never keep Brooks out. He punched at the door, denting it.

    Tears clouding her eyes, she scanned the kitchen for a means to defend herself. She had a choice to make and she had to make it fast.

    To try and make it to the back door or to grab the carving knife from the drawer beside her. Her mind spun. It would not give her an answer and the indecision brought fresh tears.

    She heard the angry roar from the other side of the door and, a second later, Brooks charged, crashing into it shoulder first. The impact knocked Kelly across the room where she smashed into a chest of drawers. Dazed, she clambered to her feet, sidestepping the living dead thing's lunge and grabbing for the carving knife.

    Screaming, she brought it down in a swatting action. The heavy blade caught Brooks on the point of the shoulder and sliced away a large chunk of his coat. He grinned and Kelly swung the knife again, this time scoring a line across his cheek. The Brooks thing roared and put a hand to the wound, blood pouring through his fingers and he backed off. Sobbing uncontrollably, Kelly edged her way towards the beckoning back door. Brooks stood still, watching her.

    Praying, she dived for the door, finding to her horror that it was locked. In the split second it took her to turn the key, Brooks leapt at her. The two of them crashed to the ground, his weight pinning her. The knife skidded away.

    Kelly screamed, again and again until the sound seemed to merge into one unending caterwaul of terror.

    She knew she was going to faint.

    Mackenzie appeared in the doorway, that familiar feral grin smeared across his face, his hands dripping blood. And beside him stood another man…

    Not man so much as youth.

    Both of them were grinning.

    Kelly stopped screaming for a second, the sobs choking away as she turned her head to look at the two onlookers. The first of them tall, his blazing red eyes like those of the thing which held her down. But beside him, and this was what started her screaming again, stood Bob Shaw.

    Where there should have been eyes there were just bloody holes, still weeping crimson. Open sores with pits of congealing gore and yet, somehow, he could see her. Somehow he knew. And he was grinning.

    Kelly managed one last scream before all three of them fell on her.

    

    

    Eight more people were killed that night.

    

    

    There was an expectant hush inside the duty room of the Medworth police station.

    Outside a light drizzle was falling, casting a haze over everything and spotting the windows of the room. The windows on the inside were steamy and the place smelled of stale cigarettes and coffee.

    A blackboard had been set up at the far end of the room and there was a chair in front of it. The leather chairs which normally were dotted around the edges of the room had been drawn up into two rows, and on these chairs sat the ten men who made up the Medworth force. Facing them was Lambert. To his left, on the other side of the blackboard, sat Kirby, his neck still heavily bandaged from his encounter with Emma Reece a week earlier. He pulled irritably at the bandages every so often and sipped at the lukewarm coffee which Sergeant Hayes had given him earher.