Spores (3 page)

The pounding on his mother’s front door happened when Dustin was three quarters of the way through his ninth beer. He’d been more than a little confused to see a coach parked outside the house when he peered through the window. The nice young man who was standing on the porch had explained that they were on an exodus to Leeds; apparently they had some form of working government. All the other words that spilled from the man’s lips just turned into meaningless babble. Dustin had seen the other passengers, mainly women. Some young, some old but he didn’t care. It had been simply ages since he’d placed his hands around a female body.

Of course, the square driving the magical mystery tour wouldn’t allow Dustin to bring any of his beloved beer with him so he proceeded to drink them one by one. He hadn’t remembered getting on the bus or any of the journey. The first thought he’d had when he came to was why they had redecorated the coach whilst he’d been in the land of drunken nod. He quickly found that it wasn’t paint though, it was blood, gallons of the stuff, not to mention the numerous lumps of raw meat stuck to the windows, floor and roof. Dustin had done the right thing and got the hell out of there.

Dustin shuddered, he must be sobering up; it wasn’t often that he allowed himself to dwell on the interior of the bus or why even that he was the only one who’d escaped intact.

“I need to get the fuck out of here.”

Flash bulbs went off in his head. He remembered Denise and Andrea. He used to hang around with them before he got lofty ideas and joined that commune. The chicks were way past their use by date but at least the girls were still under forty so they would have escaped the infection, although whether they managed to live through the monster attacks was another matter.

He wasn’t going to find out bumming around here though. He grinned at the thought of having sex again after such a long time.

“I’ll be hearing a different kind of moaning pretty soon.”

He knew most of the places where they used to hang out; he doubted they’d have changed their habits despite the fact that this was like The End of Days. They would be only too happy to look after good old Dustin, maybe even cook for him, hell, it’s not like they’d have anything else to do. That and sex of course.

He needed another drink; he just couldn’t cope with this amount of intense emotional content. Dustin noticed that the spore clouds were thickening up again, it was turning into another pea souper.

“Bugger, that’s all I bloody need. How am I supposed to go anywhere now?”

The man had now disappeared behind that bank of thick cloud. He moved a little closer, wondering why the man had still not moved, he hadn’t spoken either.

“Are you still there?”

What a stupid thing to say, of course he was still there, no more bottles had been kicked over. The cloudbank was still getting thicker; he couldn’t see his own feet now.

“Hello? Why aren’t you talking?”

Dustin’s foot kicked over a bottle, the man should be here, right next to him. Despite every nerve in his body ordering him to turn around right now and run like a drugged racehorse, Dustin lifted his left leg and placed it down in front of him.

It wasn’t hard concrete that greeted the sole of his boot; it felt as though he’d just trod in a pile of thick jelly. Dustin swallowed down the hot bile that had risen up from his stomach when the realisation of what he’d just put his foot in finally hit home. He’d just desecrated all that was left of that man who asked him for help. Oh Jesus, what was happening to him, was he turning into some kind of monster as well? Dustin slid his foot back until he reached a hard surface again and sighed loudly.

“I’m sorry dude, I didn’t mean to say all that hurtful shit, you know.” He closed his eyes, “I know it’s not much of an epitaph, Mr. Whoever you were, but I think you’re in a better place than I am now.”

Dustin’s eyes jerked open, were there chicks in heaven? He’d spent his life after his balls had dropped obsessing about sex to give the idea of an afterlife any consideration. That and travelling to other planets on whatever drugs he could get his hands on.

One thing was for sure, if it did exist, there were bound to be plenty of hot women up there now, as there sure weren’t many down here anymore. Dustin sighed again and kicked his foot forward, intending to smash one of the bottles. His foot didn’t connect with glass but something spongy. He gasped aloud, knowing deep down just what was next to him.

A low rumbling vibrated through his bones, he watched the spore cloud around him begin to dissipate, and he finally saw just what had appeared next to him.

Dustin was in the middle of what looked like thick, black electrical wiring, the stuff slithered around his legs, Dustin forced his head slowly upward when a large shadow cast over his face. He saw a humanlike head attached to a glossy serpentine neck appear above him through the mist. Its grey chin and chisel-like teeth were coated with blood and lumps of soft tissue, but to Dustin that was irrelevant as he saw something else. This creature was female.

He smiled. “Oh my God, you are so beautiful,” he raised his hand and gently stroked her rough cheek. Dustin sighed with pleasure as it began to purr like a kitten.

Chapter Two

Amber Barlow hurried along the dull grey corridor. Grey was such a horrible colour, it was the colour they painted prisons. How on earth were the survivors going to climb out of their pit of misery when they were forced to look at dull grey every day of their lives?

She’d have to put down tubs of bright emulsion paint down on her itinerary. Amber hoped that she’d be able to remember all this. She knew that doing a spot of painting wasn’t really the most important task to work on when they were in the middle of the apocalypse but it would give some of the frightened people currently sheltering in the Institute something better to do than wallow in their despair. There were quite a few unskilled people pacing around the lower levels with far too much time on their hands. Not everyone here had important roles to fulfil in the saving of the human race. Her mother always used to say that idle hands were the devil’s workshop. This place would look simply smashing covered in vivid colours

Her hands certainly weren’t idle, neither was her mind. The amount of tasks that the ad hoc Institute committee had piled on her since she’d volunteered to take up the post of morale officer was just unreal. Amber chuckled to herself. To think that she used to bitch about the amount of workload her boss used to pile on her desk when she worked as Reachout juvenile employment officer at Leeds Council. All that paled in comparison to what she had to get through here on a day-to-day basis.

She considered herself lucky, really. Amber had come through The Wasting, relatively unscathed. She had never known her real parents, and at twenty-two she had not yet decided to settle down to raise a family. Amber hadn’t even had a steady boyfriend for six months.

Some of her new friends here in the Institute had watched The Wasting take their entire families. Amber shuddered, trying to imagine the anguish they must have gone through, the misery sketched upon the faces she spoke to every day told her that it was probably best not to put herself in their place. She hadn’t told anyone that she’d been fostered until the age of nineteen. As far as everyone was concerned, she had lost her parents to The Wasting too.

At the time, making up a fictional history seemed like the wise choice; how could she help the people through their suffering if she couldn’t relate? She shook her head and shrugged. It’s not like anyone would ever find out and even if they did, she was sure that they’d understand the logic behind her decision.

Amber passed a row of light bulbs held together with long black wire and insulation tape, and by the looks of it, a bit of spit and chance. Talk about shoddy work. Oh good Lord, she could even see a couple of bare wires. It was a good job that there were no children in the Institute, they were being held in two crèches on the other side of the city. This would just have to be reported. Amber glanced at her watch. Oh no. She was late for the meeting, Amber felt a tinge of shame colour her cheeks; now who was being shoddy? The first meeting that she’d had the privilege of joining and she was late.

She picked up the pace, remembering to add insulating tape next to the paint in her mental itinerary. It did seem a little strange though. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why all the committee members would be called to the reception hall.

Amber hoped that the meeting wouldn’t be too long, there were just heaps of jobs to do, she was also supposed to be in the arrivals lounge in ten minutes. Another group of survivors had managed to get to the Institute and as the new morale officer it was her job to help them acclimatise to their new life. It was amazing just how effective a warm smile and a hot cup of tea could be. Of course, it did help if that warm smile was on the face of a pretty blonde.

It was just like the director of the Institute to pull a stunt like this. She had a boss at her old job who liked to do the same, pull people out of their tasks, just to announce yet another meaningless directive that had absolutely no relevance to their jobs. Maybe that was a little harsh. The Institute director, Stephen Browning, wasn’t that bad. He might be a bit of an arse but he did know how to get tasks done. Thanks to him, they now at least had fresh air to breathe again. It was Stephen who had worked out why all the air filters had suddenly decided to stop working. She certainly had no wish to wander through the Institute wearing one of those horrible chemical protection suits again.

She really did feel sorry for the scavengers the Institute sent above ground, due to the thick spore clouds, they had no choice but to wear them.

“Scavengers?” she muttered, “Did I really say that?”

She’d better remember not to say that word in the presence of Stephen. He preferred the term ‘resource collection teams.’ Even the blokes who risked their neck every time they went out didn’t call themselves that. They preferred the name ‘Wombles’

It was the reason why she was so late for this meeting in the first place. Amber had been at the departure lounge, making sure that the day’s two Wombles were properly kitted out before they ventured out into the city centre to look for more goodies.

She really had no business up there but she just had to see Miles before he ventured outside. He was single (well he was now), good looking and considering the circumstances, had a brilliant sense of humour. He’d only arrived a couple of days ago but had fitted in as if he’d been here from the start. Amber found him fascinating; she could tell that he’d been through a lot, his face told Amber more about his despair than his words did. The only piece of information she’d been able to prise out of him was that his wife had died in The Wasting and he’d stayed with her until the final moments.

He was due back in a few hours; she couldn’t wait to see him. Maybe she’d work up the guts to ask him for a drink. It wasn’t like he could take her to the pub or go to the pictures or anything, but she did know quite a few hidden places in the Institute where she could take him.

Would he say yes? Miles told her that he was thirty-eight this year. Back before The Wasting, she wouldn’t have even considered going out with a man almost old enough to be her father but her attitude had changed recently, she just hoped that his had too, considering he could still die next year

Apparently, the Techs in the research department were on the verge of a breakthrough regarding this instant death at forty mystery. She quickened her pace; perhaps that was the reason for this meeting. Oh God, she hoped so.

As she walked past a junction, Amber saw a young dark haired man a little older than her stagger before collapsing, it looked as though he was having a fit. He looked up, and then saw Amber. He held an arm out to her.

“Please help me,” he cried.

She dashed forward but before she could get to him, armed soldiers appeared from nowhere and surrounded the fallen man. What the hell was going on? The Institute had no military presence.

One of the soldiers noticed her rushing towards them; he spun around, and pushed her into the wall. “Did you touch him?” he shouted.

Amber pushed herself away from the wall; she looked into the brute’s cold blue eyes. “Of course I haven’t,” she said defiantly, “I’ve only just got here. Where the bloody hell did you lot come from?”

The man just looked at her stone faced, perhaps that question was too hard for the moron to understand. She tried to push past the soldier and help that poor man; Amber was a qualified first aider, she even had certificates on her bedroom wall.

“Will you get out of my way?” she said, when the soldier refused to move.

He responded by growling and raising the butt of his assault rifle. Amber cringed back, expecting him to hit her with it at any moment.

She watched several men in white protective suits load the fallen man onto a stretcher and carry him towards the research department.