The Last Plague (32 page)

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

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

     Florence eyed her warily.

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

     “Hello, Mary,” Frank said.

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

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

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

     “Don’t mention it,” said Roland.

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

     Mary, Roland, and Henry had listened in silence.

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

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

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

     “Gone where?” asked Joel.

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

     “They were evacuated,” said Roland.

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

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

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

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

     “Where did they take them?” asked Joel.

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

     “Why didn’t you go? Frank asked.

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

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

     “I can empathise with that,” said Ralph.

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

     “It’s the Devil,” said Roland.

     Frank looked at the old man.

     Mary nodded her head, pursing her mouth.

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

     Ralph snorted.

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

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

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

     Frank willed him not to say anything.

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

     “Why are you so doubtful?” asked Mary.

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

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

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

     “I’m not an atheist,” said Ralph.

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

     “I’m an anti-theist.”

     “What is that?” asked Mary.

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

     Neither Mary nor Roland answered. Their eyes gleamed.

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

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

     Roland and Mary smiled together.

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

     “I miss Magnus,” said Ralph.

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

     Frank nodded.

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

     They drank. Florence muttered in her sleep.

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

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

     “Please don’t say that,” said Joel.

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

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

     “It’s probably global,” said Ralph.

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

     “And what about Florence?” Ralph asked him.

     “What about her?”

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

     “She’s coming with us.”

     “She’ll slow us down.”

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

     “You could let
her
decide,” said Ralph.

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

     Ralph stared at him. Frank looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

     He would not sleep much tonight.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

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

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

     Florence looked frail, all bones and skin.

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

     And fear. Always fear.

* * *

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

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

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

     Ralph, Joel and Florence waited in the car.

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

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

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

     “Thanks for everything,” Frank said.

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

     “Go with God,” Roland said.

     Ralph coughed to suppress a laugh.

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

     They waved. Florence waved back at them.

     Ralph moved the car down the driveway. Henry was standing at the end of the driveway. Henry nodded at them. No smile. No expression.

     “I hope the monsters don’t get them,” said Florence.

     Frank smiled at her. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

     The road ahead was silent and dead.

Back through the village. They passed Magnus’s house, and they looked at it one last time, wondering if he was still in there with his family. They passed Frank’s house, and Frank could not help looking at the windows, hoping he’d see Catherine’s face peering out at them. They passed the still-burning devastation that had been Joel’s house, and Joel ignored it with his head bowed.

     No one spoke. The men said a silent goodbye to their home village. Frank wondered if they would ever return here and, when or if the time came, he would want to return.

     The village was dead and rotting, and the silent houses were nothing more than memorials to the people who once lived here.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

They passed through many more places that were wrecked and spoiled and burnt. Most of them were lifeless, save for the scattered and ragged groups of infected watching from their squalid holes. Some ran at the car as it passed, bolting from doorways and passageways, reaching for the car with fleshy hooks and stained claws. Gibbering and shambling scarecrow-like figures scrambled out of houses painted with splashes of red.

     They saw bodies that had been thrown into pits. They saw heaps of corpses in a field, piled high, burnt and blackened and twisted. Hollowed out and jumbled together. Piles of things taken from nightmares.

     Amongst the corpse-mounds were abandoned army vehicles.

     A few miles on, Ralph stopped the car next to a field covered with stubbly grass pushing from the earth. There were two figures in the field, heading towards them. Madly-gangling silhouettes.

     “What are you doing, Ralph?” asked Joel, glancing towards the approaching figures.