Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel (3 page)

The evening had gone by
quickly.  A dinner of fish fingers followed by a few hours of innocuous
reality television and it was soon everybody’s bedtime.  Nick had intended
to put James to bed right after dinner, but ended up changing his mind. 
He had become so feverish and fitful that Nick decided to let him stay up just
so he could keep an eye on him.  Deana had started to feel grim, too.
 She’d spent the evening reaching for the tissue box every few minutes.
 By the end of the night the living room had started to feel more like an
infirmary than a place to relax.  Nick assumed it was only a matter of
time before he succumbed to the dreaded ‘lergy’ himself.

Just after ten O’ clock, Deana had carried James
upstairs – he remained asleep in her arms – and then joined Nick in bed a few
minutes later.  She took a handful of flu capsules from the bedside drawer
and dry swallowed them with a brief gagging sound.  Then she dragged
herself into her no-sex ‘frumpy’ pyjamas and was snoring loudly before even ten
minutes had passed.

Nick had then been left staring at the ceiling and
struggling to find sleep himself.  He was dreading another workday like
the one he’d just had.  The minutes had seemed like hours and the stress
of not meeting target had been constantly on his mind. 

He was nothing but a glorified salesman, really, but
sometimes Head Office made his job as stressful as being a brain surgeon. 
Targets for this, targets for that, working weekends, opening evenings; they
expected him to live, breathe, and eat the phone industry.  But the truth
was that he didn’t give two shits about the company he worked for.  It was
a paycheque, nothing more, and he hated every minute he spent there.

It’s my life, though.  Nobody else to blame.

Dropping out of University of Birmingham was perhaps his
biggest mistake – his parents would certainly say so – but he had little faith
that it would have resulted in anything different if he had graduated.  He
would still be the same, unambitious dropout that he’d always been; always
taking the path of least resistance.  He could have been a teacher or a
journalist by now, but instead he had allowed himself to fall short and become
a middle manager in retail.  It was a comfortable, respectable living, but
deeply unfulfilling.  But it was totally his own fault. 

He’d always told himself that one day he would do
something different, that one day he would start a career he enjoyed but,
before he knew it, he was thirty-years old with a wife and child.  Now
there was never going to be a
one day.

He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the
beastly snores of his slumbering wife.  God, he loved her, but sometimes
she sounded like an asthmatic camel – especially when she was ill.  He
tried his best to ignore the rhythmic grumbling, to get at least a little
sleep.  And thankfully, before long, slumber finally approached him.

***

When Nick opened his eyes again
the bedside LED alarm clock read 5:03AM.  

And there were noises downstairs.

He glanced at Deana, checking to see if the sounds had
awoken her also, but she was silent and still, no longer even snoring. 

Nick rubbed at his eyes
.  I must have fallen
asleep finally. 

The noises downstairs continued, consistent and regular
– almost like a rhythm.  Someone was shuffling around, possibly in the
kitchen.  He was sure he heard the wooden chairs of the breakfast table
scuffing against the granite floor tiles.

Goddamn it.  This is all I need.  I have to
be up in a couple hours and some git is trying to rob me.

He slid out from beneath the bed covers and headed for
the door in his boxer shorts.  The noises continued, almost as if whoever
was downstairs didn’t even care if they were heard.  If it was indeed a
burglar then he was the most negligent criminal ever.

Or someone who just doesn’t give a fuck
.

The thought filled Nick with dread.  What if the
person downstairs was a lunatic, ready to hack him up into bloody cutlets?

Stop being stupid.  You’re just freaking
yourself out.

He crept barefoot across the landing, wishing he had a
baseball bat or some other weapon stashed upstairs, but it had never occurred
to him before now to need such things.  He’d never worried about being
burgled.

So much for living in a nice area.

He started down the carpeted steps at the end of the
landing and made sure to take each one carefully.  The darkness of the
downstairs hallway seemed to shift and swirl before him, almost as if it was
warning him away.  He had to remind himself that it was just his eyes
adjusting to the lack of light. 

He reached the bottom step and padded into the
hallway.  From there, it became clear that the stranger in his home was
indeed inside the kitchen.  Not only could Nick hear them shuffling around
in there, but he could also see a hint of light coming from beneath the door at
the end of the hallway.

What the hell are they playing at?  Do they want
me to catch them?

Nick started to plan his actions.  Was he just
going to burst in, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, hoping to frighten the
intruder away?  Would that even work?  What if the intruder was
armed?  He decided that he would rather prevent a confrontation than
create one, so he decided to give the burglar a chance to flee.  He rapped
his knuckles against the kitchen door as hard as he could and spoke in his
sternest voice.  “Hey, whoever you are, get the hell out of my
house!  Right now!”

Silence.

“I’ve already called the police, so just get out of
here.”

Silence.

I knew it!  There’s a loon in my kitchen, what am
I going to do.

Nick didn’t know what to do.  Opening the door and
stepping inside the kitchen was probably the stupidest thing, but it was what
he found himself doing anyway.  Despite his fear, Nick was angry that
someone felt they could root around his kitchen in the middle of the
night. 

He pushed open the door, ready for action.

The kitchen was dark.  The light he had seen
creeping beneath the door was coming from the open fridge-freezer.  In
front of the glowing appliance stood the intruder.  Their body was a
featureless silhouette against the backdrop of frozen ready meals and French
fries.

“Hey,” said Nick.  “What the hell are you playing
at?  Get the fuck out of my house.”

No answer.  Not even a reaction.

As his eyesight continued to adjust, Nick could see that
the figure was facing away from him, peering into the fridge-freezer.  But
slowly…gradually…the stranger was beginning to turn around.  They were
small…too small to be an adult…

Nick’s breath caught in his chest.

What the…? 

He stared at his son with shock.  “J-James, what
are you doing down…” 

His words trailed off as he saw what his son was
doing.  Hanging from James’s tiny mouth was a large hunk of fillet steak,
still raw and dripping.

Jesus…

Nick didn’t understand what he was looking at. 
What was James doing down here in the middle of the night, tearing into raw
meat like a feral dog?

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.  He’s not well.

Nick raised a hand toward his son.  “James, put the
meat down.  It will make your tummy bad.”

James lowered his head, animal eyes trained on his
father.  His thin lips trembled in a snarl. 

And then, with what sounded like a growl, James lunged
at Nick.  His delicate hands were outstretched like cat claws.  His
sallow, naked chest was soaked with the blood of the dripping steak.  As
James collided with Nick, the hunk of meat fell from his mouth and hit the
tiles with a
splat!

Nick wrapped his arms around his son and spun him
around.  From behind, he wrestled to keep his thrashing child under control.

“James!  James, what has gotten into you? 
It’s your father.  You have a fever and you need to calm down.”

James continued to thrash and was now letting out a
high-pitched scream like an old-fashioned kettle.  The noise forced its
way into Nick’s head and made his skull throb.

“Calm down!” he yelled at his son.  “Just stop
fighting me.”

But it was no good.  James continued to screech and
yell; clawing and punching, fighting to get free of Nick’s restraining
arms.  His bloodstained milk-teeth snapped wildly at the air.

Nick assumed his son was hallucinating from fever. 
If he could just get to the light switch and illuminate the room, perhaps James
would be less confused.  Maybe then he would calm down.

He squeezed his arms tight around his son’s waist and
began to sidestep towards the light switch.  James’s relentless thrashing
made every step a battle of will and determination.  He did not understand
how his young son could suddenly become so strong and wild. 

What has gotten into him?  He’s like a feral
cat.  I can’t believe-

Nick’s bare foot came down on something soft and
slippery.  He quickly realised that it was the raw fillet steak, dropped
from his son’s jaws.  But it was too late to react in time.  Nick’s
leg went out from under him as his foot slipped on the wet meat.  He fell
sideways with the full weight of his son still in his grasping arms.  His
head hit the tiles with a
crack
and a galaxy of stars burst through his
vision.  There was also another sound.  A sound that was both meaty
and wet. 

He was too dazed to sit up.  His vision spun and a
roiling wave of sickness crashed against the rocks of his stomach.  So, he
just lay there for a while, totally confused by what was happening.

Am I missing something?  Because this all seems
a little crazy to me.

After a few stretched-out seconds, Nick finally pushed
himself up onto his elbows and glanced around. 

James was lying nearby, his small body unmoving.

“Oh, Jesus!” He scurried across the tiles on his hands
and knees.  He placed a hand behind James’s head and tried to lift it up,
but withdrew his fingers when they touched something hot and tacky.  Even
in the dim light provided by the open fridge, Nick could see the dark blood on
his hands.  It was warm and sticky like drying glue.

No, no, no!

Nick looked to his left and saw the matted clump of hair
that covered the sharp corner of one of the kitchen’s wooden chairs.  As
he had fallen he had taken his son down with him, smashing his young skull
against the unforgiving furniture.

Nick shot to his feet and leapt for the light
switch.  “Oh my God!  James!  James!  No!  I’m
sorry.  No!  Help me!  Somebody help!”

He flicked on the lights, flooding the kitchen with an
artificial glow that stopped just short of the darkness outside the
windows.  He dropped back down to his knees and placed his hands either
side of James’s face.  Blood pooled on the tiles and his son’s staring
eyes were glazed and puffy.  He felt for a pulse, but there was
none. 

His son was not breathing.

He can’t be dead.  No! 

Nick slunk backwards on the tiles, his mind skewing at
the edges and threatening to shatter into a thousand frantic pieces.

God help me, what have I done?  I’ve killed my
own son.  I’ve killed my own son.

No, no, no.  He’s not dead.  He can’t
be.  I just…I just need to get help.  That’s all.

Nick leapt up off the floor, so panicked that he almost
took flight.  For a brief moment his mind was blank, numb with panic, but
then he got moving, sprinting into the hallway and leaping up the stairs. 
He could use the phone beside the bed and wake up Deana at the same time. 
She could go check on James while he spoke to the emergency services.

And tell them what I’ve done
.

He burst into the bedroom, shouting at the top of his
lungs for his wife to wake up.  Her body shifted beneath the sheets, but
she didn’t respond.  Nick cursed under his breath and grabbed for the
phone.  He dialled 999 and waited. 

And waited.

In his ear:
Emergency Services are currently dealing
with a very high number of calls.  Please leave your name, address, and
situation, and help will arrive with you shortly.  Please remain calm
while waiting for assistance.  Leave your details after the beep.

Beep!

Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  999
were too busy to answer his call? 

What is going on?

He turned to Deana and knelt on the bed, shoving her
hard with both hands.  “Deana, wake up!  I need your help. 
Something terrible has happened.”

She began to stir.

Finally!  She’ll know what to do.

With a low moan, Deana rolled out of bed and placed both
feet on the carpet with a soft
thump
.  Then she began to straighten
up. 

Nick switched on the bedside lamp and started redialling
999.  He looked up at his wife as he did so.  “Deana!  James is
hurt.  He was in the kitchen and I…I…”

Deana’s glaring eyes were wide; the lower lids hanging
slack while bloodshot orbs rattled around their sockets.  A slick trail of
blood covered her chin and trickles of fluid sweated from her nipples beneath
her nightshirt.

Nick’s jaw dropped open as he tried to understand what
he was seeing.  But, before he had chance to think, Deana leapt across the
bed at him.  He dodged sideways, just in time, and stumbled against the
end of the bed.  He almost fell down, but managed to remain on his
feet. 

“Deana, what are you doing?” he shouted.

She clambered over the bed towards him, leaving bloody
handprints on the Egyptian sheets and snarling at him like a wolf. 

Nick edged backwards against the wall.  Deana
glared at him balefully, her jaws grinding back and forth like saw blades. 
Then she let out a high-pitched screech and pounced.