Ace of Spades Chronicles : Book One (11 page)

2.3

Ace of Spades

JONNY B

'Planet Claire has pink air.

All the trees are red.

No one ever dies there.

No one has a head...'

B52's... Planet Claire

Jonny B killed his wife with a wok. He had no choice. He had returned home from his two-on-two-off late night caretaker’s job and found his mother-in-law dead on the sofa. At least, she looked dead. She was very old and frail, so this was not such a surprise. According to Jonny B, she would spend days at a time shuffling around the house in her dressing gown, long thin white hair about her face, humming Perry Como’s greatest hits and dangling an unlit cigarette from her mouth. He found her lying in a pool of vomit on the plush, red leather corner piece he and his wife had only recently purchased, less than three weeks before with no deposit and only 48 monthly payments to go. It still smelt brand new and selfishly, his first thought was that he was going to have to clean that shit up. He stood staring at her thin body for several seconds before the vomit stink became too much, so headed into the kitchen to open the back door. Carrier bags lay discarded on the kitchen table, their contents spilled out across the floor. He could smell vomit here, too; and that's when he ran into his wife.

She was stood with her back to him; he reached out his hand and touched her shoulder. She shivered and quickly turned. Her eyes were a milky yellow, the colour of ice-cream spit; her chin encrusted with dried vomit that resembled oat meal. Her breath, (
if you can call it that ;
) stank of puke and something mildly fruity he couldn't quite put his finger on. Jonny B only had a fraction of a second to react before his wife grabbed his arm and tried to bite him. He swivelled and brought his elbow up into her chin, sending her back into the kitchen sink unit. She went bonkers, (his words ;) and he pushed her out of the kitchen and into the lounge, where she skidded on the laminated flooring and crashed into the sofa. His mother-in-law rolled on to the floor and opened her eyes, her pale blue dressing gown saturated with vomit; it had the consistency of curdled egg, and dripped on to the flooring like some horrendous unguent. Jonny B felt warm urine trickle down the inside of his Nike track suit bottoms as both women hissed, struggled to their feet and came at him. That's when he grabbed the first thing to hand and lashed out with it. The heavy metal base of the wok smacked against his wife's forehead, splitting the skin, but she kept coming. He brought the wok down again and again until he heard her skull crack and she slumped through the kitchen door frame and fell heavily, chest first on to the table, sending supermarket own brand goods in all directions. He hit her again on the back of the skull and the impact forced blood and vomit out of her nose. She collapsed onto the sticky linoleum flooring and twitched for about ten seconds before evacuating her bowels through her tights in an offensive, rancid pool of green and rotting waste. He ran from the house as his puke encrusted mother-in-law, her spindly little legs shaking to hold up her weight, tried to catch him. He slammed the front door and jumped into his car. Trembling, he started the engine and wheel-spinned as he pulled away.

He didn't look back.

Gotta give him credit for that.

***

Jonny B made it to my place about four long hours after he caved his wife's head in with the wok. The fact that this journey would normally take about five minutes by car or around fifteen minutes on foot gives you some idea of the mayhem that stood between our places of residence and the speed at which the infection had spread. He told me about his journey home from work. How the traffic was stationary and how most of the cars were driverless. He told me about the strange atmosphere in his street and that he had to drive on the pavement to park outside his own house; and of course, he told me about the incident with the wok. I told him about the headless homeless man in the hospital grounds and the female doctor in the supermarket. We threw around the idea that they might be connected, but the conversation never got any further than conjecture.

He had arrived at my gated compound by foot on the morning of the third day, having abandoned his car up the hill, owing to the fact there were too many deserted vehicles and driving on the pavement this time around would have been impossible. He had seen several infected and avoided them by running as fast as his legs would allow. By the time he reached the gates, he was so out of breath he could only get my attention by banging on the metal work with his shoe. This attracted some unwanted company and by the time I unlocked the side gate, there were ten or more infected occupying the car park. I dragged him inside the compound and secured the gate, then practically booted him up the steps and into the kitchen, where I slammed the door shut and bolted it with such speed, I surprised us both.

"Upstairs", I winced, my grated shin tight against my clothing. Jonny B complied without a word until I offered him a beer and he recounted what had happened. We sat drinking the rest of my Special Brew; occasionally, one or both of us would get up and peer out of the sitting room window, checking that the car park infected had not somehow got into the compound. I recognised one poor sod as Mr. Cooper, the tenant with the broken window. Were the jagged lacerations on his face a result of going head first through the glass? Another was climbing out of the police cruiser in a slow, drunken swagger. He nudged the steering wheel, setting off the car horn. The others twitched and became restless for several minutes, before calming down, returning to a dazed state of awareness. The row of houses across the road backed onto the school sports field and there were a couple of dozen infected roaming the unkempt grass. Many of them were children. I asked Jonny B how many he had seen after leaving his car, he thought maybe fifteen, perhaps twenty, maybe more; he wasn't sure; (he spent an hour or so hiding behind a row of wheelie bins.) I didn't tell him about the WPC getting drawn medieval style in the street by her fellow officers and I felt the need for some weed, so I went into the bedroom to get my stash from the bedside cabinet, and when I came back into the lounge, Jonny B was gone.

Now, one thing you need to know about Jonny B is that he is not the world’s best drinker. By his own admission, he is under the table after half a glass of wine; so you can imagine what four cans of premium heavy lager had done to him. I thought he had just gone to the toilet, so left him to it. I had this mental image of Jonny B walking in to his home to discover his not-so-dead mother-in-law as Magic Moments by Mr. Como played over the scene. I scrolled through the TV channels until I found something local and rolled a joint. A camera’s point of view from a news helicopter was flying high above the city, capturing images that belonged in a blockbuster motion picture. Columns of smoke rose from several buildings, lines of traffic clogged the roads and people the size of ants moved with uncoordinated motion through the streets. I continued to roll my joint on automatic as the camera shakily zoomed into a gang of people attacking a lone individual. I called out for Jonny B to come and have a look, just as the camera pulled away and a title card for the news channel flashed up on the screen and the sound turned to a low pitch hum. Jonny B didn't answer. I got up and by force of habit, looked out of the window. Jonny B was outside.

The kitchen door was wide open and Jonny B was stood in the middle of the compound, staring at the infected in the car park, which now, were all stood by the palisade fencing, staring back at him. I grabbed the collar of his sweat shirt and pulled him back, just as a police helicopter screamed over head, a voice belting out from its public address system.

"....when you will receive further instructions... I repeat... This is a civil defence announcement...  Please stay in your homes... A twenty four hour curfew is in effect... This curfew will remain for seventy two hours... Remain calm... A biological incident has occurred... Local emergency services are dealing with the problem... Evacuation measures are in place and will commence in seventy two hours when you will receive further instructions... I repeat... This is a civil defence announcement... "

The message trailed off as the helicopter continued over the neighbourhood and eventually out of sight, though the words could still be heard. I saw some people along the way exit their homes, clearly as confused and scared as we were. Infected vaulted over the garden walls and attacked them before they had a chance to retreat into their halls. Jonny B had sobered up and looked at me with big baby eyes. "What the hell is going on?" He implored. I shrugged. I didn’t possess the language to explain any of this. The car park infected were extremely disturbed by the helicopter and were either head butting the palisade fencing or striking it with their arms and upper body. For the second time that day, I basically booted Jonny B up the steps to the kitchen and bolted the door. I told him to leave the door alone, that if he opened it again without my permission, I would kick him down the steps and lock it behind him. I told him about the WPC getting her guts ripped out; I figured then was as good a time as any. He collapsed to his knees in front of the cooker and began to sob. I think the shock of splitting his wife’s skull open with a wok had finally hit him.

I eventually got Jonny B upstairs where he fell into a deep, beer infused sleep on the sofa with Moya curled up next to him. I flicked through the dead terrestrial TV channels and eventually found an early episode of Stargate SG1 on cable, then I sat in my arm chair and smoked my joint. The heady weed mixed with the Special Brew and hit my brain at once, and the image of Captain Samantha Carter became a pleasant diversion. The police helicopter made another sweep of the district; the cold, monotonous message, thumping from the PA had become surreal and drum like. I nodded off for what seemed like hours but it was actually only minutes; and in my slightly stoned, waking moments, Colonel Jack O'Neill was leaning over Kawalsky in his hospital bed and saying "...
That’s right Dorothy, it was all a dream..."

If only.

***

"Strawberry yoghurt!"

"What?"                                                                                                                                "Strawberry yoghurt," said Jonny B, as he stretched his legs. I shrugged, needing more information regarding this random statement, and he explained that it was the
something mildly fruity
he could smell on his wife's breath. I wanted to know whether the mother-in-law had gone shopping too, or had she stayed at home? Jonny B didn't know. I wondered whether the wife had been infected in the supermarket and then infected the mother-in-law; or had they both been infected at the same time. Jonny B didn't know. Or maybe, the shopping was delivered and they had been infected by the driver, or perhaps a neighbour. Again, Jonny B didn't know. I couldn't expect him to know, really; but I was mashed and thinking aloud, my thoughts trying to find a rational reason for this madness.

I was all too aware that Jonny B had been in very close proximity with the virus, even more so than me; and this realisation was eating away inside me like a cancer. I wanted to know if he felt ill. He said no.

Was he sure?

He was sure.

I decided that I would take him at his word, but at the first sign of infection, I would eject him from my home without a second thought. I didn't yet know enough about the virus to categorise it into its various phases, and he did seem refreshed after his sleep and very aware of what had happened.

Would he be?

I mean; would he really be that aware if he had some malicious pathogen restructuring his brain? Was it like the alien strain in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, camouflaged in plain sight? At what point would he transform into a reanimated corpse and try to eat
my brain
? I figured that I had smoked too much weed, or maybe not enough.

And I was hungry.

***

Trying to attain some resemblance of normality, I was busy making sausage sandwiches and Jonny B was attempting to roll a spliff. We both worked silently in the kitchen; me chopping onions, Jonny B sat on one of the high stools at the breakfast counter. Moya was sat next to the kitchen door, occasionally whining or letting out a stifled growl. I kept telling her to be quiet and she would stop for a minute or so, and then start up again. I looked through the net curtains into the car park. The infected were still there, but fewer in numbers. Four or five had wandered towards the car park entrance and were standing like statues, swaying gently in the warmth of a pleasant, sunny afternoon. Another was skulking by the abandoned police cruiser and the rest were roaming with a desultory demeanour. Moya pawed at the door, letting me know that she needed a piss. I told her that she would have to wait and she curled up for a sulk.

I put some oil and a knob of margarine into a pan, added a pinch of salt and a twist of black pepper and put it on a low simmer; then added the onions. I put the sausages under the grill and sliced some bread, all the time constantly glancing out of the window. Moya pawed the door again. I opened it, holding her back with my foot, but she pushed by me and ran down the steps and immediately began to sniff the floor. I scanned the street and the sports field beyond. Infected were dotted everywhere. Most were standing still, but every now and then, one would go into spasm or turn its head. I quickly checked the sausages; they had another ten minutes at least. The onions were sweating down nicely to a caramelised russet flush and Jonny B had succeeded in rolling a pretty decent joint, for once. I looked back into the compound and Moya was following a scent along the interior wall that separated us from the next door neighbour. Jonny B lit the joint and passed it over to me. I drew the smoke in deeply and held it in my lungs, nodding my approval. As I exhaled and turned my attention back to the compound, I saw Moya sniffing along the ground next to the fence. Moya growled, then barked then yelped as the infected that had been skulking next to the police cruiser suddenly pounced, grabbed her and violently pulled her towards the palisade fencing. She squirmed and struggled, breaking free for a split second and snapped at the fingers that grappled to hook her fur. One hand pinched the scruff of her neck whilst another caught her under the chin and around the ear, both hands working in a clamping motion. I watched as the diseased arms withdrew back through the rails, pulling Moya's head through the gap. The joint fell from my mouth when I realised that she could not break free, and I bolted down the steps. Moya's protests were painful to hear, as the infected repeatedly yanked and wrenched her body, each attempt forcing her further through the metal bars. I heard a loud double
snap
as first one front leg, and then the other fractured, followed by that gut wrenching howl of distress. In my haste, I stumbled and fell flat on to the compound floor, sliding on my chest and face towards the fence; my arms outstretched like a rugby player attempting to score an important try. My finger tips were only inches from Moya's convulsing back legs as I saw her rib cage shatter under the repeated and relentless efforts to yank her through the rails and into the car park. Even if I had been able to catch her hind quarters, there would have been nothing I could have done to save her, as finally, in one last savage tug, her limp body slipped through the bars with ease. For a horrible moment, the infected held Moya close to his chest and stared at me. His eyes were a sickly yellow, dotted with pinpoints of red. He snarled before turning away.

***

Jonny B said that I went feral; Wolverine feral.
He said
I scrambled to my feet, screaming and pulling angry faces.
He said
I span and searched the compound for something, anything with which to fight back.
He said
I tried to open the locked shutters to my work shop but gave up and threw the wheelie bins and recycling boxes out of their cubby-hole beneath the kitchen steps until I found a spade that I kept there for snow clearing duties.
He said
I tore my jeans retrieving my keys and opened the side gate.
He said
I ran out into the car park with the spade raised above my head like an axe.

I don't remember any of that...

***

I swung the spade at the first infected that stood in my way, striking it just above and behind the left ear. The keen edge split the bone and entered at least three inches before stopping dead. We danced a little quick step as the force of the blow and his body weight sent shudders along the hickory shaft. I pulled down and pushed up, twisting his skull open like a knife taking the top off a boiled egg, and moved on before his body fell.

The next felt the full impact of the flat side of my spade. Teeth and sprays of dark blood fanned into the air; I rotated quickly on my toes, spinning a perfect three hundred and sixty degrees and sliced through his Adam's apple. His head fell back like the top of a pez dispenser and I swung the spade again, snapping his neck like a twig. By the time I got to the one who had pulled Moya through the palisade fencing, he was already tearing her open as if he were skinning a rabbit. I sliced the air with the spade, bringing it sharply and decisively down into the side of his leg, just above the knee joint. The leg and his balance buckled and I repeated the move until his knee was completely hacked and he fell to the ground. Without thinking, I cut his head off at the neck, using my foot against the spade to give it extra load. Jonny B said that I picked it up and tossed it over the fencing into the compound before gathering Moya's body; even though the infected was now headless, his grip held fast and I stamped on his chest until his fingers released her, then staggered back through the gate as infected, alerted to my anguished screams, headed towards the car park.
He said
I was an emotional wreck and as he ran down the kitchen steps, I dropped the spade and fell to my knees. He locked the side gate and retrieved my keys from the padlock.