Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (18 page)

She wants to look down but can’t risk being seen and any thoughts of going out to meet them are gone instantly. Paco is infected. If they’re army they’ll shoot him for sure. If she weighed it up and had time to think it through she’d see the sheer folly of her reasoning but she reacts on instinct, and her instinct, as ever, tells her to be quiet and hide. People are dangerous. Stay away from people.

The two teenage sounding males sound like they’re from a council estate. Like the inner city accents she hears on television and films. They berate the mechanic constantly, keeping the pressure on him to work.

‘Done man, like you know I fixed it and like, it ain't gonna break again man, like a proper fix that is for sure.’ Finally the mechanic calls out with a voice of relief.

‘Well done that man,’ the deep voice booms so loud it makes her flinch which makes Paco sit up straight with a hard glare. She soothes him quickly, rubbing his arm and pulling soft faces until he relaxes and his eyes lose the look that everyone else is about to get killed.

The noises carry on outside. Doors being opened and people moving about. The sky darkens with a noticeable suddenness. It’s too early for night. The pressure of the close air becomes thicker, like it’s harder to breathe. Static everywhere that makes her stretch her mouth as though her ears are blocked. A bigger deeper engine starts, throaty and roaring to life. Must be the army vehicle. A few seconds later and after more doors have been slammed shut the engine pulls away to power fast down the road plunging the room into a gloomy, heavy hot silence.

Only then does she risk crawling over to the window to look down on a deserted street. The hairs on her neck prickle. Dark broiling clouds roll low overhead but the people and the army truck are gone. She exhales slow and steady with a release of tension but stays waiting and watching for long minutes. She needs air. It’s so stifling in here. She cracks the sash window open an inch then pushes it wider. It has no effect whatsoever so she waits, watching and staring intently in case they come back.

The heat gets worse in the finality of atmospheric pressure building in the last minutes of calm before the storm. The air gets so heavy it becomes flat and robs the volume from her voice.

‘Hungry?’ she asks Paco, the word sounding weirdly hollow and lifeless. Eating in this heat is the last thing she wants to do but they’ve walked miles today again and she’s learning to eat when you can.

Twenty

Winter coats left in the store room for the seasonal change in products to be sold in the shop make comfy seats. Stacked and laid at the base of a wall with Paco leaning back after being fussed over, moved, made to sit then get back up so she could put more woollen coats down and then back up again in case he wanted some lower back support.

‘Right, we’re going to try something,’ she says breathlessly. Just moving in this pressured air is hard work. Holding a tin of low fat rice pudding she drops at his side with her marigolds still firmly on her hands. ‘Are you right handed or left?’

Paco doesn’t know if he is right or left handed and therefore does not reply to impart this information. That and he has no clue what she just said.

‘We’ll go for the right…but then I heard artistic people are mostly left handed. Hmmm, saying that you’re not exactly artistic are you. I mean, you know, like action films aren’t art like oh I don’t know, you know what I mean. We’ll go for the right hand okay? Hold this, that’s it, put your hand here and hold the tin. No don’t squeeze too hard. That’s it. Just hold it there. Now use your left hand to take the spoon. Oh hold on…no you need to hold the tin in your left hand and use your right to hold the spoon. Swap over. Left hand here and hold the tin, got it? Now the right hand holds the spoon like this. I’ll put it here and push your fingers together. So, we go down, load the spoon and then lift it up…no it goes towards your mouth. God your arms are huge, Paco…they weigh a ton. Shift your elbow a bit, I can’t see. No that way…no don’t move the spoon. Right hang on, I’ll sit over your legs. Is that okay? I’m not too heavy am I? Right put the spoon back in and get it loaded, not too much now. Yeah that’s fine now up…up to the mouth…open up…and in it goes! Hey well done.’

She grins as he eats. Sat astride his thighs again with the tin held in his hand between them and her gloved hand guiding the spoon away from his mouth.

‘And down again, into the tin…load it up and…let that bit drip off and there we go, up and up and open wide and yay! Look at you eating away. Ooh watch that bit in the corner…get the spoon here and just push it back in. Fancy another go? Is it nice? It’s low fat so I figured that’s what you would like. Okay, down and tilt the spoon, get some on and up…go on up up and yay! You did it again. Oh shit,’ she flinches and ducks from the thunder clap booming so hard it shakes the windows in the frames. Paco sits up, sensing her fear and the way she ducked into him. The tin starts to buckle from his grip closing in. His eyes fixed and his arms bulging with muscles tensing.

‘Easy, just thunder…it’s okay it just made me jump…Christ that was loud…’ she forces a soft tone and rubs his shoulder while glancing round at the window. ‘Come on, try again. What have you done to that tin? It’s all bent in now. No come on, just relax. I said I was fine. I just jumped from the thunder. Relax and sit back, go on…okay? Right the spoon goes in and up into the mouth and…that was so good. You’re doing it. Okay, try again…down and no that’s too much, it’ll spill everywhere. No, Paco it’s too much….okay you want to try it anyway…it’s gonna fall off though…almost there…now see, what did I say? It’s all down your top. Just…come here, we’ll scrape it off. Fuck!’

He tenses instantly at her fright, glaring and ready as the can is crushed in his hand that makes the rice pudding ooze out over her legs. The thunder clap was louder, harder, deeper and closer. The walls vibrating and the air charging with static that lifts the hairs on the back of her neck.

‘Easy easy….’ She soothes him back down, swallowing from the pressure and glancing again at the windows to the dark sky outside. ‘Oh look at that,’ she tuts and slides the spoon out from his fingers to scrape the gooey pudding off her legs that gets fed into his mouth. He doesn’t relax and his eyes stay hard and glaring as he detects the tremble in her body and the way she keeps looking at the windows.

‘I’m fine…honestly,’ she says nodding and glancing over her shoulder again. He learns. He hears the soft voice but detects the fear nonetheless. ‘Right…er…well the rice pudding is fuck,’ she mutters, ducks and squeezes her eyes closed as he tries to rise from the next explosion in the sky overhead that rolls and rolls on and never ends with echoes and claps that come again and again. She wants to soothe him but she can’t speak and he rises with her on his lap, lifting her up on strong legs that rise despite her clinging on to his neck.

Heather’s astraphobia started at the same time as her agoraphobia. An abject fear of storms that made her as scared as the thought of being in a crowded place. She could never drink in a busy pub or get a train from a packed platform. Shopping on a Saturday afternoon was ruled out and so was eating in any restaurant or café. That’s why she trained in the gym late at night when it was empty and she hid under the duvet with earphones blasting rock music whenever a storm hit outside.

There are no duvets here and no headphones either and this thunder is unlike anything she has ever heard. It’s the power of it. The force of something she cannot control that drives fear deep into her heart. She could never fly or be a passenger in a fast car. She couldn’t do anything that meant putting her life in the hands or someone or something else and a storm is like a primeval force of things happening that can never be controlled or made to go away.

She clings to Paco, her eyes squeezed shut while his body grows rigid with tension. Pressed so close into him she can feel the growl coming from his throat and his body locking out ready to fight and kill.

It ends and the silence that follows is filled by him and him alone. His voice rumbling deep and threatening like a dog. She finally breathes and realises where she is, hanging off his neck with her legs round his waist. Shame hits and she slides off with her heart thudding fast. Her legs feel rubbery and weak. She goes to say something but stops. She can’t speak. She knows the thunder will come again and worse, the lightning will hit and the wind will grow stronger.

There’s nowhere to go now. No place to hide. She could bury herself under the winter coats and push her fingers in her ears but Paco is here and there’s no knowing what he will do. Instead she does nothing and stands in front of him while staring at the windows.

The rain comes but not hard like she expected it to be. It doesn’t pelt but comes fast and soft. Pattering against the glass that quickly becomes filled with thousands of drops that start sliding down. She feels an urge to stand in the window to feel the rain on her face but the thunder and lightning will come.

It does come. It comes from every direction at once with a bass filled roar of monstrous gods clashing in the heavens where they wage a war of vengeance. The air fractures, charging and breaking with static shock that makes her hair frizz and her skin prickle. The whole of the sky detonates with a force that instantly makes her feel like she is nothing. She is a speck of life that holds no value. Her bones shake in her body, fear grips her mind. She steps back into Paco. It grows louder like it’s lowering to get her. Just her. It’s coming for her and only her. Nothing else can be heard, all other senses are blotted out. Just this.

Night becomes day with the first forked strobe crackling down that give her a split second vision of twisted clouds hanging low and deadly. She sees every rooftop, every chimney stack, every detail of every thing and in less time than it takes to blink. More come to join with ragged dancing forks of pure white energy strobing one after the other. The thunder goes on. The lightning flashes. It’s pure and evil yet beautiful in a way nothing else ever can be.

She backs harder into him, forcing her body against his. Her back pressing into his chest. Flinching and crying real tears now that spill from eyes that know there is nothing she can do to get away. Every fear of being out of control comes surging back. Every memory of being moved from home to home and school to school until her childhood is a flood of new faces and new places. The thunder keeps coming. A cacophony of noise of a million giants hammering into a million drums while those warring gods throw forks of lightning at the tiny planet beneath them.

This is greater than anything the mind of man could conjure. This is beyond anything the special effects people in Paco’s films could make.

She can’t hide. There is no hiding from this and if you can’t hide then you run. You run away from the crowds and hide from the faces that see you. You hide away and pretend they aren’t there. You run and run and never look back and seek solace in your own solitude because people will just hurt you and use you and take what they can.

She runs. Heather runs. From the store room and down the stairs while the roof above her threatens to cave in from the thunder and lightning coming down. She runs without seeing through the staff room with hands that grasp and slide and slip on the key while the panic grows until she’s screaming with tears coursing that blur her vision. She sinks down to her knees to die as the door is taken away by a man ready to kill anything that makes her feel that way.

She runs again. She runs behind Paco who destroys the gate in the same way so she can run and he can fight and destroy the bad thing that comes. She screams into the alley, running because she can and because that’s all she can do now and all she has ever done. She sprints into the rain that saturates her clothes in seconds and a sky tearing itself apart with bursts of energy that drive the panic in her mind.

Paco becomes the thing he was before. Wild and unrestrained, wanting to kill and stamp. His arms huge, his lungs drawing air that floods his body with oxygen. His eyes stare red and bloodshot. Nothing will hurt her. No harm will befall her. He will kill everything. He will fight the thunder and kill the gods and take the lightning in his chest while breaking necks to feel her hands on his face and hear that laughter come again. Except there is nothing to fight. There’s no bad thing here but still she runs, sobbing and crying out with every clap that booms in the sky. He gives chase, staying on her heels with rain driving into his face. Forks split the air, crackling with energy and noise and that static charge grows to become a whole new dimension of feeling.

Those forks come faster, growing in size and number with a wind that howls down the street streaming her hair out behind her. Still she goes. Unable to stop because stopping means they can hurt you. They see you when you stop. They talk to you and ask how you are and you say I’m fine when you’re not fine because you’re dead inside from the things done of a childhood taken away because your mum was a prostitute and you were born addicted to heroin. You run so they don’t see that so they don’t know that and if they don’t know then they can’t judge you. You run because the men put their hands on you when you were too young and because they told you they loved you. You run because if you stop they’ll touch you again like they did to your mum who took money so they could touch her and she died from that. It killed her. Don’t die. Run and don’t die. If you stop you’ll die. If people know who you are you will die so run and never stop because you are alone in this life without anyone to ever give you clean love.

The biggest one yet comes. A booming detonation of power that shakes the ground under her feet so hard she staggers. Forks strobe, giving day to night to day over and again. Ragged forks hit chimney stacks blowing them asunder with bricks raining down into the street. Forks strobe that rake rooftops to send slates spinning out that smash into windows. Forks grow and scorch across the road gouging tarmac as they pulse and roar silently. Wood is hit and charged to such instant temperature it gives flame. Fires start, fuelled by winds that scream into her face so hard it makes her unable to run now. She bends forward, fighting against the tide sent into her body. Bricks rain down. Slates slam into cars and buildings. Explosions of sparks cascade down from lightning hitting satellite dishes and oversized television aerials.

The fear drives her mad. She screams and fights to stay on her feet to run and never look back. Buildings crumble all around her. Roofs are lifted and taken away to be swirled and played with and all the time the rain lashes with such torrential unceasing power the road becomes a stream of water. Eddies form that twirl and suck at her feet. Litter is picked up and carried and the wind gets under her skin with a power that grows. Aye, this is power. This is a show of strength to the filth caused by her species. This is an act of revenge to clean the muck from the surface of the planet and rid the diseased humans that made it bad. She can’t run now. There’s no running from this. She can’t hide now. There’s no hiding from this. There is only acceptance of what will be. She ran her whole life. She hid too. She avoided and backed down and looked away and turned to go in the other direction but now she can’t so she comes to a sudden stop to take what’s coming because there is no love in this world anymore and no one can ever make it better.

He stops behind her. His chest heaving and his arms fixed ready to fight and follow her into the depths of hell so she will touch his face again and feed him rice pudding. She is loved. She is loved by a thing that doesn’t know what love is which is the purest love of all. He stands watching and will forever until she laughs and smiles while his mind whirls with images of a dog and a life he had that means nothing now.

She sobs there in the street with misery and grief and loss all coming out in this place at this time. It can’t be held back now. There was always time. She always knew there would be time to find her family and see, just see if they wanted to know her too. The time is gone now. It’s all gone and it’ll never come back. Left too late and it can’t be taken back. She sobs with thunder terrifying her heart and lightning that makes her flinch and twitch as bricks and slates slam about her and the wind threatens to knock her off her feet. She sobs without knowing a big man stands at her back using his bulk to hold her upright and shield her from those bricks and slates that slam into his body. He doesn’t flinch or show fear. He feels no pain. He feels nothing but everything for her and so he waits. The equilibrium becomes the pendulum that swings with feelings and emotions of memories he once had that meant something. He knew love. Just once. He felt loved. Just once. He gave that love back. Just once and without knowing it he would forever search to give that love again. The equilibrium shifts further, swinging wider away. He knows nothing. He is one of them. He is a man that only knows to take and hurt. He is a monster. A dangerous monster but he is her dangerous monster. She sobs louder, breaking and falling apart, knowing she will die tonight without ever knowing if she could have found them and told them of her life and what it was like. It doesn’t matter now. None of it matters now. None of it mattered before so why would it mean anything now? Go and die. Die lonely and forgotten.