Authors: L A Taylor
FORTY-THREE
Honking of horns woke up the vast majority of the caravan site as hands on watches faced south.
Mike had slept in an upright seated position for two hours so his neck muscles felt as if they’d been twisted into knots. He began to rub his aching neck to find some relief, and was able to snap his head back into a forward position. During the swift manoeuvre, the bones cracked back into their rightful place. He now wiped away the wet patch of warm moisture from around his lips while gazing out of the window. Kevin then awoke, wiping the crusts of the aftersleep from his eyes.
Outside the honking had stopped, but inside the echoing sounds of blaring horns were heard for a touch longer. The faintest of human voices flapped around them, but at first the sounds were too muffled for Mike to listen to clearly. That was soon to change when he opened the caravan door to breath in the early morning fog.
News had spread. Mike had a feeling it would. The ambulance men were back, closely followed by reporters and a television crew. It was almost time to get a story on air again. That was going to keep Chris busy for a while, so Mike told Kevin to wake the reporter while he began to get ready to speak to the new arrivals.
The second that his feet touched grass, the mad, excited, and news hungry reporters were all over him. Questions flew in from all angles, and at this moment in time Mike wasn’t ready for them. He turned and stared at the unsettled, pencil pushing, notepad morons.
“I’ve got a lot to get on with today so I won’t be able to chat to you guys…”
The reporters appeared devastated by what Mike said and postulated that there was going to be no success for them. Questions unanswered wouldn’t go down well with their editors.
“However, there is a man who’ll be leaving this caravan very shortly. This man is a familiar name in your line of work. He’s seen things here that’ll make your stomachs turn over and hide behind your livers.”
Mike made Chris sound like somebody famous. Maybe he wasn’t famous at this time, but in five, ten, twenty years, everyone would remember his name and what he did here. One of the reporters became too curious and wanted to know the name of the person. “Who is he? Come on, don’t leave us guessing.”
Mike smiled, looking up at the caravan door as it opened again. Chris finally left the mobile home, hopefully for the last time. “Chris here will help you with your questions. I’m sorry, I have to go now,” Mike said, grinning at the journalists.
Two, small time reporters, (well, compared to Chris they were), stood, staring at the little man as he walked down the steps. He then placed himself on the same spot where the chief had been standing.
“All right chaps.”
The reporters laughed. “Mike said there was someone famous coming out of the caravan, someone in our line of work, but had an edge. Someone serious who was going to help us with our questions, but the only person we can see is you.”
It seemed that Chris wasn’t even liked by his own kind, nor was he looked up to, (well, that one would be hard when he was smaller than most adults). He was a clown who got the job done. That was all anyone saw, but that was then; he wasn’t that person anymore.
“That’s enough, chaps. I’m not here to focus on the past. I’ve been through hell and walked straight past the devil, yet I’m still standing with no scars. I’ve tasted the sweat of death and survived it. Now, do you want me to tell you what I know? Or do you want to go home?”
The words ran freely over Chris’ tongue and out into the atmosphere like someone had placed them into his mouth. Whether they did or didn’t, he was back on top form again.
The words shut the reporters up for a bit and this gave Chris the chance to talk to them.
The journalists were now eager to write down anything he had to say, but he made them promise that he would have the final say on the final version of their reports.
As Chris spoke to the reporters, Kevin, Todd, and Shane left the caravan. “You might be interviewed and probably dragged into helping Mike show the medics where the other bodies are,” Kevin said, as he faced the foreman and the scientist.
Todd had his own ideas on that subject. “What about the people who live here? If they came along then the job wouldn’t take as long.”
“Good point.” For some reason the words didn’t flow from beneath Kevin’s lips in the way Todd hoped. “Do you want to be the one who tells them that the horror is now over, but would they assist us in finding other dead, mangled corpses that might be related to them?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” Todd appeared drained in appearance as he rubbed his face with a hand. “I just want to go home,” he replied.
Shane also wanted to go home. He wanted to get back to work and also to check on his cat. Kevin spoke for a few minutes longer before leaving them alone.
Thirty more minutes cruised by. Mike and Kevin were in deep conversation with the medics. A rough outline had been drawn on where the rest of the corpses were, or should be, so soon they were going off to find them.
Todd watched the busy chief dictate to the others before noticing one of the medics reach into the back of an ambulance for more zip up bags, whilst the other one grabbed a couple of light weight, wooden stretchers. Mike had already worked out the possibility of piling up the deceased in the forest, so no one needed to trek backwards and forwards until extra medics arrived.
The plan of enlisting Todd and Shane to help hadn’t happened. They’d been ignored. Todd was now feeling very frustrated. He was stuck on a caravan site with people rushing around him and not one of them had approached him. This was the final straw. He found it hard keeping his composure while others were doing something. “I’ve just seen Kevin and the chief fucking off into the forest with the ambulance men,” Todd huffed.
“So,” Shane replied.
“Well, what are we going to do now? If this carries on then I’m out of here.”
Shane knew that the other man talked sense.
There’s no point in us being here
, he thought.
“I’m on your side, mate. It feels like we’ve become invisible,” he said, sympathising with the other man.
In a house about ten miles away sat a survivor of the caravan site massacre. The clock on the wall had moved its big hand to face south as the time reached 7.30am. Blake hadn’t slept a wink since escaping the virtual-reality style horror movie.
Dave was about to retire to his bed at around 1.00am the night before when the thudding started, and upon opening the door had found Blake looking so dishevelled that he hadn’t recognised his old buddy. Blake was covered from head to toe with dirt from the forest, mixed with the essence of petrol, reddened bloodstains and a peculiar, unpleasant odour that was usually found emitting from the bodies of the dead. “It’s me, Dave,” said Blake in a husky voice. He was leaning on the door frame, looking down at the ground as though he didn’t want to meet Dave’s eyes.
“Blake,” said Dave, peering at him, as though trying to see past the layers of filth. “Is that you? What’s happened?”
“Can I come in?” Blake began to sway, as though he was about to faint.
Dave grabbed onto his friend, rushed the tired man inside and sat him down. Once he’d done this, sat opposite him. He looked at the troubled wreckage of the man in front of him and wondered how to deal with him. He decided to let Blake speak first. He waited for ten minutes. Blake sat silently and seemed to be dazed, but little did Dave know, Blake’s thought had returned to the forest and until it returned to the here and now, Dave could do nothing to help him.
Finally, he decided to leave Blake to rest, as he needed to get some sleep. “Blake, mate. I’m off to bed, but I’ll leave you a blanket and a pillow at the bottom of the stairs.” He stood up, shaking his head. “Try getting some sleep.”
Dave walked past the quiet and confused body, but Blake never acknowledged the spoken words. His face remained stiff in appearance. The only signs of movement were the flickering of eyelids as the terror train came crashing into them. Dave spoke again, but wasn’t to know if the crumpled up figure would take it in.
“If you want to talk just let me know. Night...”
Nothing had changed from the time Dave went to bed to the time now. Blake was virtually in the same position as he watched the clock move the big hand another digit to 7.31am.
“Morning, do you fancy a cuppa?” Dave asked, as he entered the living room again.
His objective at this time was to remain as normal as possible. He didn’t want Blake to leave, not while he was in this state and not while he was capable of harming himself. Dave made his way into the kitchen, waiting to hear if he received the same silent treatment as before.
Blake stopped staring and whimpered, not heavy, like full on crying, but tears appeared all the same. In a way, Dave expected some kind of reaction from Blake.
Something had happened for him to be here, but why was he here?
Dave kept thinking to himself.
He had to try and open the conversation gate. He would have to listen, listen and believe, but that bit wasn’t as easy as it sounded. For the past six hours or more Blake had been thinking about his wife, his friends, the zombies, so Dave was in for some sad, sickening, and horrific stories if he continued to talk to him. How much Blake would let out was anyone’s guess at this time, but something, anything was a start.
The emotional man sat there with a clown like mould tattooed to his face. The leaking water formed thin streams as they slid over the filth from the forest.
Blake stared at Dave as he re-entered the living room. He was a mess, so whatever he was about to say might not come out the way he wanted. “My wife’s dead…” his shaking lips spluttered.
It was a good job Dave listened because the words rushed out of the tired man’s mouth. It was as if they’d been lying on the tip of Blake’s tongue over night and as soon as he opened his mouth had raced away at high speed. Dave’s jaw dropped from the shock and Blake hadn’t even begun the story yet. The listener produced no response, just total concentration. It was as if Dave waited for the punch line to arrive, but it wasn’t.
“I killed her.”
Now there was a reaction from the other man. Dave retreated back into the kitchen.
Blake wasn’t himself or he would never have done that
.
A sudden rush to the kettle and it was switched on. “Occupy yourself, do something,” Dave said to himself. He hoped to block out what Blake said and when he returned to
the living room would find out that the whole thing had been a joke. Blake wasn’t a mess and was playing a trick. He spoke again, but this time the tone quietened even more.
“Maybe this is one of those hidden camera shows…”
Dave rushed over to the window. If there were anybody trying to catch him out on camera then they were going to be discontented with the outcome. When he reached the glass there was nothing, no film crews, no massive microphones, nothing.
“There had to be another explanation, surely, there had to be?”
Stop talking to yourself and make the tea
, he thought.
Just a few, unfortunate, and un-guessed words from the
troubled man was enough to make this guy talk like a complete lunatic.
Blake was still uneasy when the other man returned with two cups of tea, but he still waited for an answer. Anything will do, a scream in anger, but Dave placed the cups onto the nearby coffee table and just sat in his chair. He quickly glanced at Blake and then asked: “Explain to me why you think you killed your wife?”Dave seemed still in control of his emotions, for now anyway, but that could soon change when the stressed man opened up. Blake wiped his eyes, but the words stalled now. “Blake, I’m your friend and will remain one until the day I die, so whatever you say will be in the strictest confidence…”
Shit, why did I mention death?
Dave thought.
He kicked himself for choosing the wrong words. He mightn’t be a friend of Blake’s for much longer if he kept on with this kind of vocabulary. “I’m really sorry for that last bit. I wasn’t taking the piss out of Karen.”
He placed his hands in front of his chest and prepared himself for a verbal attack, but Blake lifted his cheekbones and produced a tiny smile. He wasn’t angry with Dave.
“Karen tried to kill me.”
“Was it a domestic incident? Were you seeing someone else?” Dave babbled, as ridiculous reasons spilt out of him. “I’ve a phone number for a great lawyer if you need one. I used him when I was last in a spot of bother.”
Blake didn’t welcome the questions and this time reacted, not with violence, but with his voice tone. He snapped. It was enough evidence that Dave should now listen instead of making the situation worse. When all was calm again the truth was told. Blake explained what Karen had become and what he had to do, but Dave’s expression and likeness for his friend changed with every word.
“Come on, Dave. Don’t look at me like that. All I’m asking is for you to listen to me before you start hating me.”
Dave remained quiet, but did leave his seat so as to gain some extra distance between him and Blake before the story continued. He listened as Blake gave a frightening, torturous explanation of what’d happened to Karen and how he’d dealt with her. Dave was trying hard to follow Blake’s words and suddenly wished that he wasn’t the only one listening to the account. “You don’t have to tell me anything else. I can see it’s upsetting you.”
Maybe it was sinking in, maybe Dave believed his mate now, or maybe, the strange newsflash that appeared on his television last night swayed his thoughts. Either way, Blake was given the benefit of the doubt.
Dave needed to contact some helpers in order to break down the barriers which were still firmly up around Blake.
“How about I phone around a few of our old mates, see what they’re up to? We can go to that restaurant, the one we used to go to when we were younger. Yeah, it would be good to get out of here for a bit.”
Dave didn’t give Blake the chance to say yes or no. He made the decision for him, taking control for once.
He sat on the third step of the staircase to make a few calls. There were friends out there who’d arrive quickly if he told them that Blake was in town. He decided not to mention the troubled man’s state of mind.
Blake sipped his tea and tried thinking of recent good times to try and block out the awful images locked away in his head.
Dave put down the phone and gave Blake the good news. “I’m going to take you to Chinos. Tony and Gary will meet us there in half an hour. You need feeding, mate, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
Confusion and panic slowly entered Blake’s brain again as he tried coming to terms with seeing some of his old friends. “Did you tell them what I told you?” he barked.
“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. If you want to tell them then you do it.”
There appeared a hint of a smile on Blake’s face, but Dave wasn’t going to take him anywhere until he had a good shower and a change of clothes.
“Hey buddy, why don’t you pop up to the bathroom, get cleaned up while I find you some decent clobber to put on.”
“Decent isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe your clothes, mate.”
“Very funny...Maybe we’ll find the old Blake underneath all that dirt on your face,” Dave said with a laugh.
“Maybe,” Blake replied. He had a touch of uncertainty as he headed off to the bathroom.
If scrubbing the recent mess from his skin was going to be difficult then imagine how hard it was going to be for Dave to find clothes that would fit his old friend. A journey into the secret history of the wardrobe was needed now as Dave pulled back hangers in his search for the perfect item of clothing. Being of a larger build to Blake placed a damper on things so all the latest items wouldn’t be suitable, but he might find something for Blake amongst the older stuff. Maybe something from the past would be a better fit for him?