Garbage Man (28 page)

Mason considered the consequences of this. Right now it was probably possible to contain this invasion because it was a land-based advance. But how long would it be before some of the creatures caught a bird, one of the gulls from the landfill for example? Then they'd be able to go anywhere they wanted. They could let the wind spread them like seeds.

The pets of the neighbourhood, the ones that had been outside when the influx began, had not fared well. In several front gardens Mason saw dogs being assimilated a piece at a time or cats still hissing and clawing at the advancing menace. None of them would survive unless they had the sense to hide and even those, in the end, would be absorbed - their very cells re-educated.

He walked among them like a visitor to a zoo and it was only after almost an hour of watching and wandering that his situation fully dawned on him. They had no interest in him. He stopped then and observed in a different way. Did they not sense he was there? He tested the idea by getting in the path of one of the more embryonic ones, something that looked like a large black comma with a single eye. He stood in its way and when it came within a foot of him, it turned its eye upwards and then changed direction. To go around him. In case the thing was blind or it was a fluke, he placed himself in the way of a larger creature, one that had used a feline template and a box of car spares to shape itself. The thing clanked along on four shaky legs and had a tail of unravelling steel cable. When Mason stood in front of it, it paused, regarded him then turned and staggered away in the opposite direction.

That was all the proof he needed. They saw him and they left him be.

Why?

Heavens. Wasn't it obvious?

He shouted at the retreating cat creature.

‘You know me, don't you? It's told you to leave me alone.'

He'd been so ready to die that morning, so ready he'd have willingly lain down in the road and let them take him apart after he'd done what he came to do. It wasn't going to be like that, he now realised.

There was something to be done and he'd perhaps wasted too much time already. From all around came the sounds of a new mayhem. The cries and calls and snuffles of thousands of landfill creatures, no two of them the same. And over these cries, the howls of animals being dismembered and disembowelled one useful piece at a time and the screams of disbelieving people suffering the same end or fighting to avoid it. Sirens chittered and screeched from several directions, though there were no rescue vehicles in view. When he looked around, he saw the smoke from fires both accidental and deliberate.

Somewhere overhead but still out of view, he heard the distant thump of rotors cutting the morning air.

Despite his diminished weight, he felt no weakness. There was a lightness and resilience in his entire frame. If he was to be in time, he had to hurry and so he ran, dodging between the slower landfill creatures, jumping over the larger ones. There was still time to atone.

11 Bluebell Way was no less besieged than any of the houses around it. Landfill creatures blundered, some crippled by their choice of manifestation, others a little more agile, across the wrecked front lawn. They climbed over each other in their eagerness to get inside the house. The front door appeared secure - it was one with no glass but the downstairs windows were vulnerable and might last only minutes depending on the strength and numbers of creatures assailing the place.

He decided the best course of action was to try and get in from the rear of the house or at least make contact from there. There was a six-foot wrought iron gate on the walkway beside the house. It separated the back from the front and didn't appear to have been breached. In fact, none of the creatures seemed to have tried to gain access that way. Of course, there was always the possibility they knew something he didn't. He wasn't about to start underestimating them. He might not have understood their intelligence but that did not mean they didn't possess it.

He walked calmly past the Volvo in the driveway, beside the garage and down the block-paved walk. He lifted the latch on the gate and walked through, shutting it behind him. As he'd hoped, the back of the house was undisturbed. He paused for a few seconds to make certain of this before approaching the back door and trying the handle. It was locked, which he took to be a good sign.

Standing back from the door he cupped his hand around his mouth to direct his voice and called quietly to the upper windows.

‘Mr. Smithfield? Mrs. Smithfield? Are you up there? If anyone can hear me, come to the window.'

He waited for only a few seconds. Three faces appeared at a rear upstairs window; father, mother and daughter - the incomplete family. Aggie acted as though she didn't know him. She looked gaunt, aged and frightened. He felt a rush of shame but stayed where he was. At first the parents looked hopeful, relieved to see someone had come for them. Then the obvious got through to them: he was no policeman, no soldier. He wasn't even armed. They saw a skinny man in a suit too big for him. A gaunt man with too much hair on his face to suit the times and enough fresh cuts to make him look like he'd walked away from a traffic accident. Or a fight. But still they must have hoped, in spite of this, that he could help them. He was, if nothing else, a friend when all about were enemies.

The window opened and Mr. Smithfield leaned out.

‘Who are you?'

‘I'm here to get you away. You can hide here for a while, but they'll break in soon enough. If you want to be safe you should come with me.'

The man looked doubtful.

‘Why aren't you helping anyone else? How do I know you're not here to rob us or worse?'

‘You don't know that and I can't prove it. But what could be worse than what's happening already. Believe me, I want to help you.'

‘What's your name?'

‘My name is Mason Brand. I . . . I knew your son.'

He wasn't sure if he should have told them that. Equally, he didn't believe they'd have come with him if he hadn't mentioned it. In time he'd know if the risk was worth it.

The wife pushed her husband out of the way and leaned through the window.

‘Did you say you knew Donald? How?'

‘Please, Mrs. Smithfield, there isn't very much time. If you want to survive this, if you want your daughter to be safe, you must all come with me and you must come now. Otherwise I cannot guarantee that any of you will live to see another sunrise.'

***

Kevin had never imagined that he would end up using his sports car as some kind of battering ram but as they drove through the changed streets of Shreve he realised he had no choice. The trick was to knock the landfill creatures out of the way without letting them get under the wheels. He'd already seen the damage they could do to tyres. But the streets were crowded with the things and sometimes they were unavoidable.

He'd never taken the car to a circuit, though he'd always told himself he would. Now he was driving the equivalent of a high speed cone test through the town's streets. There were other obstacles to avoid too; wounded people he had no chance of assisting, stopped or overturned cars - some of them on fire, goods spilled from the back of half unloaded vans. The various emergency vehicles and personnel he passed were too busy attempting to stay alive to bother to try and slow him down. To them he was just another terrified driver about to wipe himself out through sheer panic.

But Kevin wasn't panicking.

He had set a goal - two goals, actually - both of which would be fulfilled by his arrival back at the college. There, inside the building and removed to the highest floor, Tamsin would be safe and he would have done his duty to her. There, too, he would be reunited with Jenny and, live or die, they would be together. That was all he cared about. It was, therefore, not a time for panic but a time for focus and determination.

He swiped the car across into the empty oncoming lane, clipping one of the largest landfill creatures he'd seen yet. It was the size of a motorbike and seemed to incorporate motorcycle parts, but strange legs propelled it along on its two wheels instead of a motor. He hit it with the passenger side of the BMW, denting the door badly and making Tammy scream. Her window cracked but did not shatter and the creature was thrown onto its side. He straightened the car up and in the rear-view mirror saw it leaking a wash of dark fluid onto the tarmac. It was still.

The split second glance up had taken his eye off the road and he didn't even see what he hit next. He felt it pass under the wheels and chassis on his side.

Tammy screamed again.

‘What was it? Did you see?'

Tammy had her hands over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

‘Tammy, what did we hit?'

She shook her head, all the while staring through the windscreen; staring into some place he couldn't see, a place that likely wasn't there.

He reached over and took one of her wrists, squeezing it hard enough to bend the bones. She looked at him wide eyed.

‘I need to know what went under the car, Tamsin.'

‘I . . . I don't know what it was.' It was becoming obvious, though.

The Z3's handling had softened and the car was pulling to the right.

‘Shit,' he whispered.

He could see Shreve Tertiary College partially obscured by trees and houses and probably less than half a mile away. He no longer knew if he would make it. Though he tried to contain it, panic broke the surface and wouldn't go back down. His face prickled, irritated by a sudden heat. Beside him Tammy was rocking in the car seat like a bomb blast survivor and repeating a strange, low moan over and over through chattering teeth.

Christ, just let me hold it together a little longer.

20

With the front door hanging off and open, other landfill creatures were attracted to the scene.

Ray couldn't help wondering what sense they were using; how did they know where to come to? Was it smell or some kind of perception people didn't have, some kind of intuition?

He and Delilah knocked on the door of the downstairs bedsit - the one that had to lead into the back ‘garden'.

‘Quick, Ray, they're coming. Loads of them.'

‘If anyone's in there, for God's sake let us in,' Ray shouted. Then he hammered. ‘Here, D, you'll have to help me break it in.'

They shoulder-barged the door together and it was tougher than they'd expected. Ray jarred himself painfully and had to turn and use his other shoulder. The lock gave on the fifth attempt and they staggered into the bedsit. A skinny lad with bad acne stood holding out a steak knife in both hands. His whole body was trembling.

‘Get out. This is my place. I'm hiding here. You can't come in.'

The kid saw Ray's katana and backed up a little.

‘If you'd opened the door for us, you'd still have a hiding place. As it is, you've got fuck all.' Ray looked past the shaky kid's shoulder. ‘That door unlocked, is it?'

‘Leave it alone.'

‘Didn't think so.'

Holding the katana towards the boy's face, Ray let Delilah pass behind him to open the downstairs back door.

‘Don't open that,' said the kid. ‘It's not safe.'

‘Looks clear at the moment,' said Delilah. Ray backed towards her.

‘Sorry about your door, mate,' he said. ‘Needs must and all that. If you want my advice, it's this room that's not safe. You're better off getting higher up - somewhere they can't reach. Good luck.'

In the tiny outdoor back space, Delilah had already clambered onto a rusting, disused washing machine and pulled herself up onto the wall dividing the back garden from the next property. Ray handed up the katana and followed. From there they balanced along to the rear wall. Beyond it was an alley separating them from the back gardens and houses on the other side. None of the landfill creatures appeared to have found their way into the narrow alley yet but it would become a trap if they did. Ray decided to play it safe.

‘Let's stay up here for as long as we can. Don't want to be in a position we can't climb out of, do we?'

Delilah shook her head. She was already working out a way up onto the roof of a house a few properties along. From there they'd be able to assess their next move.

The kid appeared in the garden behind them. He was backing away from something and calling over his shoulder.

‘Hey, where are you going?'

‘Away from here,' called Ray.

‘I . . . I want to come with you.'

‘I thought you wanted to stay there.'

‘I've changed my mind.' Ray looked at Delilah.

‘Can't stop him, can we?' he murmured.

‘If he can't keep up, we're not waiting for him,' she said. The kid was already up on the washing machine

‘No, I suppose not. Hey, you, whatever your name is, make sure you kick that washing machine a long way from the wall after you climb up.'

‘It's Jimmy.'

‘I didn't ask for an introduction. Just do it.'

In the back garden, several small landfill creatures had appeared, each waving their various forms of sensory equipment around to get a lock on their prey. Jimmy kicked the washing machine but all it did was fall on its side not far from the wall.

‘Fuck,' said Ray. ‘Let's get moving.'

He and Delilah were agile along the wall running beside the alley. They came to the house they liked the look of and glanced back. Jimmy was wobbling along the wall like a drunk on a high wire. He'd only come a few yards. Ray looked disgusted.

‘We should have said no to him.'

‘Too late now.'

The house they'd reached had a stepped wall leading up to within a metre of the roof. From there they'd be able to climb to the apex for a better view. Ray was going to offer to go first but Delilah was already nearing the top of the ‘steps'. She took hold of the guttering and used it to pull herself up.