Fragmented Evil Page 10

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’

  Chapter 6

  Donning a pair of thick rubber gloves and collecting the testing bag from the back of the 4 x 4, John first checked out the barren fields. There was no need for fencing in this remote area, so he just stepped straight off the road and walked into the field. The soil was even dryer than it had originally looked and crumbled under his weight.

  After a dozen paces, he stopped and kicked a shallow indentation into the soil with the back of his heel. He bent down to examine the earth, moving it around gently with his gloved hand. He stood up and repeated the operation until there were approximately ten shallow pits around him leaving the area resembling a minefield. At the last indentation, he collected a handful of dirt and placed it into a sterile evidence bag, marking the date, time and location.

  John made his way slowly towards the crops where he gathered a small collection of dead roots and leaves for further examination later on. As he exited the field, he concluded that whatever had killed the crops had also killed off any life in the soil below.

  Walking straight past the 4 x 4, John made his way to the water’s edge to take a closer look at the luminescent foam. It was frothing away, constantly growing bigger as the water lapped at his feet. Bending down, he was immediately overcome with a stinging sensation to his eyes and his first breath burnt at the back of his throat.

  Scrambling up, John raced back to the 4 x 4 and lifted out a five-gallon drum of fresh water which he hoisted above his body, pouring the contents over his head, desperately trying to wash away the toxic substance. Soon the irritation eased, and John stood, saturated, drawing deep breaths of fresh air into his potentially scarred lungs.

  Cursing himself for his stupidly, John stripped off and donned his hazmat suit and breathing apparatus before tentatively walking back to the water. He waited until he was completely satisfied that nothing had penetrated his suit, before he eventually bent down to take his samples as quickly as possible. He observed large numbers of fish floating on their backs, their greying scales flaking away into the water.

  Satisfied that he had collected everything that he needed, John was just about to head back to the 4 x 4 when he detected, just ahead of him, a slight bend in the lake that he had previously not seen. As he got closer, a small cove appeared and built just back from the water’s edge was what looked like an old wooden fishing hut.

  He checked his watch, worried that time was running out, but thought the sighting warranted a closer inspection considering it was the first sign of human existence he had come across in hours. As he got closer, a small black mongrel dog rose from the bottom of the steps leading to the hut where it had been sleeping. It sniffed at the air and stepped forwards, dragging its back legs painfully behind. As it came within touching distance, John could see that the dog's fur was partially bald, open sections of fur had been scratched away leaving open and bloody sores. The animal was clearly in distress, but like any dog, its tail still wagged excitedly. John bent forwards to stroke the dog, not wanting it to turn on him for any reason. His outstretched hand was barely inches from the dog’s body when it let out a deep and lingering wail. Before John could react, blood erupted from the dog’s anus and it collapsed to the floor. In seconds it lay unbreathing, its tongue hanging limp from his mouth.

  John was sickened and waivered outside the fishing hut, unsure of what to do next. Part of him screamed out to just to drop everything and leg it back to the car, save himself and go back to his life in Paris where he could once again be a nobody, where no one would bother him again. At the same time the other part of him, the part that wanted him to love life again, pushed him towards opening the door in the faint hope that it could shine some light into Claire’s mysterious disappearance.

  Deep down John knew he only had the one option. The rotten beams creaked as he made his way up the steps. He stood outside the door and counted to five before pushing it. It opened with a groan. John could see an abundance of dead fish lying on a table where they had been waiting to be gutted. He took a step further and froze.

  Sat slumped in a rickety old chair was an old man, clearly a fisherman. His head was thrust back and his body was arched post spasm. Dried blood was evident on his face from where it had leaked from every orifice, and maggots feasted on his open eyes.

  Chapter 7

  After stepping outside to regain his composure, John opened up his medical kit and took a blood sample from the blue-tinged corpse, struggling to pierce the hardened skin. Exiting the hut as quickly as possible, he made his way back to the 4 x 4 where he frantically looked for his satellite phone.

  He punched in the number that he had been supplied. The call was answered on the second ring by Dr Cameron Wright who was eager for an update.

  ‘What you got for me, John? Have you located Dr Reay yet?’

  John had to force himself to slow down, knowing he had so much he needed to tell.

  He replied, ‘Not yet, but it’s not good down here.’

  Dr Cameron Wright, who had his own superiors who were currently milling around his desk waiting for snippets of something positive to answer to, pushed on with the conversation. John gave a quick report into everything that he had discovered once he had passed through the woods.

  ‘What’s your initial thoughts? How do you call it?’

  ‘It’s worrying me. I’m not certain yet. It’s definitely chemical-related, but I have a nagging feeling that there is something else afoot, something I’m missing.’

  John paused, wondering how his superiors would act once he revealed his suspicions. If he was wrong, then he would be finished, and thousands, if not millions of pounds would be wasted in the coming days. However, if he was right, then people were going to die. Lots of people.

  ‘Go on,’

  ‘I think we may have a new virus outbreak here at the same time, running parallel to the toxic issue.’

  ‘Highly unlikely, don’t you think, John? What are you basing that on?’

  Already feeling foolish, John continued.

  ‘Chemical spillages kill off the wildlife for sure, but not in a few days. It normally takes time for the chemicals to fully integrate into the ecosystem. This is quick. Its torn through the landscape and killed everything in a matter of days, reducing crops to zero. But what worries me, is the fact that it is killing animals and humans with no selection, no incubation period, nothing. Whoever or whatever it comes into contact with succumbs and perishes, it’s as simple as that.’

  The line went silent. John assumed the call had been muted while Dr Cameron Wright spoke to the bigwigs in the room. After nearly five minutes, when John was wondering if the call had actually been terminated, his boss came back online, agitation clear in his tone.

  ‘We are concerned your assumptions are based on one dead dog and an old fisherman. I’m sorry, John, but we need further information. We don’t want to jump into anything wholeheartedly until we are in possession of all the facts.’

  John could feel his foot tapping away on the ground, a sure sign of annoyance. With gritted teeth, he listened on as his pompous boss delivered his instructions, revelling in his role of superior as his own bosses listened in.

  John remained silent throughout the rest of the conversation as Dr Cameron Wright instructed him to travel deeper into the territory in an attempt to locate the source, take as many samples as he could and do everything in his power to locate Dr Reay.

  Following this instruction, John simply muttered ‘OK’ and ended the call.

  He leant back against the 4 x 4, staring out over the lake, going over the task in hand. A pair of swallows came into view. He watched as they silently flew over the surface of the lake, each skimming a billful of water. They lifted, only wanting a tiny drink to quench their thirst. Suddenly, they froze in mid-air for a split second, before they violently crashed back into the still water, vanishing instantly under the surface, failing to reappear.


  Watching the macabre scene unfold before him, John concluded that it was time for him to get a move on.

  Chapter 8

  His drive around the lake took him past several villages where he encountered the same devastating results. Many of the villages were tiny, consisting of no more than four or five small, impoverished homes. It was easy to see that death had recently passed through; the streets were bare, with no signs of life, the occasional villager who had made it out into the open lay bloated, dead on the streets.

  John was still wearing his full protection suit and felt claustrophobic in the confines of the 4 x 4. He knew he should pull over and see if he could assist any of the surviving citizens, but with the more pressing matter at hand of locating Claire alive, he convinced himself that it was too late for them and pushed the images from his mind. Things didn’t improve after he passed through the villages and entered the countryside. Here, once again, he was greeted with the sight of dead cows blanketing the fields with their legs pointing up towards the skies. This went on for mile after mile until John felt emotionally drained. He didn’t know if he had the strength to carry on.

  As he slowed down in gears to enter yet another village, he thought his heart was going to explode as he saw another 4 x 4, identical to his own, parked outside an inn. It could only belong to Claire and her team.

  Exhausted, he stopped the 4 x 4, let his head drop forwards onto the steering wheel and allowed himself a few moments to allow the tears to flow. Taking a deep breath, he exited, unsure of what was awaiting him ahead.

  Flinging open the door, he stepped inside. A rickety flight of stairs was in front of him and to the right was what looked like a small restaurant where a lone diner sat slumped, his head immersed in a bowl of soup.

  He clumped up the stairs two at a time and encountered a small corridor with three doors either side. He burst into the first one and was disappointed to find it empty. Bracing himself, he opened the second. Inside were two single beds. The curtains were still closed and the room was darkened. He detected shapes under the blankets. He stepped forwards and hesitantly pulled the blankets back to reveal the other members of Claire’s team, stiffened with rigor mortis, displaying signs of external haemorrhaging. He covered their heads and left the room, pulling the door softly shut behind him.

  He opened the third door and raced inside, expecting the worst but pulled up short, shocked to discover the bed empty and unmade. He frantically searched the inn from top to bottom without success. He had no idea where Claire was or, even more importantly, if she was still alive.

  Outside he sank to his knees. A black hand tightened around his heart and he cried out in despair. From his position, he looked up through his visor and made out a lone figure slumped on a bench, looking out onto the lake.

  John felt surreal as he paced towards the bench, totally focused on the body, who as he got closer, he could see was lying lengthways. With every step he took, he prayed that it was Claire and that she was still alive.

  He stood before the bench and exhaled deeply. It was Claire. She looked in a bad way, but he could tell from the gentle rise and fall of her chest that she was still breathing. He sat down next to her and gave her a quick once over. Her vital signs were not great and he had no way of knowing how long she could survive.

  As she slept, he looked out, surprised to see that they were at the edge of the lake. He cast his eyes further afield and straightened up, confused. Moving away from the lake, the area was clearly unaffected, and the contrast in colour was a pleasure to see.

  He felt Claire move, and he turned around just as she opened her eyes, blinking in the sunlight.

  ‘Who's there? Who are you?’

  ‘It’s me, Claire. It’s John,’ he replied, his voice muffled through his visor.

  Claire’s body shook as she began to cry.

  ‘I knew if anybody came that it would be you. I’m so afraid, John.’

  John started to unclasp his visor but Claire called out.

  ‘No, John, keep it on. Don’t take it off.’

  He ignored her. Yanking it free, he threw it to the ground in front of them.

  He smiled at her and bent in close, cupping her face in his hands.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, my darling. I’m here with you.’

  She smiled. Closing her eyes she whispered, ‘You’re my rock, John,’ and fell back to sleep.

  John watched over her for a few minutes to ensure she was fine. He stood up and stripped off his hazmat suit, pleased to feel the fresh air against his body. Pulling out the satellite phone, he again called Dr Cameron Wright.

  ‘Please tell me you have found them, John,’ asked his boss the moment he answered the call.

  ‘I’ve found Claire; the rest of the team are dead.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Not good. I don’t think she has much longer left.’

  ‘I’m sorry, John.’

  Ignoring the worthless pity, John went on to explain his findings, to enlightened his superior about his recent discovery at the end of the lake. Once more, irritatingly, John was asked to hold the line while Dr Cameron Wright conferred with his superiors.

  This time, when Dr Cameron Wright came back on the line, his voice was laden with respect.

  ‘We all agree, now that you have confirmed the outbreak starts and ends in the vicinity of the lake, that we need to think about containment. We can’t allow this to spread any further.’

  There was another pause as Dr Cameron Wright selected his next words carefully.

  ‘John, the top brass have just given the green light to blitz the place. They are mobilising jets as we speak. They are going to use tactical bombs. John, you know what these can do! I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave Claire and try and reach the safe zone as quickly as you can.

  ‘John, did you hear that’

  ‘John, are you still there?’

  ‘Fuck you!’ growled John and tossed the phone far out into the lake.

  Chapter 9

  John spotted the jets far away on the horizon, minuscule dots, strung out in attack formation. As they neared, he gently tilted Claire’s tired head back and gazed down at her ravished, exhausted and defeated face. He saw only her natural beauty and his heart warmed. Eyes brimming with tears, John whispered softly into her ear.

  ‘I love you.’

  Seconds later the planes zoomed overhead, contrails visible in their jetstream. The soundwaves reverberated through the air and wildly shook the trees. As they deposit their load, the bombs falling from the sky like eggs from a basket, John lovingly hugged Claire tighter and placed a lingering kiss on the top of her head.

  One last kiss before everything disappeared.

  Epilogue

  As dusk started to fall, a lone fruit bat sat perched on a branch, high up within the thick woodland that encased the hillside, monitoring the scene below. The air was beginning to cool. The bat tightly wrapped its long wings around its body to conserve body heat. Below everything looked calm, but the wise bat knew that the landscape had changed and that it would take a long time to recover from the aftermath of the destruction. The bat had felt the shockwave from the blast and heat from the all-consuming inferno from where it had silently rested, observing everything.

  Full to bursting, the fruit bat rolled its tongue back inside its mouth, internally tucking it away around his ribcage.

  After a few more moments spent observing and sniffing the lingering air, the bat emitted a high-pitched echolocation which reverberated through its nose and rose from the tree, where it was instantly joined by the remainder of his colony. In thousands, they drew in close, forming a magnificent, dense cloud in the clear evening sky.

  As one, they set off.

  Searching for their next location to thrive.

  Their next harvest.

  The End

  The Haunting of Back Beck House

  What hath night to do with sleep?


  John Milton, 1667.

  Chapter 1

  Even with the windscreen wipers set at full, they struggled to cope with the deluge of rain that had suddenly appeared from out of nowhere.

  Sat hunched in the driver’s seat, squinting through the windscreen, Chris Allen cursed. He was lost, nervous and afraid.

  His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly as he manoeuvred in low gears through the country lanes of remote Northumberland. Each road and turn looked identical to the last. He had never experienced such vastness and total isolation from the real world.

  The rain picked up, and Chris prayed that he would not encounter any oncoming traffic; the roads were barely wide enough for one car alone, hemmed in tightly by mile upon mile of stone wall. In his tinny Renault Clio, he knew who would come off worse in a collision. His French-built car would be no match for a wall dating back centuries, which had witnessed many a bloody battle and had been exposed to the most extreme conditions known to man. The walls still stood strong, looking as though they had only been constructed the day before.

  It had been at least thirty years since he had ventured this far north, having moved to London once his university studies had been completed. He visited Newcastle regularly, staying with his parents, and that was how he had kept in touch with his ageing grandma who was often a visitor to their home.

  He felt a tear on his cheek at the thought of his grandma. He loved her dearly; she had been a big part of his life when he had been growing up. He had often stayed at her bungalow and was more than content to allow her to pamper him with an ample supply of sweeties and crisps. Staying up well after his normal bedtime to watch trashy TV together well into the early morning had been the icing on the cake for him.

  He had not seen her since her stroke, ashamedly using the old ‘I’m too busy at work,’ excuse to stay away. He had promised himself he would visit, but for one reason or another, he kept putting it back. There was always next week, he would tell himself.