The Dead Spore Collection, page 68
She tried to cringe away when Billy placed one of his large hands on her thigh. “I’m guessing that you’ve forgotten what it was like to normal.”
Her eyes darted over to those wide open doors. The prospect of freedom must be so tantalisingly close for the poor girl, she must even be able to taste it. He squeezed her thigh tight. She groaned behind her gag.
“You only have to tell me where Alison has gone. That’s all you need to do. Just a few harmless words and that’ll be it; you can be on your way.” He pulled out a small plastic bag from his pocket and placed it on the bench beside him. Her eyes immediately shifted down to it. He decided not to inform her that the contents were just washing powder. “I’ll even give you a gift for being so cooperative.” He released his grip on the leg and then removed the gag. “Do we have a deal, Maggie?”
The girl slowly shook her head, “No way,” she whispered. “I ain’t betraying Alison. She’s well out of it and good, too.”
He had expected a little resistance, hence, the carrot on the stick prop, but this was ridiculous. Billy sighed, and he untied the knot in the bag and emptied the contents out of the rear of his van. It pleased him to hear the little bitch let out a tiny moan. “Craig, bring in our guest.”
Billy jumped out and stood to one side while the minders brought the struggling corpse up to the van’s rear. He carefully removed the bag from around her neck. “Maggie, this is your last chance. Tell me where she’s gone right now, or I’ll put this monster in the back of the van with you.”
The girl shuffled back, mumbling and groaning, her raw fear was there, visible for all to see, and yet she still shook her head.
“Move that thing away,” he ordered. Billy jumped into the back, grabbed Maggie’s wrist, and dragged the girl out into the open. She tried to get away, seemingly forgetting that she was still trussed up like an oven ready chicken. He moved back a few steps and drew his own pistol. “Okay boys, throw that thing at the bitch.”
“Okay, I’ll tell, I’ll tell! She’s gone back home to where she was born.”
Billy nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Maggie, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He pointed his pistol at the dead girl. Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off the trigger. “Oh, wait on. Where exactly was she born?”
The girl shook her head, tears streamed down her filthy cheeks. “I’ve no idea,” she whispered. “Alison never told me.”
“Let it go.”
The minders released her arms and jumped back. The dead girl took no notice of her previous captors and lunged for the girl on the ground. Maggie shrieked in agony when it bit into her outstretched arm. Billy heard the collective moaning of a dozen more of the dead slowly walking towards the van. Maggie’s screams must have attracted their attention.
“Get in the van, it’s time to finish this.”
“But she didn’t tell you where the girl was born.”
Billy shrugged. “I already had that information; I just needed confirmation before I went on a wild goose chase.
Chapter Eleven
It must have cost an absolute fortune. Somehow she doubted that his family would have coughed up the cash either. Oh no, the caring community would have bought this for the deceiving, evil son of a bitch.
“The village won’t be the same without him.” Alison choked back a bitter sob as she carefully re-read the inscription cut into the stone. “Karl Hudson will be sadly missed by all who knew him.” She wanted to scream out at the top of her lungs. Alison saw all her imagined acts of retribution flushing down the sewer because of one careless driver not looking where they were going.
“Those idiots wouldn’t miss the bastard if they knew what he’d really been like.”
Alison sincerely hoped the teacher had not been killed outright. She wanted him to suffer, to lie there all alone in the middle of the road, staining the tarmac crimson, his body broken like a smashed doll and suffering an unendurable agonizing death.
She spat on the gravestone and watched her phlegm slide down the black marble, leaving a green slime trail. “You’re going to burn for eternity for what you did to me, you evil cunt,” she spat. She dropped to her knees, unable to contain her torrent of emotions from sweeping through her. Alison stayed in that position for what seemed like hours. The sudden noise of the huge cemetery gates being pushed open filtered through her misery, and she raised her head, aware that she was no longer alone. Her desire to remain inconspicuous overrode her need to unleash the bottled in emotions. Alison wiped her eyes and watched the figure slowly walk along the leaf covered gravel path. For the moment, Alison saw it was safe to stare; the woman had her eyes trained at her feet. In her hands was a small bunch of pink roses.
Something about the colour of the flowers and that woman seemed to trigger a memory from her childhood. The other woman suddenly stopped beside an old tree and placed the flowers down next to a grey gravestone.
Alison slowly got off the floor, silently cursing at her now soaking wet coat. It took her a moment of searching through her seldom used memories to discover why the scene before her was familiar. She looked again; yes, the hair colour had changed and she obviously had grown older, but there was no doubt in Alison’s mind that she was staring at the girl whom she was due to meet on the night the teacher violated her. The girl was her old friend, Trisha.
She was here to pay her respects to her grandmother. Alison remembered accompanying her friend here just the once. They couldn’t have been any older than ten. Alison had stayed by the gate while her friend laid the flowers that Trisha’s mother had cut from their garden. There was no way that she’d come in here, the place gave her the creeps.
Despite her previous plan on not interacting with anyone in the village until she’d dealt with her past, she just couldn’t allow herself to ignore Trisha. She felt the tears return.
“I don’t think I can do this alone,” she whispered. Alison brushed herself down and stepped away from the gravestone, intending to call out her name, when another figure opened the gates. Alison gasped when she saw who was there.
“This can’t be a coincidence,” she said, stepping back and slowly bobbing down. The man from the train had just entered the graveyard. She turned and sat against the granite. She’d been on the streets far too long to believe that coincidences just didn’t exist. The chances of him following her were far too high for Alison to ignore.
“He must be working for Glen’s friends.” She looked back, watching him slowly walk past the stones; he appeared to be reading them as if looking for a particular grave. “More likely he’ll be looking for me.”
He passed Trisha, and they both politely nodded to each other then he looked at his watch, spun around, and rushed out through the gates. Alison didn’t waste any time, she had to know what he was up to. She got up and hurried through the graveyards towards the gate; she glanced around just the once and saw Trisha stood by her grandmother’s stone. Trisha’s eyes were shut. Alison sighed, promising herself that she’d try to locate her sometime today. Alison definitely needed allies now. The game board had just acquired another player.
The man was heading up a steep street at a fair rate of knots. She had no idea what had got into him, he appeared to be almost panicking, and acting like someone who thought his house was on fire.
He suddenly stopped outside a red-brick detached house, opened the gate, and ran up the garden path before pushing open the front door and disappearing. Alison leaned against the stone wall beside her and sighed. She realised that she’d made a mistake; the man must live here in the village. He had probably just come back from visiting someone, or judging by the look of him, been on a business trip.
Alison turned round and headed back to the cemetery, hoping that Trisha was still there. She smiled to herself.
“You really are a silly paranoid cow.”
Looking back, it was obvious that he couldn’t have been part of that gang; he looked about as dangerous as a toothless hamster. Even so, his behaviour did seem a little weird. Then again, what did she expect from someone who lived in Seeton?
Alison reached the gates, and her heart was racing, getting excited about meeting her old friend for the first time in ages. She hoped that Trisha would forgive her for vanishing into thin air, Alison was sure that she’d understand when she explained her reasons. Alison then stopped dead.
“Oh. Jesus, what if she doesn’t believe me?”
Alison turned around, watching a red transit van turn the corner before stopping outside the butcher’s shop. She’d already had this conversation with herself many times in the past; the fear of nobody believing her story was another reason why she’d left the village.
“Come on, you silly bitch, get a grip on yourself.”
She turned back around and slipped through the open gates, Alison looked towards where her friend had been, only to find that she was no longer there. She hurried along the path and stopped at the grave and gazed down, not understanding how she could have left here without Alison seeing her, and then Alison noticed something shiny and black laying on top of a pile of freshly dug earth. She padded over to investigate and found that it was a single high heeled shoe.
This had to have belonged to Trisha; she felt inside and found that it was still warm. Could she have really left here hopping? Alison looked at the mound of wet soil; it was almost as if she’d burrowed her way out.
“Either that or something had dug their way out and snatched her.” Alison laughed at the ridiculous idea.
“Get a grip, lass. Like that’s going to happen.
Chapter Twelve
He leaned back on his chair and stared at the front door, and he was sure there was somebody out there. The dog hadn’t moved, so maybe he had imagined it. Then again, Gruff’s reaction was hardly a good indicator anymore. He was about to call out when George heard the sound of a key scraping the inside of the lock.
They had gone their separate ways earlier on; she had a few errands to run for her elderly neighbour and George needed to visit the pet store. As their destinations were on the opposite sides of Seeton, it seemed faster to accomplish their tasks separately and meet up here.
It sounded like his good lady friend was back from her brief shopping trip. He’d forgotten that he had given her the spare key; a bit silly really considering that Dean was in the house and he told them that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’m still used to having the house by myself.”
He still found it bloody hard to wrap his head around the fact that his son had come back. George absently patted Gruff when the dog placed his head on George’s lap.
“There’s no point you trying to soft-soap me now. It’s way too late for that. I still haven’t forgiven you for sucking up to Anne.”
He tickled the dog behind his ear, He was so glad that he had, though. God knows what he’d have done if Gruff had gone for the woman.
“I always thought you were a one dog, one owner type of animal. Come to think of it, you weren’t all that keen on Dean when he used to live here.”
George looked into the dog’s big brown eyes, “I think you must be getting soft in your old age. I bet you allowed him to rub your belly as well.”
That lock was giving that poor woman so much trouble; he could hear her cursing from the kitchen. That was pretty funny. He vividly recalled her patronising lecture while they were walking into the village. It appears that her being at one with nature and discovering her inner peace had suddenly gone right out of the window.
“The door’s already unlocked!” he shouted, grinning.
She’d tried to explain a few more of her cranky ideas during their lunch at the Rose and Crown. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but his mind kept alternating between needing to hold her large breasts and moving that weed killer that he’d placed under the sink.
Going to the pub for food had been his idea.
Despite her assurances that her meat free recipes were just as tasty as anything made with dead animal, George was not convinced. He couldn’t shake the thought of her placing that plate in front of him and he looking down and seeing something that belonged at the bottom of a budgie’s cage.
George had real difficulty in containing his joy when they discovered the door to Seeton’s only heath food shop shut and bolted. He suspected that the woman’s karma developed stress lines around about that time.
His thoughts of just how broken her karma was now evaporated when she opened the door. George looked into her tear-filled eyes and knew something serious had happened. He threw back the chair and ran up to the woman, throwing his arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Anne, I’m here for you.”
The woman slowly nodded then gently pulled her head back; George bent his head and kissed her tears away.
For that second, she calmed, then her face cracked, and when she spoke, her voice was so soft he barely heard it. “You need to turn the TV on.” She drew in deep shuddering breath. “It came over the radio whilst I was in the bakers talking to Mrs. Lyndhurst. It’s spreading. They now say the infection has reached Birmingham.”
George led her into the living room and sat her down on the sofa. He passed her a box of tissues before grabbing the TV remote control from the coffee table.
“That’s where my Glen moved to after he finished university.”
He nodded and sat next to her. He remembered her boy well; even as a kid, he was trouble. The kid was a complete slime-ball; Glen seemed to have a thing for sneaking into the girl’s changing rooms. She may have thought that the world shone out of his arse, but he knew better, and he doubted that he’d have changed in the intervening years.
“I’ve tried ringing him, but I just can’t get through. I keep getting this recorded message, asking me to try later. Oh, George, I’m so worried.”
He gently squeezed her hand before turning on the TV, “Try not to worry, sweetheart. I’m sure it’s not as bad as they make it out. You know what these news reporters are like. The beggars thrive on bad news; they always blow every disaster out of all proportion.”
She nodded and blew her nose. “I’m sure you’re right.”
They both watched a blank faced female news-reporter reading out a comment from the prime minister regarding the recent scandal involving a senior cabinet minister and another MP’s wife.
“I’m sure I read that in the Daily Mail last week,” murmured George.
The news-reporter continued with a bulletin about a car bomb failing to explode near a Scottish railway station. The programme carried on for another ten minutes without mentioning the incident in London. Before the business news started, the woman finished off with an account of a minor oil spill just off the coast of Greenland.
“There you go,” announced, George. “I said there was nothing to worry about. It couldn’t have been as bad as they made it out to be this afternoon if it didn’t even make the evening headline.”
She just looked at him, her face unreadable. “George, come on. Are you telling me that none of that rang any alarm bells?”
He shook his head, “No, why should it?”
She sighed. “Come on, man, you said it yourself. That affair incident happened last week. We’ve just watched a repeat of very old news. Come on, turn it over.”
George changed the channel the BBC news. Anne’s voice shredded through his self-denial, leaving him feeling very confused and scared. He had read that article in the paper; he also remembered hearing about that car bomb. Who had heard of them repeating a news programme from last week—unless they were trying to cover something up.
As he pressed the button on the remote, they were greeted with a light blue screen with the words ‘Normal service will begin shortly.’ George shook his head and switched to another channel, which displayed the same message. He looked into Anne’s fear filled eyes whilst cycling through all the channels and finding the exact blue background.
“This is getting scary,” she whispered.
They both jumped as a male voice barked out a stream of words in a foreign language before silence cut the voice off when George pressed the channel button.
“Turn it back!” she shouted.
A satellite image of an unknown city filled the screen.
“Where is that?”
George shrugged, “It could be anywhere. Judging by the Arabic writing running along the bottom of the picture, I’m guessing it’s somewhere in the middle-east. Do you want me to find an English channel?”
She shook her head, “No, wait.”
The picture slowly zoomed in. George couldn’t understand the announcer’s language, but it was obvious that the fellow was either exited or just plain terrified.
“Oh, fuck,” said Anne. The picture stopped at second floor building height. They both watched in horror as a group of people all attired in nightwear caught an old woman who’d been trying to open a door to a department store. Every one of them tore into the pensioner. Anna thrust her head into George’s chest and sobbed out loud when fountain of blood streamed through a gap in that crowd.
The foreign announcer was cut off in mid-sentence and another blue screen replaced the carnage.
“Are you alright?”
She shook her head, “No. That city was Birmingham. That poor woman died a few streets away the Bull Ring shopping centre.” She looked up. “I recognised the street.”
George turned the TV off and gently picked her off the sofa. “Come on now, Anne. Calm yourself down. Look, I’ll see if Dean had a mobile phone; even if he hasn’t, the lad may know another way of finding out what’s happening.”
He left her in the living room and padded into the hallway. “He’s a very bright boy, I’m sure he’ll be able to help you out.”
As he reached the stairs, George saw Dean standing at the top, and the lad jumped when he saw his father looking up at him.
“I thought I heard somebody come in,” he said.
“Have you got a minute, Dean?”
