Biting Back (Book 1): Four Women of the Apocalypse Page 7

  She walked for what seemed like miles, and, feeling the odd creepy crawly on her, caused her to look like she was auditioning for a Michael Jackson dance move video, and her free pass on swearing was certainly being pushed to the limit! But, eventually, she felt a slight breeze and the candle flame flickered to near extinction, thus quickening Emma’s steps. She was near the end.

  A flight of steps could be seen, and all too quickly she was at the top with both shoulders pushing up against the trap door.

  “What the Hell... sorry Lord” she grunted, pushing as hard as she could. Was something covering it? Furniture? “This is my only way out! Umph!” Her frustration caused her to push with as much force as she could and yes! A shift was felt. Buoyed up by this small movement, Emma gave another heave, and, her veins bulging, the trap door lifted.

  The light was blinding after the gloominess of the tunnel. Squinting, Sister Emma found herself in an old stone-walled room. A few tenacious pieces of plaster clung to the damp stones. An open fireplace that had not seen any flames in many a year was in front of her. A breeze wafted through the broken panes in the old windows on either side of her.

  The roof had holes all over letting the daylight shine through. Obviously, this place was unused, left to rack and ruin, the damp causing all manner of fungus to grow from the walls.

  Looking out, Emma saw what she now recognised as a terrace of old cottages. The church used to give these abodes to either the men and their families working for the church, or to the poor and needy that needed shelter.

  A noise alerted Emma, it came from behind her. Spinning around, she lifted the wrought iron candle stick over her head. Holding her breath she listened intently, but was rewarded with nothing but silence. In the darkest corner of the room, an old straw mattress was half folded and abandoned, its stains from damp and years of use showing between the holes in the stripy cover.

  Oh sweet Jesus, please don’t give me rats today too!

  Slowly Emma made her way to the decaying mound and tipped her toe into the mess giving it a jiggle. Retrieving her foot quickly, she two stepped backwards. No nest of rats evacuated, or any wild animal, but instead, a soft groan.

  “Hello?” Sister Emma said hesitantly. A sharp in draw of breath and a sob was then heard. Emma put down the candlestick and made her way back over to the corner. She blessed herself rapidly and bent to grab the old straw bedding.

  As she started to pull it away, a cry like a new-born baby’s wail emerged and as the mattress moved away, a body was revealed. It was a girl, judging by the long hair, young, too by the looks of her, but difficult to see clearly, as she was curled up tight in a foetal position.

  Emma rushed in to cradle the girl, but stopped short when she saw the child stiffen at the action…poor girl! What on earth has happened to her? Emma thought.

  “It’s okay…shush, it’s okay, you’re safe now.” Slowly Emma crept closer until she was resting her hand on the girl’s head. “Can you talk to me? What is your name?” Slowly she could feel the wee girl begin to calm and gradually her head turned to face Emma. What she saw caused her to let out a sob; the girl had been beaten so badly that her face was contorted with the swelling. Her eyes were swollen and so bloodshot that none of the whites were showing. Her lips were cut and inflated, but not enough to hide a broken front tooth.

  “Oh my God child! What happened?! Who did this to you?!”

  The girl looked at Emma; her eyes drifted down to see the crucifix hanging from Emma’s neck. At this sight she immediately uncurled herself and clung on to Emma like a limpet.

  Now Emma could see more of the girl’s sorry state. Only a tee shirt that was stretched and ripped, covered her body. What was visible showed that she was battered and bruised all over her young frame, she could be no more than twelve or thirteen.

  “Can you tell me your name?” Emma whispered.

  A croak issued followed by a cough. Emma reached into her pocket and opened one of her small holy water bottles and raised the opening to the girl’s lips. She drank greedily, her throat parched.

  “Th-thank you” she stumbled. “My name is...C...Coral.”

  “How old are you, Coral?”

  A deep sigh and she whispered “I’m thirteen, sister.”

  “Well, Coral, my name is Sister Emma, and I am totally honoured to meet you. Can you tell me what happened to you?”

  Slowly Coral started to tell the story of how she had ended up hiding in the abandoned cottage.

  After losing all of her immediate family the first day, her mother to the flu, and then the others to her mother’s bites, she ran to her uncle’s house for safety. He’d been her favourite relative since she was a little girl; he’d always acted a bit like a child himself.

  What she didn’t know was that her uncle had a drug habit, and had been mixing with some very unsavoury men before the apocalypse and was now totally beholden to them.

  A group that had taken advantage of the world ending. Whilst they claimed to give sanctuary to men, women and children, in actual fact, they made the men work as slave labour and took the women and children in as their own slaves for sex or selling or whatever they damn well pleased.

  Her uncle had let her in, but before he could hide his niece safely, his ‘associates’ had come to get him for a scavenging run. Their eyes lit up at the little treasure uncle Pete had for them.

  Francie, the most senior, took Coral upstairs for his fun before work…his violent streak had no fear of being curtailed anymore, so he had not only raped her but beat her until she was unconscious. Uncle Pete could only sit and weep downstairs, listening to his niece being hurt in the worst possible way, knowing he was nothing but a coward and needing his next fix.

  When Coral regained consciousness and could hear her uncle shouting downstairs.

  “You’ve killed her! She’s dead! You bastard, Francie, you’ve fucking killed my niece!”

  “Oh shut the fuck up Petey boy! I just got carried away is all...look I did her a favour, you know that don’t you? You wouldn’t want old JC to get a crack at her?! Eh? He’d have her shackled to a bed for months and months till he and anyone else is done with her! Mean old bastard! In fact, I might just have some of the white stuff you need in my pocket if you apologise to me and we can agree not to mention this to anyone else eh? What d’ya say?”

  Silence followed, and Coral assumed that the deal was struck.

  Once the men left, she managed to scramble out of the bedroom and, putting on an old tee shirt left lying on the landing floor, made her escape. Through gardens and backyards, and keeping covered as much as she could, she painfully made her way to the abandoned cottages then basically curled up to wait for death.

  Emma’s heart was breaking from hearing Coral’s story. Mankind could sink this low? Hurt a child? This would push anyone’s faith to the limit. Swallowing her anger she asked “how long ago did this happen, sweetie?”,

  “Maybe two or three days ago.” Coral sniffed back as she got herself under control once more.

  Sister Emma was stunned. Three days! She must have been unconscious on the chapel floor for much longer than she thought.

  “Listen, honey, I have no idea what has been going on, you are the first person I have seen since I woke up. Erm...except for my Mother Superior, who was being eaten by my dear friend Sister Eugene! Do you know what’s been happening to cause this? I’m so confused!”

  As much as she could, Coral explained what she knew of the infection; that most of the population had become sick, died, and then, terrifyingly, they rose to continue the spread of the virus by biting new victims. Unfortunately, the hunger was intense and the majority didn’t stop at one bite. A whole human could be devoured leaving only bones and gristle. She had seen this for herself on her journey to the cottage.

  She continued that she had no idea where it had come from but it was widespread. Coral continued “the things I saw on the way here were just awful.” Her eyes looked away distantly reliving
the sights she saw; the tears started to silently drop over her lids and slide down her dirty face. “There are some people that are not getting sick. I don’t know why...” she trailed off.

  “Oh shitballs…” Sister Emma whispered, petting Coral’s hair. She tried to get her head around all of this information, and, spotting the surprised look from Coral, she smiled. “Oh don’t worry about the swearing, God and I have an agreement” she pointed upwards and gave Coral a wink.

  “Does he also let nuns wear trousers now too?” Coral tried to smile at Emma.

  “Oh this?…this outfit is only allowed while there is an apocalypse going on!”

  The mood lightened a small bit and Emma got up to go the door. “We had better get some food and more water if we are going to stay safe and survive this, oh, and maybe some clothes for you to put on. Any ideas on how and where to go?”

  She opened the door up to look out. Nothing was moving. There was an overgrown path down to the road. No cars could be heard passing by; not even a bird flew past. The world looked and felt desolate, especially to Emma, after hearing poor Coral’s story. Emma grasped her crucifix and started praying for guidance. As she was finishing her prayer, she spied something glinting in the grass. At first she thought it was some glass from one of the broken windows, but as she moved towards it, Emma saw a pedal, and then a saddle. It was a bike. A bike in relatively good condition, too. Hmmm, she thought. It must have been dumped by kids before the world went to shit- forgive me Father. Either way, her prayers had been answered. She stood the bike by the door and rushed in to tell Coral of her find. “Stay inside” she told her “and hide if you hear anyone coming. Promise me!”

  “I will. I promise” Coral replied.

  Wonderful as it was, the answered prayer found Emma unpracticed and awkward, straddling a bike and wobbling precariously down an overgrown path. Her mission was to go and find food to feed herself and Coral until the poor mite felt stronger, and then on to find a safe place for them both with other survivors.

  She made her way down to the main road, now barren of any traffic. Out of habit Emma still looked both left and right before moving onto the thoroughfare. She turned to the left where there was a small cul-de-sac of newly built houses just a short distance away.

  Good Lord! Either the saddles have shrunk, or my backside has grown! She winced in pain at the chaffing of the saddle. Not as young as you think you are! she tutted to herself.

  After a few more painful minutes she saw the junction she wanted. She pulled up to the entry of the small road. Everything looked quiet. Too quiet. She silently dismounted from the bike and rested it up against the street sign. Feeling vulnerable Emma realised that she was out here with no means of defending herself. Hearing Coral’s story had certainly opened her eyes to the type of people that she could encounter. I should look for a weapon? She thought. A weapon? She never thought she would ever have to consider these thoughts. Lord, what should I do? I am putting myself in your hands. Protect me, lord. She would see what was provided for her, and would take it from there.

  Buoyed up by her faith, she entered the little road and made her way to the first house, a sunny looking residence with fresh yellow paint adorning the outer walls. A double fronted detached property, that looked very well kept.

  This house was loved, Emma thought sadly.

  She made her way up the little path to the front door. It was closed. Was it locked? She placed her hand on the door handle and was just about to push down against the opening mechanism when she realised that she was about to commit a sin. No, a crime. Oh no! Either way this was wrong! She stood frozen for at least three or four long minutes debating the merits and pitfalls of what she was intending to do. These were not usual circumstances, and she was willing to face the consequences of her actions in the face of the law and her God. She was going to have one hell of a session confessing all of these sins when the time came.

  With her actions and conscience cleared somewhat, she pushed down on the handle only to meet resistance. Locked! Of course it is! She let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. She saw the button to ring the doorbell, and thought that this was a much more civilised way to ask for some help; she pushed on the button. Lord knows, there could be a scared family hiding within these walls.

  She heard no noises from inside in response to the electronic chimes, so she sidestepped to one of the bay windows and cupped her hands to her eyes to peer into the darkened room. She could see no movement, or much of anything, really, it was just too dark.

  She decided to make her way around to the rear of the property to see if she could get any response there instead.

  She silently followed the pathway that lead her between the house and the garage and came around to face a beautiful back garden. Like the rest of the house,s exterior, this was a well manicured delight that, pre the world ending, Emma would have loved to have just sat in and soaked in the afternoon sun. However, as she moved further along, she saw recent modifications to the smooth lawn. Under a beautiful willow tree there were two fresh mounds breaking the smooth line of the mowed green lawn. She could see that one was only half the size of the other, and resting on top of the freshly dug soil was a child's brightly coloured plastic train.

  Her heart broke at the sight. She blessed herself and automatically asked that the two souls be admitted into heaven, she recited a quick prayer and finished with the sign of the cross.

  The path lead her to a set of patio doors. She could see that the sliding doors were not fully closed.

  Emma approached stealthily, and tapped gently on the glass, there was no response, so she brought her face up close to the gap and called in, “Hello?”

  It was then that the smell hit her. She knew what she was inhaling. She’d had the same tones assault her when she saw her Mother Superior being devoured by her friend Sister Eugene. Her stomach turned and she was about to do the same when she saw a note upon the dining table. Her curiosity got the better of her. She had to know what was written on that piece of paper.

  Now knowing that there was a potential adversary within the house, she tapped on the frame of the door, assuming that if one of these resurrected souls was close by, they would come towards the sound. If she saw anything, she was ready to quickly close the door and move on.

  Nothing showed up. She inched the door open wider, and the stench now made her eyes water. The sweet smell of rotten meat mixed with the sharp odour of human waste was a rancid blend that coated and clung to Emma’s nose and throat. She was no stranger to the smells that could be discharged from a human, having done her rotation assisting in hospitals and nursing homes early in her novice stage. But this, this was a toxic level of nasty. She stepped inside the room, onto a soft, deep carpet, and reached towards the note on the tabletop. The handwriting was large and rushed, she started reading;

  ‘My name is Peter Sanders. My wife Caroline and my son Jamie are both dead, and I have buried them in the garden. I had to stop them both when they tried to attack me, but, I will never forgive myself for my actions. I was bitten by my son as I tried to give him peace. I haven’t got much longer, I think I am about to turn. I can feel the virus spreading inside me. God forgive me, I cannot take my own life. I have tried, but I am weak haven’t the courage to see it through. If you are here, reading this, please give me peace if you can. I am going to lock myself in the utility room. There are supplies in the cupboards and under the stairs is a first aid kit and camping equipment. Take what you need.

  May you have better luck than I did.’

  Emma placed the paper gently back onto the table. Empathising with the pure sadness of having to put these words on paper, her eyes filled with unshed tears, making her vision kaleidoscope until she blinked rapidly and wiped them off her cheeks.

  She was in a desperate situation now. Could she effectively kill? This was putting everything up against her lifelong beliefs. Even now, with this virus, she was unsure if she could ever end another hum
ans existence. She understood that once these people came back, they were not the same person. But, she knew deep down that she would not be able to kill.

  With a deep sigh, she moved quietly through the kitchen to the closed doorway to what she assumed was the utility room. She pressed her ear to the door and held her breath. There was only silence. Was that man, Peter, even in there? What if he had gotten out? She started to panic and looked around rapidly to erase the feeling of being watched. There was nothing to see.

  She started to draw away from the door, when an almighty bang and the sound of wood cracking and splintering came from the other side!

  “Ohh shit!” Emma jumped back and caught her foot in one unravelled trouser leg and went careening towards the kitchen island. In a scene worthy of a Chaplin movie, she knocked all the pots and pans off the top and squeezed her eyes shut at the clatter the copper cookware made as they hit the floor.

  This sent the beast behind the door into a frenzy and the banging against the barrier increased. Emma knew that the wood would not hold indefinitely; she straightened herself out and ran out into the hallway. She opened the angled door under the stairs, and a plethora of handbags and backpacks swung out with the motion from their hook placed inside the door.

  She grabbed the sturdiest looking backpack and stuck her face into the small space’s dark interior. A cobweb adhered itself to her cheek, and she let out a high pitch squeal. Lord save me from these damn spiders! Rubbing at her cheek, she could just make out the white cross of the medical kit that was mentioned in Peter’s note. Emma lunged in and took the kit, retreated and stood back up. With the snarls and the body of what used to be Peter smacking against the single wooden defence, Emma quickly got on the move to the kitchen whilst she fought to fit the kit inside the backpack.