Rich Hawkins: The Last Plague

He crawled out from under the van, scraping his palms and the heels of his hands. He winced, ignoring the temptation to look at the grazes on his skin. He watched the street as he rose into a crouch. Waited, watched. He stood up, his back to the side of the van, flat against it. The breeze was cold and touched the nape of his neck.

The street was deserted. There were shadows but they remained still and were only threatening in the vague shape of them in the silent spaces.

The flapping whisper of wings above him. A flock of birds shot overhead. They filled the sky, thousands of dark, frail-boned bodies moving as one organism. He envied their freedom, envied their flight.

The birds faded into the distance. They were the first animals he’d seen since arriving here. No cats or dogs. Nothing.

He had to get back to the others. They would be worried about him. He started down the street.

Something scratched against the front door.

Ralph and Joel looked at each other. Joel’s eyes were starkly white, and Ralph gestured for Joel to stay put and then stepped into the hallway. He had locked the door straight after Frank stepped outside.

More scratching. Slow and lethargic. Weak.

His fingers tightened around the knife handle. He hesitated, feeling like a little boy who was scared because a stranger was at the door. Then he stepped forward, his trainers padding softly on the carpet. Joel was behind him, eyes wide and alarmed. He was about to speak but Ralph shushed him with a raised hand. Ralph looked through the spy-hole in the door.

“What’s out there?” Joel asked.

From what he could see there was nobody behind the door, unless the visitor was less than five feet tall or a child. His mind created an image of some grinning pygmy-creature waiting for him. Or maybe the visitor couldn’t be seen because it had crawled here and was now lying at the doorstep, crippled and bleeding. Maybe it was Frank, and he was badly injured.

Ralph breathed out. He kept his eye to the hole. He sensed Joel’s apprehension behind him, radiating like heat, a mass of trembling flesh barely held together by his clothes.

“Ralph?”

He crouched and opened the letterbox, looking left and right, listening for the sound of breathing or a shuffle of movement. He closed the letterbox and stood.

“It might be Frank,” said Joel.

“It might not be.”

“He might be in trouble.”

Ralph chewed on his lip.

“Frank?” Joel said, raising his voice.

Something heavy crashed into the door, causing it to shudder on its hinges. Ralph fell back on to the foot of the stairway, scrambling half-way up the stairs on his back. Joel retreated down the hallway towards the kitchen.

“What the fuck?” said Ralph.

Another crash. The door shook. The bolt held. There was the sudden, sharp crack of wood splintering.

Ralph raised the knife.

Another crash reverberated throughout the house. The door was beginning to buckle.

Then it stopped.

Ralph was breathing hard. His skin was greased with cold sweat.

“I think it’s gone,” whispered Joel.

“I hope so.”

“I think I’ve pissed myself a bit.”

Ralph stared at the door.

The echo of violence hung in the air. Ralph could feel it throbbing against his skin.

Joel crept towards the door, hands planted against the walls at his sides, his fingernails digging into the white wallpaper.

Magnus appeared in the doorway to the living room.

Joel yelped and backed into the wall. “Magnus, you’re awake.”

Looking towards the door, Magnus’s voice was barely audible. “They want us to let them in. We shouldn’t let them in.”

Ralph closed the curtains and then peered between them through the living room window. Darkness shrouded the street. Whatever had crashed against the front door was out there, maybe watching the house, and maybe thinking of other ways to gain entry.

They had barricaded the front and back doors with furniture; anything they could get their hands on that wasn’t nailed down. Tables and chairs. The sofa and armchairs. A Welsh dresser decorated with china cups hanging on dainty little hooks.

His body was awash with adrenaline and he was jittery. His stomach felt full of crawling millipedes. He turned away from the window. With the curtains closed the room was dark, but Joel had found two candles under the sink and lit them with Magnus’s cigarette lighter. The small flickering flames made shadows dance and cavort like oily wraiths. Ralph and Joel had a torch each, switched off to save the batteries. Magnus and Joel were sitting on the carpet, across from each other. Joel eyed Magnus unsurely, as if he was a stranger. Joel was holding a bread knife he had taken from the kitchen.

Magnus was without a weapon. Ralph made sure of that.

“What happened to you, Magnus?” asked Joel. He sniffed, wiped his nose. His mobile was on his lap, its screen blank and useless.

Magnus looked at him. “I don’t know. I felt weird. Like something was in my head trying to push its way out of my brain. It drained all of the energy from me.”

“Your nose kept bleeding as well,” Joel said.

“I know. I feel much better now.”

“What was wrong with you?” asked Ralph, standing against the wall.

Magnus didn’t look at him. “How should I know?”

Ralph’s face looked ghoulish in the candlelight. “Do you know who was banging at the door, Magnus?”

“I don’t know who it was. I knew they wanted to come in and see us.” Magnus scratched a patch of skin under his jaw. “Remember when I saw something in the sky on Saturday night…before I passed out?”

“Yeah,” said Ralph. “I found you outside half-frozen.”

“Since then I’ve had that strange feeling – I just thought it was an extended hangover – but when we arrived in the village it got worse. It’s not too bad now; it’s fading, I think. I can’t explain it.”

“Do you know what happened here?”

“I have no idea. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

Ralph saw something in his friend’s face. Magnus wasn’t telling the entire truth.

“And what about Frank?” said Joel. “Should we search for him? Do we wait here for him?”

Ralph said, “It was his choice to go out there. He should’ve listened to me. Fucking idiot.”

“We can’t leave him out there,” said Joel.

“You want to go out there?” Ralph’s voice had risen. “Our phones don’t work, so it’s not as if we can give him a quick call to see if he’s okay, is it?

Joel looked away.

“Maybe something got him,” said Magnus.

Ralph hated the silence that followed. He thought of Frank out there in the dark and immediately despised himself for letting Frank go alone.

Magnus said, “Whoever came to the door knows we’re here so maybe we should leave, find another place to hide.”

“I’m not going out there,” said Joel. He pressed at the keypad on his phone then discarded it.

Magnus eyed Ralph. “What do you think?”

Ralph said nothing, just walked to the window and looked out at the silent, empty street.

The woman emerged from the darkness beneath a dead streetlight. The woman Frank had returned to help. She lurched forwards and stopped a few yards in front of him. Frank halted. His breath caught in his throat. He raised the crowbar and said nothing as his eyes were drawn to her.

She was naked, but Frank felt no attraction towards her. She stank of piss and madness. Sagging breasts little more than flaps of skin. She was hunched over, and her spine curved so much that it was protruding from her back, the vertebrae shifting with her movements. Her limbs were thin and her hair was falling out. The puncture wound on her neck had scabbed over.