Lazarus Read online

  On one of the houses he passed, a garage door was open but it looked like the house had been vacated. The mailbox at the bottom of the driveway was uprooted and on its side. A single tread in the grass told him where the driver had reversed onto the road, uncaring as they dipped into the garden and took a chunk out of their own property.

  As he passed Mrs Hickleston’s house (an over-friendly OAP with her own menagerie of wildlife) he saw that several of her windows were smashed. One of her cats sat staring out of the broken shards on the windowsill, and there were several dark shapes scattered across the lawn. Kurt saw the body of Abbie, not too far from the garden fence and averted his eyes sharply, his stomach turning. There was no sign of Mrs Hickleston at all…

  A car started somewhere nearby. Fog lights. It screeched and reversed, before pulling out of its driveway and speeding past him. The woman driver inside glanced at Kurt but didn’t slow as she disappeared around the corner and out of sight. He’d seen her a couple of times in the past. She used to go for jogs around the estate. She seemed nice.

  Kurt walked up the short path to his house and stopped at the door, listening for any sounds. He briefly thought about ringing the doorbell but stopped himself. What if Linda had turned? What if the noise attracted others? He’d not seen any ferals since a little before he had fallen asleep, but did that mean that he should be reckless?

  He turned his key in the lock and snuck inside.

  The Johnstone’s house still amazed Kurt. An open-plan suburban paradise with more bedrooms than they’d ever need. When Kurt had first arrived at the house, he remembered thinking about how his eyes must have stuck out of his head. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

  “Woah… A mansion…”

  “Not quite a mansion, I’m afraid,” Linda had giggled. “But our little hotel in paradise, sure.”

  “You like it, then?”

  Kurt had spun. “Where’s my room?”

  Now, though, the size of the house intimidated Kurt. More places to hide…

  Kurt closed the door, careful to not let the catch click too loudly. There was no movement he could see, no sounds he could hear. From the hallway, he could see the doors to the dining room, kitchen, living room, and pantry. The only one open was to the kitchen. Kurt peeked inside, saw nothing, and headed up the stairs, across the landing, and to his room. His heart beat fast, expecting at any moment that someone would jump out and attack. Or worse, that he would find the trails of blood that led to a body…

  When he reached his bedroom, he pushed the door shut behind him, twisted the lock, turned his back and sank to his feet. There hadn’t been a lock when he first arrived, but after a steady stream of pleas that a young boy ‘just needed to feel safe’, the Johnstones had surrendered.

  Boy was Kurt thankful now.

  He rested a couple seconds before standing and crossing the room that he’d tried to call home. Linda had done her best to give Kurt what he wanted to help him settle in, and as he fired up his computer and took a seat in his chair he looked around at the posters that hung without frames on the walls, an assortment of lava lamps, and an untidy bookshelf bursting at the seams. The computer dinged his attention, demanding a password. He entered the characters and wondered where the hell Linda might be. She hadn’t said anything to him about her agenda for the day. But then, he had never asked.

  Steve would be at work now, chatting away to a vulnerable old lady about the advantages of the extended warranty and care package on her latest Ford purchase. The majority of the time he’d come home late, exhausted after a long day of selling cars and pushing paperwork. But at least it paid for the house.

  A sound from downstairs. Something falling over?

  Kurt waited a moment and listened.

  Silence.

  He turned his attention back to the computer, clicking open several applications at once. The web browser was the first to open, and Kurt typed in the search bar, looking to see if any news had gone live about the events at Colonial Williamsburg. Beside from a couple of small columns on larger news stories that simply stated that there had been a disturbance at the Center, there wasn’t a lot to see. Kurt wondered if anyone else had survived and contacted the authorities, or if maybe himself and Lucas were the only ones to make it out of there alive.

  But why?

  The second application was Skype, and he quickly double-clicked Amy’s avatar, hoping that there was even the slightest of chances that she might pick up. Her picture filled the screen – a shot of Amy and Kurt from her birthday last year, embraced in a hug so tight that they both squinted at the camera. He counted the seconds. After a minute the call timed out and hung up.

  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Amy would be at school around now, but there had been times before when she’d been caught between classes and fired up the app on her phone.

  He pulled his cell out his pocket and tried again. No answer. The little battery icon turned red. Only 10% remaining.

  One thing after another.

  He sat for another moment, plugged his phone into its socket on the wall and looked as far outside as he could see through the fog. Yep, it was thicker. Unmistakable now. The cursed golden cloud that had become his stalker. That had turned everyone who breathed it in into feral monsters that hacked and slashed and ate.

  Oh, and there’s one of them now.

  Kurt couldn’t see who it was, but the unmistakable shadow of someone running down the street, arms flailing, screech breaking the quiet. He saw it for no more than a few seconds before it disappeared, but that cry lingered long after it was gone.

  The sound of a door opening and closing somewhere below him.

  Kurt rubbed his head, trying to figure his next move. He was safe inside his room. The door was locked. No one knew he was home. He had things to occupy him. Maybe he could wait it out here and keep trying Amy. That way he could ensure that she was okay. She’d call eventually, right? She always called.

  Only, she hasn’t, has she?

  And what about food and drink? At some point, he’d have to go downstairs and raid the cupboards. There was nothing mildly edible in his room that he’d consider proper food. And what would happen if strangers found their way in and beat him to it? Had he locked the front door? He wasn’t even sure.

  When a thump came from downstairs, Kurt took a seat and clutched his knees to his stomach.

  Just wait a little… That’s all you have to do… Wait a little.

  So Kurt waited. He gave it a good half an hour, listening for anything around him. He heard odd cries from far off in the fog. To busy himself he checked Skype and studied the news – getting no response from either. It seemed the world had zipped its mouth on the whole affair. One or two weather comments on the colour of the fog, but no mention of its power, or the hungry ferals it birthed as it spread ever wider across Virginia.

  “Linda?” Kurt whispered a short while later, finally braving the exit from his room. His belly had screamed at him when he had thought of food, and Kurt realised he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Anyone?”

  His feet creaked over the landing. He poked his head in each room in turn, strategically manoeuvring through the house to make sure that he wouldn’t miss anything. With each clear room, he felt his confidence boost. What was he worried about? He was clearly alone.

  Down the stairs and straight into the kitchen, all thoughts now on food. He didn’t even look at the doors that had all been closed when he arrived. Had he taken a second to check the rooms off the hallway first, he might’ve noticed that the living room door was now slightly ajar. A couple of whispering voices, barely audible.

  Kurt grabbed a Twinkie and a bag of potato chips and scoffed greedily. He washed them down with a can of soda from the fridge and was about to head back upstairs when the door caught his eye. He took a step forward, craned his neck and peeked through the gap. A horrid stench met his nostrils. He immediately stepped back, tiptoed to the kitche
n and pulled a knife from the rack on the worktop, then waited outside the door.

  He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, counted to three, and jumped into the room, expecting a struggle that he wasn’t sure he’d win. Another feral ready to seek blood.

  Kurt instantly deflated as a well of hot tears bubbled and rose inside him. There was someone in the house with him. He had been right in that regard. Only, the person sat at an awkward angle in her favourite armchair, face fixed in horror, could hardly be considered a ‘someone’ anymore.

  Kurt fell to his knees, the knife slipping from his hand as the tears came thick and fast. He saw the dark veins that had crept up his adopted mother’s neck, saw the eyes staring blankly into his own, and the puncture wounds across her body where someone had attacked – in self-defence, or not, Kurt didn’t know. Had she died before she turned? Or had an assailant taken a preemptive manoeuvre?

  He reached forward and felt the ice cold of her hand, was only vaguely aware of movement behind him. A shuffle of feet. A muffled cry of, “Quick… now!”

  By the time Kurt realised, it was too late. He gasped as a heavy hand clamped his shoulder, and another covered his mouth.

  11

  One held Kurt still, the other forced the rag into his mouth to mute his protestations. They worked quickly, the larger of the two masked intruders lifting Kurt clean off his feet and leading him outside. The other played sentry, ever ahead of Kurt’s captor, scanning the outside for signs of danger and opening doors to help their companion.

  Where the hell are they taking me?

  They were terrifying to look at. The gas masks bore resemblance to those Kurt had seen from days gone by. A collector’s item. Large, round, black panels with elephantine snouts to cleanse the air they breathed. Though, below the neck, they wore the same everyday garb that you might see on a trip down the high street on a Saturday lunchtime. Kurt guessed that the one at the front of their procession – based on her tight-fitting trousers, and the flowing material of a cardigan – was female. The one carrying him was undeniably male. At the base of his mask were rough patches of stubble.

  The outside world was cold, the damp clung to their clothes. Kurt felt himself shiver as he looked about wildly for something that might tell him what was going on. Maybe a getaway car, or a pile of ferals, or maybe even more masked units.

  His imagination went wild. When a screech was heard, followed by the smashing of glass, the captors froze, waited for quiet again, then turned left and ran across Kurt’s front lawn, making a line straight for…

  Huh?

  The woman in front put a key in the door of his neighbour’s house and ushered them inside. Somewhere nearby a bin was tossed over. Kurt was greeted by the warmth of the entrance hall before the woman opened a second doorway that led to a set of concrete stairs that disappeared down into darkness. He bounced up and down as the man carrying him took the stairs two at a time before throwing Kurt on a worn leather sofa. He heard the door click shut at the top of the stairs, and, a moment later, the buzz of a naked lightbulb that cast the basement in a soft buttery haze.

  The man took Kurt’s face in both his hands. “Mmrrph mrrrph Krrrrd Mmph!”

  Kurt returned a blank stare.

  “Take your mask off, you silly ass,” came the woman’s voice from behind. Her dark hair was ruffled and her smile was warm. “You can’t hear a damn thing through these things.”

  Kurt looked up at her gentle eyes, the smile lines around her cheeks. He felt dazed. Confused.

  “What are you doing, Karen?” the man said, lifting his own mask just high enough to reveal his mouth. “We agreed we wouldn’t take these off until the mist has passed! What if you breathe some of that stuff in? Do you really want to end up like those out there?”

  Karen rolled her eyes. “Oh, give over. We’re practically air-tight down here, James. There’s no way we’ll breathe it in. Besides… he seems to be doing alright. Don’t you, Kurt?”

  Kurt nodded at the woman who he’d only seen a couple times since his move to Jamestown. Usually far off glances out the window when she was sunbathing in her back garden, glass of wine in her hand, Motown jams on the radio. Though Karen and Linda were both ladies of leisure, it wasn’t all that often that Linda had anything to do with her neighbour. Mostly keeping to her book club circles and weekday natters. On the rare occasion, Kurt had caught Karen’s eye and she had tried to talk to him with simple pleasantries: ‘Weather’s nice, huh?’, or, ‘How’s it going? But Kurt had found himself tongue-twisted and embarrassed. It wasn’t that she was magnificent to behold – although she’d at least make a few rounds in Miss Virginia – but he couldn’t help but picture her on a sun-bed and felt a wave of shame.

  James, on the other hand, Kurt hadn’t really come across at all. Only once had he seen James Powell out in the daytime, and that was when he’d been lying on the front lawn in a tuxedo, and the sprinklers had come on. He’d awoken with a start and stumbled inside calling after Karen. Kurt had laughed into his hand, wondering where James might have been coming back from. And why he thought the lawn was more comfortable than a bed.

  James tore off his mask and stared intensely at Kurt. The cold greys of his eyes were piercing, and Kurt felt as though he was under scrupulous examination. “That right, eh? You feel absolutely fine?”

  Kurt nodded. “Yes.”

  “No headaches, no pains, no aches, no urge to jump up and rip out our throats?”

  “None.”

  “Hmmm… and your neck? Any sign?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Karen huffed. “He says he’s fine, James. Leave the poor boy alone.”

  The word ‘boy’ grated on Kurt, but Karen was fighting his corner so he let the moment pass.

  “Very well. But at least let’s put masks back on.” He pulled his own mask back on his head, turned to a large metallic cupboard at the side of the room and made a racket rifling through objects on the shelf. “Mmph Hermph Hurpphm”.

  “James!”

  He whipped around, an assortment of masks, radios, and wires in his hands. “Fine! No masks down here. Happy?”

  But where was ‘down here’? Kurt wondered. They were in the Powell’s basement. That was for sure. But it could not have been less like a basement. Kurt scanned the room and saw a TV, bookshelves, carpet, cupboard space, a mini-stove, a box labelled ‘Beans’, everything that one would need to keep themselves comfortable in a long-stay situation. One corner of the room even had what looked like an en-suite. A painted white door that blocked a tiny room beyond.

  “Pretty impressive, right?” Karen said, seeing Kurt’s curious eyes. “To think, for years I mocked James about his little underground bunker. But it seems like it might actually have some use now.”

  “Told you,” James said, slinking into an armchair next to Kurt. “You said I was crazy. That the end of the world wouldn’t come—”

  “We don’t know it’s the end of the world, dear. It could just be a small weather anomaly.”

  “Still,” James continued, “we need to stay vigilant. We don’t have the foggiest what’s going on and it’s best to be cautious. What if our door suddenly smashed open and some of that pollen stuff blew straight in? Is that what you want? A snozz-full of crazy-powder?”

  Karen waved James’ words away with a ‘don’t be so stupid’ gesture.

  “It’s not pollen,” Kurt mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  Kurt looked from James to Karen. “It’s not pollen. That yellow stuff. I don’t exactly know what it is, but it’s not pollen.”

  “Oh we know that it isn’t pollen,” said James, puffing his chest pompously. “We heard all about it on the radio. Apparently, there was some kind of freak explosion out in Colonial Williamsburg and whatever it was has caused a kind of mini-storm.” He pulled a small mobile radio out his pocket. “This little baby saved our lives. The minute I heard about it I raced back to Kaz. Managed to beat the damn thing here and get us equipped. Altho
ugh, apparently it won’t take long before it starts to thin and fade. Weather folks say it’ll be clear by morning.”

  “It wasn’t a freak explosion,” Kurt stood up angrily. “That was no accident at all.”

  “We didn’t mean to offend, honey,” Karen said.

  “How do you know?” James asked.

  Kurt took a few deep breaths, remembering the face of the grizzly bomber as he had exploded into pieces on the battlefield. “Because I was there.”

  The room fell silent for a moment, all eyes on Kurt. Karen brought a hand to her mouth and exchanged glances with James. Almost as though they wanted to ask a question but weren’t sure how to start. Kurt wasn’t either, to be honest. He tried to think of how he would tell the story. How best to tell them what he knew. There were a lot of things that he didn’t understand, and a few things that the two strangers wouldn’t believe. Emily, the ferals, the ink world, Lucas, where to start?

  Kurt was about to speak when Karen stood up, placing on her mask with a hungry look. She was halfway upstairs when James called her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Hold that thought, hon. I can already tell this will be a juicy story. I think this calls for a bottle of red.”

  James sighed again, then added, “Grab the zinfandel, yeah?”

  She scurried away before turning back to Kurt and smiled. “Zinfandel should pair nicely with the beans I’ve got stashed down here.”

  *

  While Kurt told the story of the bomber at the Visitor Center, the Powell’s sat patiently drinking from glasses of dark red from one of the several bottles of wine Karen had brought back with her. Apparently, the zinfandel alone wasn’t enough. They’d finished that and started on something called a Pea-noh. Kurt told them of the ragged bomber strolling onto the field, the bleachers toppling, the bodies scattered everywhere, and the raising of the ferals.

  “Ferals? That seems like the word for it. I’ve never seen Mrs Hicklestone so angry…”

  “Shhh.” Karen slapped James’ arm.