Snatchers 2: The Dead Don't Sleep (29 page)

Now it was awash with the dead, and my presence began to attract their attention. Of course, they couldn't smell my fresh flesh, or even get to me, but because their brain was still working, they could still see me and for some reason they knew I wasn't one of
them
.

The first one was a female. She was dressed in a navy blue suit, her skirt was at knee-length and her face, just like the rest, was ivory colour. Her mouth was blue, and I stared at most of them and realised that they looked reasonably okay for a bunch of dead people. I know it sounds like a daft thing to say, but I was under the impression that they had only been dead for a matter of hours, because it was Sunday morning and they were already dressed, unless they were attacked the night before. Maybe they had trains or flights to catch and were attacked first thing once they stepped out of their rooms. I assumed the rest were in their rooms, either hiding or had re-animated into one of them but was stuck in their rooms. The rooms were electronic; I knew that, because I stayed there a few years ago. As soon as you shut the door behind you, it automatically locks and can only be opened with a specialised card that is handed out in reception. So that was why the population of these things wasn't so great in numbers.

By the time I had snapped out of my self-hypnosis, I had three of them pawing at the glass, desperate to rip me to pieces, one of them actually vomited dark blood over a part of the glass which twisted my guts.

Poor souls, I thought.

***

With nothing in my hands, I knew I was a potential victim. The only tool I had was the ability to run away, but for how long could I keep that up? Now my train of thought was back on track, I had realised that my presence hanging around outside the hotel's foyer was doing my daughter no favours whatsoever. There was no way of me getting in and she wasn’t answering her phone, so it appeared that my little run was a complete waste of time. I was hopeful that she'd be safe and knew that if she did return home eventually, I'd be no good to her dead.

I looked around the area where I was on Argyle Street. I decided to walk under the Central Station Bridge, and carefully peered around the corner. There was no sign of life, apart from a silver Meriva that squealed its way out of an NCP car park that quickly disappeared from view. I texted my youngest daughter one more time and basically told her that if she was still at the hotel she should stay where she was and that I was heading back home, which in hindsight, is where I should have stayed.

With a small chance of her waiting for me at home, I decided to head back and gently jogged down Jamaica Street, away from Argyle Street, and away from the city centre. Now that I could see it was reasonably clear ahead of me, I ran a little harder and went past a pub called Macsorley's with the youth hostel to my left. I then hit a slight incline as I began to cross the Glasgow Jamaica Bridge as my body was now beginning to head back towards Tradeston.

On a night, on a rare occasion when I went out for a drink and couldn't get myself a cab home, I would take this route home on foot and worry in case I bumped into a bunch of neds or a bunch of drunks, or both, and end up getting beaten up or stabbed. Now it was daytime, and the fear I had was far greater. Yes, these things were slower, but one wrong turn could end up becoming the most painful and indescribable way of dying any man or woman could imagine.

I looked at my watch and realised it had been nearly an hour since I jumped into my car and headed towards the city centre. I thought about those poor people outside of the police station. I know the police are only humans dressed in a uniform, but to unleash that kind of violence on them was terrible. The public were just frightened, and probably wanted answers. The same people that were paid to protect and serve the community had gunned some of those people down, and for what? Because they thought that the people were
them
? Or was it something more sinister than that? Were they making too much noise and decided to shut them up to save their own skin? When something like this happens, you do realise that humans are selfish and it really is survival of the fittest and fuck everyone else.

My brief running came to a stop when I got to a corner of a wall. I was standing opposite a pub called The Laurieston, and peered my head around the corner to see if the new street I was about to enter was safe. It was, so I began my jog once again and my destination was Paisley Road West once more. With my confidence growing and still baffled why the streets weren't plagued with these things, I turned two corners and whether it was karma giving me a reality slap because of my newfound confidence, or just plain old coincidence, I was greeted by two of the things who were heading my way, but still a good twenty yards away from me. Their features were hideous; one of them, a female—I think—had the skin of her bottom jaw stripped away. I didn't know how this came about, but it wasn't something I had time to sit down and ponder over. The only thing my mind screamed inside of my head was RUN!

That was exactly what I did, and because of the new fear, it appeared to have excited my body and gave it another new lease of energy. I don't know how much adrenaline one human could produce in one day, but I certainly took advantage of it and sprinted quite easily away from the two potential attackers, although their slight increase of speed still startled me somewhat. The scenario kind of reminded me of a documentary I watched on alligators or crocodiles—I can't really remember.

The reptile would seem docile, almost statue-like, while its potential victim strutted around where it dwelled. Then in a flash, the reptile would strike and the victim was dragged into the water and devoured. They weren't exactly
that
quick, but their slight acceleration was something I was going to have to watch.

I passed a set of apartments and to my right was a gaping hole where the Co-op funeral directors were, before it had burnt down. Once I passed the Springfield Quay and saw that the majority of Paisley Road West was barren, I slowed my pace and bent over with the palm of my hands on my knees, trying desperately to get my breath back.

I heard in the distance a set of engines and as I turned around, I could see two cars, one a black Quashqai that had a family in it, and another, a burgundy Renault Clio, that had a female and a male in the front seats. The family zoomed past me and never noticed me, but the couple in the Renault glared at me as they followed behind the Nissan Quashqai. I didn't know whether they were together and that both drivers of the vehicles knew each other, but the female passenger of the Renault urged her male counterpart to stop for me. But as they went by, I could see by the panicky facial expressions of the driver that in no uncertain terms was he going to stop for anybody. I didn't really blame him, and I made no effort to flag any of the cars down anyway. I still don't really know why I didn't bother. I think I was still numbed and bewildered with the whole 'the world's going to the shitter' kind of way, and of course, worried about my baby girl.

***

I decided to take a detour when I got to the La Fiorentina restaurant as I had clocked six of those fucktards swarming about near one of the betting shops. Thankfully I wasn't spotted but I didn't want to even get remotely close to one of those things. Just looking at them from behind a pane of glass back at the hotel made my guts do somersaults. My unprepared and unplanned Sunday morning exercise session had continued, and I began to jog through a children's play park.

I looked up occasionally to see nettings and curtains twitching from residents who were most probably wondering what the fuck I was doing. I could already see or hear what was going through their minds. Is this man insane?

I ended up back on the main road once another two were seen on their knees with their back towards me eating something I didn't really want to see. The only thing I saw was the female, stuffing entrails of the victim into her mouth rapidly as if someone was about to steal them off her. For reasons I still can't explain now, I stopped to look at this, and yet again, my stomach twisted and turned.

I knew that this epidemic was in its infancy and was certain that it was going to get a whole lot worse before it got better, but I had seen enough vulgarity to last me a lifetime and was happy to get home, have a cup of tea and wait for my daughter to call me if she wasn't already there. I didn't have to wait long when my phone went off. I put my clammy hands into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My hands shook with trepidation and looked at my phone screen. Indeed it was my daughter, and I answered with a half-cry. "Baby, where are you?"

"I'm okay," she was also in tears. "I'm at a...friend's house."

I knew that tone in her voice; she was with a male, but it didn't bother me. All that mattered was that she was alive.

"Look," I said. "It doesn't matter who you're with, are you safe?"

"Yes. Anyway, where've you been? I've been trying to call you for ages." I looked at my phone and she was right, I had five missed calls, all from her. But it was kind of understandable that I didn't feel the vibration go off in my pocket, considering the shit I had seen so far.

"Are you in a safe place?" I questioned her; that was all that I cared about.

"Yeah, James lives in a flat on the fourth floor in Partick. We've locked the doors and gonna wait till it all dies down. Have you phoned Karen, I can't get through?"

"Don't worry about her, she can handle herself." I then sighed, and began to fight back the tears, "Okay. Just don't you move anywhere. I'm gonna head back home."

"Back home? Where the fuck are you?"

Wow, I'd never heard my daughter swear before, but considering we were in a precarious position and that it wasn't the time and place for a dressing down—and the fact that she was nineteen year old, I refrained from reprimanding her for using such foul language towards her old man. I figured she said what she had said through concern.

"I went looking for you," I confessed. "But it's okay, I'm nearly home now." I had to lie to her, as I didn't want her to worry any more than she needed to. The truth was I was still about two miles away from home, and it seemed to be taking a lot longer to get back home than it did to get to the city centre.

In the distance, I could hear an engine moaning and told my daughter that I had to go, and I told her to be safe—again—and that I loved her. She tearfully hung up, and in the distance I could see a green Ford heading my way. As it got nearer, I braced myself to be shunned but thought it was worth the effort. I held out my arm as if I was flagging down a cab, and to my astonishment, the car actually stopped, very abruptly.

***

Once the car stopped, I wasn't prepared for the carnage that awaited me. I opened up the passenger door to be greeted with a distraught man, tears fell from his face as he screamed, "You gotta help me!"

I looked at him and saw that there was blood over his yellow shirt. I then looked to the back of the car to see a half-unconscious boy, no older than the age of six, lying in the back, bleeding heavily, and still wearing pyjamas.

The man begged, "Please, can you drive me home while I jump in the back to see to my boy? I need to see my wife."

I didn't have to be asked twice, I just nodded and walked around to the driver's side and the man got into the back with his son, took his shirt off and began to add pressure to the wound that was coming from the boy's left forearm.

"Where do you live?" I asked him, and I remembered casually adjusting the rear view mirror as if I was preparing myself for a driving test.

"Just turn left at the Corkerhill Road and head for Barrhead."

Selfishly, I was kind of pleased, as it was on the way to my own house. I asked him how his boy was, but he never answered me. I slipped the car into first and pulled away without checking my blind spot. The car squealed away and I progressed up to forty quite speedily. I kept on gawping into the rear view mirror and saw the man pressing down on his son's wound. Despite the roads being barren, I kept my wits about me in case a vehicle zoomed out of one of the junctions. The traffic was non-existent, but all it took was one person in a panicky rush to make impact with myself. The Highway Code did not apply now, and the sets of traffic lights may as well not have been there. I eventually passed my own abandoned car once I got to Corkerhill Road and turned left.

The boy never made a sound and I assumed at this point the little guy had passed out through the pain or loss of blood. Curiosity had got the better of me and I had to ask what had happened. The man eventually spoke, "The wee man was in for a routine appendix removal. I came in this morning to pick him up and all hell had broken loose. Me and the wife were nervous as hell about taking him to the Southern General because of what happened at The Royal Infirmary a few days ago."

The father was referring to a handful of attacks that had occurred in a hospital just outside the city centre. All hospitals had now been under police guard because of the small 'pockets' of violence that had been occurring since the beginning of June. It was now June 10th, and it took the fuckers too long to reveal to the country that actually we were in the middle of an aggressive virus and they had probably known about it for days, maybe weeks, but they didn't want to startle the public.

I think the government arrogantly thought that it was pretty much in control despite the random attacks that had occurred and the occasional riot, but once the news was showing these things in their droves eating people on live TV, I think they knew that we were pretty much fucked.