The Lingering Outbreak At Hope Cove (6 page)

The four of them felt exhausted, but they still had a little more work ahead of them before they could rest. They all now stood by the door to the mill. The barricade was gone, and now Jonathan and Alfred readied themselves to move outside. Jonathan held his tomahawk in one hand and his knife in the other. Alfred held an old and very rusty pitchfork.

“Once Alfred and I are outside, relock the door,” Jon said as he looked at his son.

“Sure, Pa. As soon as the door’s locked, Sally and me will head upstairs to cover you.”

Jonathan nodded. “Good. Now are we all ready?”

They all exchanged glances, and then Callum pulled open the door.

The bodies of the creatures who had died attacking the door, came tumbling in through the opening and sprawled across the floor. Both Jonathan and Alfred readied themselves to kill any that might still be a threat, but all were well and truly dead.

It took several minutes to clear the dead from the door, but finally the two headed outside to complete their grim task.

The door slammed shut behind them as they moved out and into the field surrounding the mill. Jonathan felt a faint flutter of relief as he heard the door’s crossbar drop into place. His boy was safe once more.

The pair worked their way through the bodies slowly and methodically. A mistake now could easily cost either of them their lives. Each time a ghoul needed killing, one would stand guard while the other took care of it with a blow to the head. More than once, Alfred’s pitchfork became stuck in a creature’s skull. Each time this happened, Jonathan would pass the old man his tomahawk so he could stand guard. Jonathan would then set about the task of pulling the fork free. He had to place one foot on the creature’s skull, and then pull with all his might. The fork would eventually pull free with a gruesome slurping noise, similar to the sound of a boot pulling free of mud. With each injured creature they met, the procedure started again.

The only occasion that filled the men’s stomachs with bile, was when they found a child of maybe four years of age scrabbling in the dirt. The lower half of its torso was missing, but the top half still dragged itself towards them. Its intestines ran out behind it like the tentacles on a jellyfish, and it groaned hungrily as it worked its way painstakingly towards them.

Alfred leaned on his pitchfork and vomited the contents of his stomach at his feet. He then hung his head and started to sob uncontrollably. The poor child’s appearance drove home the full horror of not only that day, but of what the world had to look forward to. A nightmare where children and adults alike lost all dignity.

Jonathan moved to the old man’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll dispatch this one,” he said as he looked back at the poor creature.

Jon moved to the child and knelt. He pushed one hand down on its back, and pinned it to the dirt. He then stared at it for a long time and desperately tried to burn its image into his brain. He needed to remember its face. He needed to remember the thing had once been human. It was then he realized he could not tell if it was a girl or a boy. Its hair was gone, and its skin had taken on a gray hue that seemed to remove all its remaining humanity.

It snarled at him, and chomped helplessly at the thin air. Before, he had felt no pity. Now, all he felt was pity and disgust. Pity for not only the child, but for his own soul. What he was about to do disgusted him to his very core, but that disgust would not sway him. The child deserved better than to crawl through the dirt like an animal, and he would free it of its lowly existence. Silently, he drew his knife and placed its tip against the tiny creature’s skull. Then, with tears in his eyes and a silent prayer on his lips, he released the child from its torment.

Jon rose to his feet and staggered slightly. He felt light-headed and nauseated. His head swam, and he began to stumble over the dead bodies that surrounded him. Hands latched to his foot, then he felt teeth gnashing against the tough leather of his boot. He lurched backwards and fell in a heap. His face landed mere inches from the child he had just dispatched. With a soul wrenching horror, he stared directly into the child’s cold dead eyes.  Like a crab, he began to scramble backwards on his hands and feet. A scream—so loud and heart destroying that even Callum and Sally heard it back in the mill—burst forth from his lips. Alfred ran to his side, dropped to his knees, and scooped him up in his arms. The men embraced one another and wept openly.

From the window of the mill, Callum and Sally watched on. Even from their great distance, they could see and feel the two men’s pain. Callum’s hand went silently to Sally’s. She took it and squeezed it tightly.

“I think we should go to them,” she said in little more than a whisper. “They’ve killed nearly all the creatures now, so we should be safe.”

Callum looked at her, and he saw not only great beauty, but great strength. She was stronger than any girl he had ever known, and in that moment, he knew he loved her. He embraced her clumsily, and then kissed her cheek.

“Let’s go,” he croaked in a voice thick with emotion.

The two ran from the mill and headed for the men knelt some fifty yards away. On reaching them, the two youngsters helped them to their feet, and then guided them back to the mill. As they reached the door, Callum took his father’s tomahawk, and Sally took Alfred’s pitchfork.

“You’ve both done enough,” Sally said with a kindly smile. “Me and Callum will take care of what’s left.”

Jonathan moved to protest, but his son stopped him with a slow shake of the head. “No, Pa, leave the rest to us. You and old man Marsh get some rest.”

Without further debate, the two youngsters headed out into the field to finish what their elders had begun.

***

A little over two hours later, Callum and Sally walked wearily back to the mill. The toll on their spirits had been immeasurable, but both felt at least a little glad that they had lifted some of the burden from the shoulders of their elders. The killing at such close quarters had been hard, both physically and mentally, but at least it was over … for now.

  Callum lifted his nose to the wind, and over the odor of rotting flesh, he could faintly detect the smell of baking bread.

“Do you smell that?” he asked as his pace quickened.

Sally nodded. “Sure do. Smells like Alfred has fired up his oven.”

Much to Callum’s surprise, he suddenly felt very hungry. A growl from Sally’s stomach confirmed she felt the same. Suddenly, the two were running, and all they could think of was food. The greater part of the day was now behind them, and none had as of yet eaten. Hunger washed all images of the past few hours from their minds.

The two began to run towards the mill, and the closer they got, the stronger the smell of fresh bread grew. Callum burst through the door and looked hungrily around. Alfred stood by a large stove. He turned and Callum saw the old man holding a tray, on which sat two freshly baked loaves of bread. The boy scanned the room, but could see no signs of his father. With a slight sense of panic rising in his gut, he looked back towards Alfred.

“He’s upstairs sleeping,” the old man said before Callum had a chance to ask. “Your pa has taken on a great deal, and I think it’s finally hit him. We should let him sleep until dinner is ready.”

“I’ve no more need for sleep. Food is what I need now.”

All eyes turned to the stairs, and they beheld a man scarred by his deeds. Jonathan Wentworth looked wearier than any man who had ever walked God’s green Earth. His skin appeared sallow, and his eyes seemed to have sunken into his head. He looked like one of the creatures.

Callum swallowed hard. Had one of the monsters bitten his father? The boy’s hand moved to the tomahawk his father had lent him.

“Pa, you look like you’re fit to drop.”

His father smiled weakly, then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell down the remaining few steps of the stairs. Callum dashed to his father and placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch. His breathing was short and erratic.

Callum patted his father’s face. Gently at first, but harder when his father did not respond. “Pa … Pa. wake up!”

Callum looked up at Alfred and blurted, “What’s wrong with him?”

Alfred was still holding the bread, but he passed it to Sally and then knelt by the boy. “Quickly,” he said, “check him for bite marks.”

Both Callum and the old man started checking every inch of Jonathan’s body, but they found no evidence of any bites. Jonathan Wentworth appeared to have collapsed for no reason.

The old man looked at the boy, and then grabbed his wrist. “There’s a doctor in Warrington. I know that he is more than likely dead, but we need him. If you leave now you may be able to return before dark.”

Callum did not hesitate. He jumped to his feet, and found all thoughts of hunger had gone. He ran to the rear of the mill and led one of the horses to the door. He looked back at Sally and Alfred, and saw both now stood over his father. Deep concern etched their faces, a concern he too shared. Callum mounted the horse, and then tore off across the field of corpses, and towards Warrington.

Callum arrived at the outskirts of Warrington roughly an hour after leaving the mill. The place seemed abandoned and completely bereft of life. Strangely, he had encountered no creatures on his way to town, and now it appeared as if even the ghouls had left the place for dead.

He slowed his horse to a walk, and then headed up the center of Main Street. To either side of him, shops and houses stood empty. Where was everyone? Surely, the creatures could not have killed or eaten everybody?

He held a hand to his mouth and bellowed, “Hello! Is anybody here?”

He drew his horse to a stop and waited. At first, he heard nothing, but then he heard movement from a building to his left. He looked towards the building and got ready to spur his horse forward. The doors of the building opened, and a middle-aged man stepped out. The man removed his hat and used it to shield his eyes against the sun. He then peered up at Callum.

“Where did you come from?” The man asked enquiringly. Despite his query, he seemed unsurprised by the boy’s presence.

Callum looked at the sign hanging above the man’s head, and saw he had appeared from the town’s saloon.

“My name’s Callum Wentworth. I came from the mill over yonder.” He pointed back up the road. “My pa’s back at the mill, and he’s fallen poorly. He passed out and we couldn’t wake him, which is why I need to find the doctor.”

“Well, you found him easily enough. I pass for what the town considers their doctor. Richard Channing be my name. I suggest you come with me, because I think you should see what’s inside for yourself. If your pa has fallen sick with the same thing my patients have, then I’m of little use to you.”

Callum jumped from the horse, and then led it towards the saloon. He quickly tethered it to a rail, and followed the doctor inside.

The saloon no longer resembled a drinking establishment. Instead, it now looked more like a field hospital. Hastily erected cots covered the floor, and on each lie an unconscious person. Callum slowly took in his surroundings, and then turned to the doctor.

“What happened to all these people?”

Dr. Channing raised his eyebrows and said, “To be frankly honest, I’m not really sure.” The doctor then looked at Callum solemnly, and asked. “Have you met any people who have … changed?”

The boy simply nodded.

“Yes well,” Channing continued uneasily. “A large group of those … things … attacked the town. I’m guessing you know what happened next. Many of the townspeople found themselves bitten and as a result, they changed almost instantly.

“The whole thing happened very fast. One minute the things appeared, then they attacked, and then they simply disappeared. Most of us were too shocked to react straight away, but finally we set about the task of finishing those bitten, and burying the dead. Within hours of first contact with the creatures, the first of the sick began to appear.

“As the hours passed, the numbers of sick grew. In an attempt to slow the advance of this new disease, I ordered those untouched by the malady to leave town. I, however, decided to remain behind. I came to this difficult decision for two reasons: firstly, I wanted to be here so I could tend to the sick. Secondly, I wanted to keep accurate documentation of my patients’ decline. If we are ever to beat this horrendous disease, then we must study it carefully.”

Callum began to walk slowly around the cots. The symptoms displayed by these poor souls looked exactly like those of his father. Their skin shared the same gray tinge as his, and their respiration seemed just as jagged as his father’s.

Callum looked back to the doctor, only then did he notice how tired the man looked. “And none of these people were bitten?”

Dr. Channing shook his head. “No, not a one.”

“Then what’s happened to them?”

The doctor brightened to an almost excited state. “I have a theory, but I must warn you, most would think it mad.”

“Go on.”

“Most physicians believe disease spreads through bad or toxic air; this is known as the ‘Miasma Theory’. However, there are a growing number of physicians, most of whom hail from Europe, who believe this not to be true. From everything I’ve read, I must come down firmly in the camp of the latter group of physicians. That is to say, I believe disease isn’t spread because of bad air, but rather by tiny microbial creatures commonly known as germs, or bacteria.”

“Bacteria?”

Channing seemed to become almost childlike in his enthusiasm. “Yes, Bacteria. Would you like me to explain?”

Callum nodded. “Yes, but only if you make it brief. As I said, my pa is sick, and I need to get back to him as soon as possible.”

“Of course, so here it is in brief. I correspond with a colleague in England by the name of John Snow. He believes, as do I, that disease spreads because of poor hygiene. If a person comes into physical contact with an infected individual, then these germs spread through the touch. In this manor, the disease moves at a rampant pace through a community.”

“But I’ve touched these things, yet I’ve gone unscathed by the disease,” Callum said with more than a little confusion.

“There is also a belief that some people are simply immune to some diseases. For example: have you ever been around a group of people with colds, yet you yourself do not fall victim to the ailment?”

“Yes, of course I have.”

“That could mean you were immune to the cold, or simply just lucky. The same could be said of this disease. You could have some sort of immunity to it, or so far you’ve just been lucky and missed its infectious nature.”

“Are you immune, Doctor?”

Channing shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m using good hygiene practices when dealing with the stricken. After examining any of the fallen, I wash my hands thoroughly. I also wear a mask when dealing with them.”

“I thought you said disease didn’t spread through the air.”

“Bad air, or more accurately, stench, cannot spread disease. Putrescent odors are simply the byproduct of the decomposition of the flesh, or of human waste. While smell does not directly spread sickness, it can warn where sickness hides. However, bacteria can move through the air, or at least, I believe it can. I think a disease can be carried on one’s breath.”

“So you think my pa has the same thing as these folks?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, and there is nothing I can do to help him, or the others.”

“Others?”

“Yes, the others you mentioned. They’ve most likely succumb to the disease too.”

Callum’s eyes went wide. He had not even considered the thought of Sally and Alfred falling ill. “You mean my friends could be sick too.”

Channing nodded grimly. “More than likely.”

Callum ran from the saloon in a panic; the doctor followed hot on his heels.

“Callum!”

The boy turned to look back at the doctor. “What?”

“If they’ve fallen, then try to bring them here. I will do what I can to make them comfortable.”

Callum nodded, and then mounted his horse and galloped off.

With his heart pounding and his mind wheeling, he tore back towards the mill. He thought of his father, and of how quickly the new illness had taken him. He thought of old man Marsh, and of Sally. If they had fallen to the illness, then he would truly be alone.

His thoughts then moved to his mother and sister.

There was no way he could proceed to Boston on his own. He needed to stay at his father’s side until the sickness passed, but what would that mean for his ma and Tilly? Were they even still alive?

He shook the thoughts from his head. One thing at a time. First, he would need to help his father. He would worry about everything else after that.