The Orphans (Book 4): White Lie (33 page)

No longer concerned with road safety, he mounted the kerb, ran over a patch of grass that separated the road he was parked on, and onto the dual carriageway that led out of Portsmouth. Metal squealed and Kurt could have kicked himself, what good would it do if he damaged the van one hundred yards from the chaos taking place in his rear-view mirror? The streets were now full, both with cars, and the dead moving between them, trying to get at the occupants. Trapped with vehicles in front and behind, the motorists could only sit there and despair, ramming forwards and backwards until their
engine was damaged, or windows finally broke and entrance was gained by the horde. For a moment, Kurt eased off of the accelerator and was tempted to turn and use the vehicle as a weapon to try and help. He slowed from forty, to thirty, and
prepared for a hard turn. Thoughts of his family entered his mind, and with no small measure of self-disgust, he accelerated hard, forcing himself to look away from the mirror and concentrating on the road ahead.

Hitting seventy miles an hour, Kurt flashed his lights and sounded the horn every time he saw a car or person. Some looked bemused, some angry, and one even gave him the finger. From the horror he had just escaped, the normality of people walking down the road, admiring the view of Portsmouth Harbour, made him question himself. Only the toolbox, and its noxious coating, reinforced the knowledge of what had transpired. The first spattering of rain hit the windscreen, blurring the landscape, until Kurt put the wipers on. Between the motion of the wiper blades, Kurt watched as people ran in an effort to avoid the downpour. He couldn’t help but feel utter helplessness at what they would soon be forced to flee from.

Kurt dialled his wife Sarah, the phone was already
engaged. He tried again, engaged.

“For fuck sake, get off the phone!” Kurt shouted to no one in particular, slamming his fist onto the steering wheel.

On the third attempt it rang and he breathed a sigh of relief, on the fourth ring Sarah answered.

“Hi babe, how’s your day going?” she asked.

“Sarah listen, don’t say anything just listen. Are you at home?”

“Yeah, I just got back from Lisa’s. Why?” a hint of fear entered her voice.

“Ok good, I need you to go to the school and get Sam right now. I can’t tell you why because you will think I’m crazy, but do it! Don’t stop to talk to anyone, don’t stop for anything. Get him, get home, and lock the doors. I will be home in twenty minutes,” Kurt told her breathlessly.

“Babe you’re scaring me, I …”

“Right now Sarah!” he shouted, interrupting her. “Please baby, I love you, please trust me and remember, do not stop for anything, no matter how bizarre.”

“Ok, I’m leaving right now, I love you too.” She hung up.

Kurt felt momentary relief, but the reality of the situation came flooding back. The cemetery, the dead rising,
it was insanity! However, it was happening, he had seen it, he
had fought it! Sudden realisation dawned of the route that Sarah would likely take, Spencer Road onto Horndean Road, then Adderbury Avenue and onto Victoria Road, which was home to the school. Adderbury Avenue! The old church!

“Oh god no,” he moaned.

The graveyard was centuries old. To his knowledge it had not had a burial for a number of years, since the main Waterlooville cemetery had opened. A horrific question entered his mind; how ‘fresh’ did they need to be to rise from the grave? Surely, there would be nothing left after all this time… but he couldn’t risk it. Redialling Sarah, he swerved round a slow moving Nissan Micra, which flashed its lights and beeped its anger at the manoeuvre. Sarah answered.

“Sarah, go the long way round through Warblington, don’t go via Adderbury Avenue. I’ll explain everything when I get to you. I’ll get hold of my dad,” he instructed.

“Ok Kurt, I will,” she hung up. Sarah was an orphan, a road accident when she was younger had claimed the lives of her parents, but left her unscathed. The Police had been amazed that anything had survived the impact when they looked into the crushed shell
of the car, but there she was. She had suffered a bump on the head and minor bruising, but with no next of kin to speak of, she had been fostered. It was an easy placement, the family had wanted a young girl, and at three years old she was almost angelic in appearance.

Kurt’s
mind raced, almost as fast as the scenery he was passing at breakneck speed. Trees blurred, rain poured, wind howled against the van, causing it to list to the left requiring a correction in the steering. What do I do? He thought. Where do we go? Police! They need to know,
and then h
e
dialed 999. Engaged. Dialed again, and again, and again. Engaged. ‘
They must know. Ok, what next. Food, drink. When did we last go shopping, last Thursday or Friday? How long would it last if they had to stay indoors for a while?
’

“Not long enough,” he answered his own question.

He dialled his dad; the phone rang until it went to voicemail. He tried again, the same result. “Dad it’s me,” Kurt said to the phone’s voicemail. “Phone me as soon as you get this, I need you at our house. It’s a family emergency.” Ringing off, he concentrated on the road ahead, a palpable sense of dread growing inside him.

http://www.amazon.com/Hellspawn-Ricky-Fleet-ebook/dp/B01A2LLELA

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Hellspawn-Ricky-Fleet-ebook/dp/B01A2LLELA