The Screaming (Book 1): Dead City (4 page)

              Chris couldn’t break the gaze, like some sort of sadistic staring contest. Jez looked back, his mouth slowly dropping open, revealing his deep red teeth. He released a scream so piercing Chris grabbed for his ears and covered them. He flinched momentarily before realizing that he needed to know where Jez was. He looked back over the edge. Gone. No, there. He was bounding up the rickety steps that don the side of the crane, Chris started to panic and frantically hunted around the cab for something to defend himself, only finding a lunch box and a radio.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

              Jez was racing up the steps like he was running along a road. The sound of boots striking metal, got louder and louder. Chris was trapped. Jez jumped up onto the gangway outside the cab door and immediately started thrashing his fists on the door windows. Chris sank back into his chair, he could see Jez’s fists crack and bleed under the pressure of the strikes being thrown at the windows, leaving large red smears all over the glass.

“Jez, please don’t, it’s me, please, please.” Chris started to sob.

              The door cracked and the window shattered in a shower of glass. Jez released a triumphant deafening scream into the cab. Tears rolled down Chris’ face as Jez crawled through the window. He raised his legs and started kicking like a child having a tantrum. He landed several blows to Jez’s head which had little effect but to hold off the inevitable. He had soon sunk his finger nails into Chris’ calves. He cried with pain as blood seeped through his jeans and excrement filled his jeans.  Jez soon had Chris pinned to the chair, one hand around his throat, the other ripped at Chris’ stomach like a child with a Christmas present, soon revealing bare flesh.

“Please Jez.” Chris pleaded.

              It was to no avail as Jez sunk his teeth into Chris’ chubby belly, blood jettisoned from the quickly gaping wound in Chris’ flesh as he let out a desperate and painful scream. Jez engaged himself on intestine, tearing at entrails and skin. Chris fell quiet and slowly drifted into unconsciousness, never to wake again. Jez lowered his hand from Chris’ throat, instinctively aware that his Prey had succumbed to his fate, and started snapping ribs and tearing at his chest cavity to expose Chris’ major organs, breaking several of his own fingers in the process.

              Chris’ empty carcass lay limp in the chair. Jez raised from his meal and crawled out of the cab onto the gang way. He stood upright staring off towards the approach road. Screamers on the road ever increasing in numbers still stood entranced facing up the road, unfazed by the crane buffet. Jez raised his head to the horizon. Large cuts down his face, sliced by Chris’ splintered rib cage, hardly noticeable under the mask of flesh and blood.

      On the horizon lay the lights of buildings, lots of buildings, sirens resonated across the low misty sky, blending with the inseparable ambient noises of city life. Suddenly the monstrous statues screamed long and loud in grotesque unison as they sprinted towards London.

Chapter Two

“Passengers boarding at Hitchin, welcome aboard the East Coast Trains service to London Kings Cross. Next stop Stevenage.”

              The intrusively loud recorded announcement boomed around the empty carriage. Zac flinched in his seat and scanned the rickety train as his eyes sprung open, waking him from his broken sleep. A red imprint on his right cheek, from where he had been using his rucksack as a pillow, slowly faded. He wiped his eyes to aid focus and stretched his arms skyward, before reaching into his jeans pocket. He pulled out his phone and a packet of gum, unwrapped a stick and placed it on his tongue, before screwing up the foil and discreetly dropping it at his feet.

              He quickly scanned his phone, before placing it on the table in front of him. Zac thought it unusual to get a seat on the train, let alone a four seater with a table, all to himself. These trains into London were usually packed, every day of the week. He looked around the carriage in front of him and then over his shoulder, down the aisle of empty seats behind him.

              A few seats over to his left sat an old woman. She was the only other person in the carriage and she sat facing him in a window seat. She had hardly moved since Zac had boarded the train at Lincoln, except to look him up and down a couple of times, with a judging frown on her uptight face.

“Obviously not one for the Geek Chic combo.” Zac chuckled to himself, as the woman eyeballed his Red dwarf t-shirt and ripped jeans.

              She stared out of the dark window, straining her eyes to see the fields and streets whizzing by with little more than the reflection of the carriage interior bouncing back. She was wearing a large green wax jacket with a cotton scarf over her head, tied in a neat knot under her chin. She tightly grasped an expensive looking suitcase on the seat next to her. Zac’s phone vibrated on the table and he grabbed at it. A grin turned into a smile as he saw who the message was from.

“Have u got 2 Kings X yet? Emma.”

              Zac hated text speak but was willing to overlook it. He didn’t leave Lincolnshire very often, and had not been to London for some time. When he was twelve his parents had taken him to the Natural History Museum, there had been an exhibit on dinosaurs, which as a kid he had loved. He knew all the species. The trip was one of his favourite memories of his mother, who had died a couple of years ago. She was only in her mid-fifties, and had passed away after a long fight with Alzheimer’s. Unusual at such a young age.

              Zac had been torn apart by her loss. He and his father had both struggled with the reality of the disease, as their loved one slowly left, piece by piece, until all that remained was a shell. Her death had hit Zac hard, but it was now time for him to do something with his life.

              He had spoken to Emma on a website forum for Families of Alzheimer’s suffers. At first it was just someone to talk to who understood, as her father was also a sufferer, who had also developed the condition at an unusually young age. But as they spoke more and more they came to like each other and decided to meet.

“Just at Stevenage! shouldn’t be long now.”

“I’m not sure u should cum. With all that’s happening.”

“What? What’s happening?”

“U know. The riot! My mum doesn’t want me 2 go out.”

“What riot?”

              Zac closed his messages and opened the browser on his phone and typed “NEWS” several options for news websites came up and he selected the top one.

“Looting in East London. Breaking story, more to follow.” Read the headline. He closed the site and selected the next one down the list.

“Riots turn bloody in East end.”

Zac tossed his phone onto the table in frustration.

“Shit!” He yelled.

              The old woman scolded him with a startled glare before turning her attention back to the passing streets. The train started to slow down and the street lights and passing houses outside came into focus. A platform came up on the left side of the train and Zac looked across to see who was getting on.

“We are now arriving at Stevenage.” Announced the recording over the carriage speakers.

              The train eased to a stop and a loud hiss surged from the brakes. The “Door Open” button flashed green and a frantic beep sounded as the doors flung open. A current of fresh air flooded the carriage, offering relief to the stuffy atmosphere. Zac looked down the carriage towards the open doors, wondering if anyone was going to board. After several seconds the doors beeped again and glided shut. The brakes hissed once more and the train slowly pulled away.

              Suddenly the door at the end of the carriage ahead of Zac slid open and in stepped a man. He was in his mid-twenties, wearing a black bomber jacket and baggy cargo trousers with tassels hanging down his legs. He stumbled down the aisle towards Zac and sat in a seat about three rows in front. The man plonked a tatty old army backpack on the seat next to him. The most noticeable thing about the man, was that he was wearing the biggest earphones Zac had ever seen. Zac muffled a grin at the garish enormity of the earphones bobbing side by side on the man’s head. He could hear the horrific jungle music echo through them and drift down the carriage.

“Passengers from Stevenage, welcome aboard this East Coast Trains service, non-stop to London Kings Cross.” Sounded the familiar recording.

              The phone vibrated again, hopping across the table. An envelope flashing on the screen with “Emma” underneath it. Zac reached for it with less enthusiasm than before.

“What r u going to do?”

“Well the train is already delayed by two hours, I’m going to have to find a hotel.”

              Not an easy task at the best of times on a Barman’s wage, especially at London prices and this time of night. Zac had saved for weeks for the money to get down to see Emma. Working on minimum wage in an Australian themed bar in Lincoln. He would have saved quicker, but most of his wages went on rent and keep to his Dad. They both lived in his Dad’s little council retirement bungalow on the edge of Lincoln. His dad was suffering with depression since the loss of his wife and rarely left the house. Zac had stayed to look after him after his mum’s death, having turned down a place at Sheffield University to study Art.

“I think u should get off the train.”

“I can’t! It’s non-stop to Kings Cross. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“Emma?”

              Nothing. Zac could feel a twisted knot of anger and worry build in his stomach. He had never met Emma, but considered them to be close. Plus, he was wearing his best Space Invader boxer shorts to impress. He didn’t know whether to be concerned or pissed off and found himself settling somewhere in the middle. He recalled watching the London riots on TV a few years ago, people looting electrical shops for a new X-box. He wasn’t really one for watching the news. He was more of a morning cartoons type of guy, whilst scoffing a bowl of Coco-pops. He picked up his phone again, opened the search engine and started typing.

“Hotels Kings Cross.”

              After a long frustrating search he finally gave up. £50 was the cheapest room rate he could find. However that was by the hour, at a place called Nicole’s, which was rated as clean and friendly. He sunk into his seat as the train started entering a built up area again, and orange street lights brightened the dull grey walls of the carriage interior. He looked around the carriage as if it would offer some inspiration to aid his dilemma. The old woman was frozen in the same position clutching her bag and staring into the black and orange blur. Earphones was still bopping away to the same shit. No inspiration there. He scanned posters above the windows, but they held nothing but tourist attractions and cheap train fares. His mind wandered to thoughts of being huddled up next to an old drunk, wrapped in a cardboard box under a flyover, with people stepping over him on the way to a West End show.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving at London Kings Cross, where this service will terminate. Please ensure you take all of your belongings with you. Thank you for travelling on East Coast Trains.” The familiar announcer bellowed.

              The train started to slow once again and drifted along the track at a steady pace for a frustratingly long time. It seemed to be taking forever to get to the station. Zac looked out of the window at houses backing onto the railway. Windows onto normal people going about their business, many sat watching television, glued to the screen. He passed a large detached house with a big balcony and a set of double doors. Inside a middle aged couple were hurriedly throwing clothes into a set of posh leather suitcases. Further on a man was running to his car, bags hanging from his arms, clutching a small child, his wife stood at the car crying.

              Zac looked back into the carriage, earphones had stood up and moved to the door, his head still bobbing like a toy dog in a car. The woman was looking into the aisle, clinging to her suitcase. Like she was trying to time her dash to the door to the second. The houses suddenly disappeared as the train was sucked into a black tunnel before emerging the other side with platform rising to the right hand side. Zac stood up, adjusted his jeans, and placed his phone in his pocket. He reached across the seat and grabbed his tatty looking black backpack, and slung it over his right shoulder, before striding towards the doors.

              Earphones was nauseatingly pressing the “Door Open” button again and again, knowing full well it wouldn’t open until the train had stopped. The train eventually creaked to a halt with a large hiss of the brakes. The doors flung open and earphones was gone, pacing up the platform towards the station. Zac looked back to see the old woman sat on the edge of her seat, looking back at him, as if she was nervously waiting for him to get off before she made a move. Zac tutted under his breath, somewhat insulted by her apprehension, before stepping off of the train.

              Zac braced himself for the cold but was embraced by a surprisingly warm breeze as he stomped off up the platform. Earphones arrogantly swaggered on ahead towards the gates that lead to the station concourse at the end of the platform. The gates were flooded by a large group of passengers who appeared to be jostling for position at the gate onto the platform. As he got closer, the assembly of passengers came into focus. A Station guard was pressed against the gate by the swarm, only noticeable due to his distinctive blue tunic and peaked cap.

              The noise of the train faded and the flurry of activity ahead came into focus as the surge of vocal commotion resonated down the platform as Zac moved ever closer to the gates. People lined the barrier, a large man was shouting at the guard and angrily gesturing at the train, whilst a small girl clung to his leg. Her face buried into his thigh. People barged and shoved one another as they tried to better their position in front of the gate. A woman clung to a baby while her husband juggled a selection of suitcases.

              Zac glanced off to his right to see a similar scene building at a neighbouring platform, which also had an empty train along it. Both groups appeared to be rapidly growing as more and more people ran to join the back of the huddled multitudes.

“What the hell is going on?”

              Earphones’ awkward stride came to a halt as he reached the gates which remained closed with the guard wedged against it. Zac skimmed over the faces of the people herded at the barrier. They weren’t the looks of composed commuters or even slightly nervous country folk intimidated by the big city, and desperate to get home. There was something else hanging over their faces. Fear, pure fear. Every one of them was scared.

              Confusion consumed Zac, his stride slowed to a shuffle as he edged closer to the gate.

“What’s wrong with these people?”

              Suddenly the gate flung open and swung around, clanging against the barrier, as it hit the extent of its large iron hinges. The crowd surged through like a human tidal wave, knocking earphones clean off his feet. A couple of young men, jumped over the barrier and started running down the platform towards the train. People yelled with panic as they surged up the platform, until the barrier was drained of life. A woman at the back of the other group of people broke from her pack and scurried across the platform towards the open gate, dragging her wheeled travel bag behind her.

              Earphones picked himself up, his headphones swinging by the wire around his knees. He reached down for them, and without so much as a mutter, placed them on his head and walked through the gate with the same arrogant swagger. Zac looked back as people leapt on the train, pushing past guards, who vainly attempted to round up the flock, with no success. Zac turned back and continued his cautious shuffle up to the gate. As he passed through the threshold he saw the guard slumped next to it, his head in his hands. Zac’s tatty shoes caught the wilted authority figures eye and he slowly raised his head.