Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel Read online

  “You’re telling me.”

  Nick shook his head and rubbed at his temples. He felt a huge headache coming on, vibrating like an approaching passenger train. “Screw it,” he said. “I’ve had enough of today. Let’s just cash up and get out of here. I’ll do the conference call at home and pretend I’m still here.”

  Paul nodded, rubbing at his hand and wincing. “Sounds good to me, governor. I’m sure things will be better tomorrow.”

  Nick huffed. “They couldn’t be any worse.”

  Chapter two

  The roads home were quiet. Nick and Paul had managed to leave work at quarter-past-four, before the rush hour traffic was due to begin. One or two cars still dotted the lanes of the duel carriageway – and at one point he’d needed to slow down to let a rushing ambulance pass by – but for the most part he hadn’t had to drop his Alfa Romeo below seventy the whole way home. By ten-to-five he was parked on the curb and walking into his house.

  It was nice to be home a couple hours early and, as he put his key into the front door, he began to think about what he could do with the extra time. Perhaps he would take Deana and James out for a nice meal someplace. It’d been a while since they’d had treated themselves and it would be a nice way to put the dreary and exhausting day behind him. Maybe he would forget that tomorrow he would have to endure it all over again.

  And the day after that. And the day after that. And every other day until I die of a stroke or just plain boredom.

  Deana was standing barefoot in the hallway when he stepped inside the porch. She was obviously surprised to see him home so early. “What are you doing back?” she asked; her dark Moroccan eyes suspicious beneath her choppy black fringe. “Everything okay?”

  “Don’t get me started,” said Nick, hooking his woollen coat onto one of the porch hangers. “We had about three customers all day long and then some weirdo came in and attacked Paul – he’s okay, by the way, so don’t worry. In the end I decided it wasn’t even worth being open, so I closed up early.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble?”

  “I couldn’t care less at this point. I’ll take the conference call in the bedroom later, but I’m sure no one will even know. You fancy going out for dinner tonight, oh dear wife of mine?”

  Surprisingly, Deana didn’t seem enthused by the suggestion. “I don’t know, honey,” she said. “James is feeling a bit under the weather. I don’t know if it’s wise taking him out. And I don’t want to get a babysitter.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “What is it with people getting sick today? I swear something must be going around. What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s just a little bunged-up, and a headache. Probably just needs an early night. He’s in the living room watching Family Guy DVDs.”

  Nick sighed. “I told you not to let him watch that show, Deana. It’s not like The Simpsons.”

  “It’s alright. He doesn’t understand the adult jokes. Go check on him. He’ll be glad to see you.”

  “Okay,” he said, sighing in defeat of her argument. He gave her a peck on the cheek and moved past her. He took the door on the left, which led to the living room. Inside, his mop-haired little angel lay curled-up on the beige corner sofa. He was peering at the television screen, but seemed unable to focus very well. He was squinting and blinking his eyes as if something was irritating them.”

  “You okay, little dude? Mommy says you’re not feeling very well.”

  “I have a headache,” James said pitifully.

  Nick went and sat on the end of the sofa. He pulled his son’s socked feet up onto his lap. “Oh dear. I’ll get Mommy to cook you something nice and then you can get an early night. You’ll feel all better.”

  “Do I have to go to school?”

  Nick laughed and tickled his son’s foot. But James didn’t react, which was strange because he was usually very sensitive to tickle-torture. He must really have been feeling ill. Nick tussled his hair instead. “We’ll see how you’re feeling tonight, buddy, and then decide. So, what’s happening in Family Guy?”

  “Brian and Stewie are trapped inside a bank and Brian just ate Stewie’s nappy.”

  Nick screwed his face up in disgust. “Lovely. Well, you can carry on watching until dinner, but then it’s going off, okay?”

  He was about to get back up again, to go find Deana, but he paused when he spotted the thick Beano plaster on his son’s finger.

  “Hey, buddy. What happened to your finger?”

  “Jordan bit me at school. I didn’t even call him a name or nothing. He got in lots of trouble with Mrs Tanner, though, so it’s okay. Mommy had to kiss it better for me and put a Dennis the Menace on it.”

  Nick didn’t like the coincidence. Paul had been bitten, too. But what did that mean? Surely an unruly child biting his son was nothing to worry about? It was the type of thing that happened at first school all the time.

  Still, it was weird.

  “Jordan bit you? Were you feeling ill before that, or afterwards?”

  James shook his head. “I didn’t feel poorly until Mommy picked me up. I started to feel sick in the car and got a headache.”

  Nick patted his son on the leg and gave him the reassuring smile of a worried parent. “Okay,” he said. “You just rest here and I’ll call you when dinner is ready. Anything in particular you’d like?”

  “Fish fingers.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Fish fingers.”

  “Okay, fish fingers it is.”

  Nick got up from the sofa and headed out into the hallway. Deana was in the kitchen, already starting on dinner.

  “His lord requires fish fingers,” he said to her as he approached from behind and squeezed at her hips.

  “Right-o,” she said. She was already rummaging around the fridge freezer so it was easy for her to come out with a large cardboard box full of Cod sticks. She set them down on the IKEA breakfast table, next to a basket of laundry, and brushed off a layer of frost. “Did he ask for anything else? Or just fish fingers?”

  “Just fish fingers with a side of fish fingers. I suppose you could force him to accept some chips and beans with them.”

  “That wouldn’t be because you want chips and beans, would it? You’ve got fillet steak in the fridge, you numpty.”

  “I know, I have.” He perched back against the table. “But I’m too tired to eat it tonight. It would just be wasted on me. I’ll just have whatever James is having.”

  Deana moved up close to him, tiptoed on the tiles, and gave him a kiss on the mouth. “You’re not coming down with something as well, are you, babe? Because I can’t be doing with nursing you both back to health. I am in no mood for man-flu.”

  Nick shook his head. “I’m fine. Just tired. Really, really, really tired. I don’t know how much longer I can take working at that bloody place.”

  “Find something else, then. I don’t want you to be miserable all the time.”

  “I’m not miserable. Just…unfulfilled. Anyway, don’t worry about it for now. I’m just glad to be home early for a change. Shame we can’t go out, but never mind.”

  “James show you his battle wound?” Deana asked him.

  “His finger? Yeah. What happened?”

  “Another kid bit him about an hour before I picked him up. It wasn’t too bad. Still bleeding a little when he got home, so I put a new plaster on it.”

  “And kissed it better?”

  “Of course! What kind of mother do you think I am?”

  Nick giggled and then checked his watch. It was almost half-five. “I need to get ready for the conference call,” he said, giving his wife a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll try to get away as quick as I can.”

  “Okay, I’ll bring you a coffee up.”

  He thanked her and then quickly headed upstairs to use the phone in the bedroom where it would be quieter. The last thing he needed was to be on the conference call and have his son and wife’s voices giving it away that he was at home inste
ad of at the store where he was supposed to be.

  He opened the door to the bedroom and lay himself down on the freshly made Queen-size bed, dumping down his keys and wallet on the glass side-table next to the phone. The duvet cover was the blue Egyptian cotton one that he liked so much. The soft thread immediately relaxed him.

  The conference call would commence at five-thirty sharp, but the managers of the other stores would usually get on early to check the lay of the land. How did your store do today? What was footfall like? Did you meet your insurance quota? Is the area manager in a good or bad mood today?

  He picked up the phone and dialled in the number he knew by heart. Then he tapped in the login pin number. There was a brief silence while the automated service connected him.

  When he heard the static of the open line, Nick introduced himself. “Nick Adams, Solihull, Touchwood.”

  There were no replies. He must have been the first one there. Great, he thought to himself. Everyone else has had such busy days that they’re struggling to even get away and jump on the call.

  I’m so dead.

  Nick took a deep breath and released it slowly, letting it echo in the receiver. He rubbed at his forehead with his free hand and closed his eyes while he waited for someone else to arrive. He really hated conference calls. Why there had to be one every single evening he did not know; just like he did not know why he had to be in store for 8AM when it only took twenty minutes to get ready for a 9AM opening. It seemed that Head Office was unaware that Branch Managers had lives outside of work.

  There was nothing he could do, though. He wouldn’t get paid as much anywhere else in retail. Most people in the country – the world, in fact – hated their jobs just as much as he did, but for less pay, so in some ways he was lucky. At least his family was secure; even if it did mean he was miserable fifty hours a week.

  Nick checked his watch and saw that it was now 5:32. “Hello,” he said into the receiver. “Hello, is anyone else here?”

  A second later, the line crackled and another voice appeared on the line.

  “Hey,” said Nick. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s Paul.”

  “Paul, what are you doing on the call?”

  “I figured you’d need backup after the day we had.”

  Nick smiled. It was good of Paul to go down in flames with him. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it. It’s just me and you so far, though.”

  “Yeah, I think there’re a couple managers who are reluctant to get on here. I phoned around on the way home and found out that a few other stores were deserted as well. Evesham only did two contracts and Tewkesbury did none, so don’t worry too much.”

  Nick sighed relief. “That’s good to know. Least I won’t be the only one getting torn a new one.”

  Paul started coughing and hacking into the phone.

  “You okay, buddy?”

  “Just a cold coming on, I think. Probably from that doodi that bit me earlier.”

  “You best not be calling in sick on me tomorrow, dude!”

  “Course not. Can’t leave all the sales to Chelsea, can I? There’s only room for one top salesman in our store, and it’s me.”

  A crackle on the line and another voice appeared. It was the distinctive Australian twang of the area manager. It grated at Nick’s nerves every time he heard it. It wasn’t the accent he hated, it was the man.

  “Who is on the call?” the area manager asked in his usual pissy tone.

  “Just me and Paul,” answered Nick.

  “Who might me and Paul be?”

  “Nick Adams and Paul Patel from Solihull. No one else is on the call yet.”

  “Yes, I know.” The area manager spoke as if he were a fool. “I’ve had a lot of managers call in sick today, so there will be no call tonight.”

  The line clicked and the area manager was gone.

  “Prick,” said Paul.

  Nick laughed into the line. “I’d wet myself if he hadn’t actually gone yet.”

  Paul tutted. “Guy don’t scare me.”

  “You find it weird?” asked Nick. “I mean, what he said?”

  “About managers calling in sick? I guess so. Maybe they all went on a bender and planned a mass sickie. You know we’re never in the loop about those things, just because we’re both married and past the age of thirty. This is a young man’s game, fella.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I just find it weird with how town was so quiet today. And that guy who came in at the end of the day was a total mess. There must be a right horrible bug going around.”

  “Yeah, the bloody lergy, and I have it,” said Paul, before clearing his throat of phlegm. “I got to go, governor. Think a night in the pub is in order if I’m going to be feeling rough all night.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “Just don’t come in with a hangover.”

  “Ha! I’m Sikh. We don’t get drunk. There’s no beer in the world strong enough.”

  Nick laughed and both men exited the call.

  He went downstairs to spend the evening with his family, hoping that whatever was going around, he wouldn’t catch it.

  Chapter three

  The evening had gone by quickly. A dinner of fish fingers followed by a few hours of innocuous reality television and it was soon everybody’s bedtime. Nick had intended to put James to bed right after dinner, but ended up changing his mind. He had become so feverish and fitful that Nick decided to let him stay up just so he could keep an eye on him. Deana had started to feel grim, too. She’d spent the evening reaching for the tissue box every few minutes. By the end of the night the living room had started to feel more like an infirmary than a place to relax. Nick assumed it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the dreaded ‘lergy’ himself.

  Just after ten O’ clock, Deana had carried James upstairs – he remained asleep in her arms – and then joined Nick in bed a few minutes later. She took a handful of flu capsules from the bedside drawer and dry swallowed them with a brief gagging sound. Then she dragged herself into her no-sex ‘frumpy’ pyjamas and was snoring loudly before even ten minutes had passed.

  Nick had then been left staring at the ceiling and struggling to find sleep himself. He was dreading another workday like the one he’d just had. The minutes had seemed like hours and the stress of not meeting target had been constantly on his mind.

  He was nothing but a glorified salesman, really, but sometimes Head Office made his job as stressful as being a brain surgeon. Targets for this, targets for that, working weekends, opening evenings; they expected him to live, breathe, and eat the phone industry. But the truth was that he didn’t give two shits about the company he worked for. It was a paycheque, nothing more, and he hated every minute he spent there.

  It’s my life, though. Nobody else to blame.

  Dropping out of University of Birmingham was perhaps his biggest mistake – his parents would certainly say so – but he had little faith that it would have resulted in anything different if he had graduated. He would still be the same, unambitious dropout that he’d always been; always taking the path of least resistance. He could have been a teacher or a journalist by now, but instead he had allowed himself to fall short and become a middle manager in retail. It was a comfortable, respectable living, but deeply unfulfilling. But it was totally his own fault.

  He’d always told himself that one day he would do something different, that one day he would start a career he enjoyed but, before he knew it, he was thirty-years old with a wife and child. Now there was never going to be a one day.

  He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the beastly snores of his slumbering wife. God, he loved her, but sometimes she sounded like an asthmatic camel – especially when she was ill. He tried his best to ignore the rhythmic grumbling, to get at least a little sleep. And thankfully, before long, slumber finally approached him.

  ***

  When Nick opened his eyes again the bedside LED alarm clock read 5:03AM.

  And there were noises downstair
s.

  He glanced at Deana, checking to see if the sounds had awoken her also, but she was silent and still, no longer even snoring.

  Nick rubbed at his eyes. I must have fallen asleep finally.

  The noises downstairs continued, consistent and regular – almost like a rhythm. Someone was shuffling around, possibly in the kitchen. He was sure he heard the wooden chairs of the breakfast table scuffing against the granite floor tiles.

  Goddamn it. This is all I need. I have to be up in a couple hours and some git is trying to rob me.

  He slid out from beneath the bed covers and headed for the door in his boxer shorts. The noises continued, almost as if whoever was downstairs didn’t even care if they were heard. If it was indeed a burglar then he was the most negligent criminal ever.

  Or someone who just doesn’t give a fuck.

  The thought filled Nick with dread. What if the person downstairs was a lunatic, ready to hack him up into bloody cutlets?

  Stop being stupid. You’re just freaking yourself out.

  He crept barefoot across the landing, wishing he had a baseball bat or some other weapon stashed upstairs, but it had never occurred to him before now to need such things. He’d never worried about being burgled.

  So much for living in a nice area.

  He started down the carpeted steps at the end of the landing and made sure to take each one carefully. The darkness of the downstairs hallway seemed to shift and swirl before him, almost as if it was warning him away. He had to remind himself that it was just his eyes adjusting to the lack of light.

  He reached the bottom step and padded into the hallway. From there, it became clear that the stranger in his home was indeed inside the kitchen. Not only could Nick hear them shuffling around in there, but he could also see a hint of light coming from beneath the door at the end of the hallway.

  What the hell are they playing at? Do they want me to catch them?

  Nick started to plan his actions. Was he just going to burst in, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, hoping to frighten the intruder away? Would that even work? What if the intruder was armed? He decided that he would rather prevent a confrontation than create one, so he decided to give the burglar a chance to flee. He rapped his knuckles against the kitchen door as hard as he could and spoke in his sternest voice. “Hey, whoever you are, get the hell out of my house! Right now!”