Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(7)

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

And there were noises downstairs.

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 f*ck.

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!”

Silence.

“I’ve already called the police, so just get out of here.”

Silence.

I knew it! There’s a loon in my kitchen, what am I going to do.

Nick didn’t know what to do. Opening the door and stepping inside the kitchen was probably the stupidest thing, but it was what he found himself doing anyway. Despite his fear, Nick was angry that someone felt they could root around his kitchen in the middle of the night.

He pushed open the door, ready for action.

The kitchen was dark. The light he had seen creeping beneath the door was coming from the open fridge-freezer. In front of the glowing appliance stood the intruder. Their body was a featureless silhouette against the backdrop of frozen ready meals and French fries.

“Hey,” said Nick. “What the hell are you playing at? Get the f*ck out of my house.”

No answer. Not even a reaction.

As his eyesight continued to adjust, Nick could see that the figure was facing away from him, peering into the fridge-freezer. But slowly…gradually…the stranger was beginning to turn around. They were small…too small to be an adult…

Nick’s breath caught in his chest.

What the…?

He stared at his son with shock. “J-James, what are you doing down…”

His words trailed off as he saw what his son was doing. Hanging from James’s tiny mouth was a large hunk of fillet steak, still raw and dripping.

Jesus…

Nick didn’t understand what he was looking at. What was James doing down here in the middle of the night, tearing into raw meat like a feral dog?

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not well.

Nick raised a hand toward his son. “James, put the meat down. It will make your tummy bad.”

James lowered his head, animal eyes trained on his father. His thin lips trembled in a snarl.

And then, with what sounded like a growl, James lunged at Nick. His delicate hands were outstretched like cat claws. His sallow, naked chest was soaked with the blood of the dripping steak. As James collided with Nick, the hunk of meat fell from his mouth and hit the tiles with a splat!

Nick wrapped his arms around his son and spun him around. From behind, he wrestled to keep his thrashing child under control.

“James! James, what has gotten into you? It’s your father. You have a fever and you need to calm down.”

James continued to thrash and was now letting out a high-pitched scream like an old-fashioned kettle. The noise forced its way into Nick’s head and made his skull throb.

“Calm down!” he yelled at his son. “Just stop fighting me.”

But it was no good. James continued to screech and yell; clawing and punching, fighting to get free of Nick’s restraining arms. His bloodstained milk-teeth snapped wildly at the air.

Nick assumed his son was hallucinating from fever. If he could just get to the light switch and illuminate the room, perhaps James would be less confused. Maybe then he would calm down.