Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(8)

He squeezed his arms tight around his son’s waist and began to sidestep towards the light switch. James’s relentless thrashing made every step a battle of will and determination. He did not understand how his young son could suddenly become so strong and wild.

What has gotten into him? He’s like a feral cat. I can’t believe-

Nick’s bare foot came down on something soft and slippery. He quickly realised that it was the raw fillet steak, dropped from his son’s jaws. But it was too late to react in time. Nick’s leg went out from under him as his foot slipped on the wet meat. He fell sideways with the full weight of his son still in his grasping arms. His head hit the tiles with a crack and a galaxy of stars burst through his vision. There was also another sound. A sound that was both meaty and wet.

He was too dazed to sit up. His vision spun and a roiling wave of sickness crashed against the rocks of his stomach. So, he just lay there for a while, totally confused by what was happening.

Am I missing something? Because this all seems a little crazy to me.

After a few stretched-out seconds, Nick finally pushed himself up onto his elbows and glanced around.

James was lying nearby, his small body unmoving.

“Oh, Jesus!” He scurried across the tiles on his hands and knees. He placed a hand behind James’s head and tried to lift it up, but withdrew his fingers when they touched something hot and tacky. Even in the dim light provided by the open fridge, Nick could see the dark blood on his hands. It was warm and sticky like drying glue.

No, no, no!

Nick looked to his left and saw the matted clump of hair that covered the sharp corner of one of the kitchen’s wooden chairs. As he had fallen he had taken his son down with him, smashing his young skull against the unforgiving furniture.

Nick shot to his feet and leapt for the light switch. “Oh my God! James! James! No! I’m sorry. No! Help me! Somebody help!”

He flicked on the lights, flooding the kitchen with an artificial glow that stopped just short of the darkness outside the windows. He dropped back down to his knees and placed his hands either side of James’s face. Blood pooled on the tiles and his son’s staring eyes were glazed and puffy. He felt for a pulse, but there was none.

His son was not breathing.

He can’t be dead. No!

Nick slunk backwards on the tiles, his mind skewing at the edges and threatening to shatter into a thousand frantic pieces.

God help me, what have I done? I’ve killed my own son. I’ve killed my own son.

No, no, no. He’s not dead. He can’t be. I just…I just need to get help. That’s all.

Nick leapt up off the floor, so panicked that he almost took flight. For a brief moment his mind was blank, numb with panic, but then he got moving, sprinting into the hallway and leaping up the stairs. He could use the phone beside the bed and wake up Deana at the same time. She could go check on James while he spoke to the emergency services.

And tell them what I’ve done.

He burst into the bedroom, shouting at the top of his lungs for his wife to wake up. Her body shifted beneath the sheets, but she didn’t respond. Nick cursed under his breath and grabbed for the phone. He dialled 999 and waited.

And waited.

In his ear: Emergency Services are currently dealing with a very high number of calls. Please leave your name, address, and situation, and help will arrive with you shortly. Please remain calm while waiting for assistance. Leave your details after the beep.

Beep!

Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 999 were too busy to answer his call?

What is going on?

He turned to Deana and knelt on the bed, shoving her hard with both hands. “Deana, wake up! I need your help. Something terrible has happened.”

She began to stir.

Finally! She’ll know what to do.

With a low moan, Deana rolled out of bed and placed both feet on the carpet with a soft thump. Then she began to straighten up.

Nick switched on the bedside lamp and started redialling 999. He looked up at his wife as he did so. “Deana! James is hurt. He was in the kitchen and I…I…”

Deana’s glaring eyes were wide; the lower lids hanging slack while bloodshot orbs rattled around their sockets. A slick trail of blood covered her chin and trickles of fluid sweated from her nipples beneath her nightshirt.

Nick’s jaw dropped open as he tried to understand what he was seeing. But, before he had chance to think, Deana leapt across the bed at him. He dodged sideways, just in time, and stumbled against the end of the bed. He almost fell down, but managed to remain on his feet.

“Deana, what are you doing?” he shouted.

She clambered over the bed towards him, leaving bloody handprints on the Egyptian sheets and snarling at him like a wolf.

Nick edged backwards against the wall. Deana glared at him balefully, her jaws grinding back and forth like saw blades. Then she let out a high-pitched screech and pounced.

Nick put his arms out to defend himself and managed to shove Deana off-balance as she landed. She stumbled sideways and tripped, colliding with the mahogany chest of drawers that her mother had bought them both as a wedding gift. The one he’d always hated.

Instinctively, he went to help his wife, mortified that he might have hurt her, but Deana was right back on her feet. This time he ran away from her. It was the only thing he could think to do. Deana seemed dead-set on hurting him and he knew in his heart that he could never intentionally injure her – not even in self-defence. His only option was to get the hell away from her until she got a hold of herself.