Devouring The Dead (Book 1) Read online

  DEVOURING THE DEAD

  Russ Watts

  © Copyright 2013 by Russ Watts

  PART ONE: GROWTH

  CHAPTER ONE

  Andrew James Collins had gone through his regular Monday morning procedure like every other week: up at six, teeth brushed, face washed, and out the door by six fifteen for a run. It was getting harder to leave his sleeping wife, Grace, when he got up. All he really wanted to do was snuggle down under the covers with her. With a baby on the way, she had had to give up the running and he was sad she couldn’t come with him anymore. He was looking forward to being a father for the first time though. These early morning runs gave him the chance to think about the future. He forced himself out of bed nearly every morning, the upcoming marathon was his prime motivator. This one would be his third and he wanted to improve on last years’ time.

  He kissed his wife goodbye and crept out of the bedroom discreetly. Andy pulled on his trainers and did his normal warm-up downstairs in the front room, doing some basic stretching. He left the house quietly and took off down the street. It was overcast and threatening to rain, so he planned to make today’s run a quick one and cut through the park. He passed through the streets, listening to the world waking up around him. The odd car and delivery truck passed him by and occasionally he would run past someone on the path clutching a newspaper or a carton of milk.

  He ran through Jamaica Street quickly, down another quiet residential road, until he reached Stepney Green Park. He knew he could run around it this morning, double-back on himself, and that way hopefully beat the weather. If he was doubly lucky, he could get back in time for a cuddle with Grace before he had to get ready for work in the city.

  As he jogged through the park, he enjoyed the smell of the grass and the trees. His breath fogged out in front of him in the crisp air and he ran past a park bench where an old man was sleeping, covered in soggy newspapers. There was another jogger on the far side of the park, but otherwise it was deserted. The sky overhead was darkening ominously and he increased his pace.

  A boom of thunder rolled out above the trees and he felt a large raindrop break on his head. The thunder faded away and Andy followed the curve of the path through the park and out into the open. If the raindrops became a downpour, there would be little shelter. There was a crack and a flash and Andy thought it was lightning, but the ground abruptly exploded in front of him. Grass, mud, and dirt flew up into the electrified air.

  He went sprawling, landing on the dewy grass. Clumps of sodden earth landed on him and he tasted blood in his mouth. He got to his feet and waved his hands in front of his face, trying to waft away the cloying dirt in the air. More thick droplets of rain began falling. Surely, the lightning hadn’t struck the ground; there was no conduit. Andy could see nothing for it to strike.

  As the air cleared, he saw a hole in the ground ahead, about six feet in diameter. It was circular and deep, and Andy’s first thought was that a bomb had gone off. Why would a terrorist detonate a bomb in the middle of an empty park in the morning?

  Carefully, Andy walked toward the hole. There was no burning smell, no smoke, and he began to think perhaps it wasn’t a bomb. It just didn’t make sense.

  He scanned around the park but the other jogger had disappeared, and the homeless man was still on the bench sound asleep. Evidently, the noise and the light hadn’t been enough to shake off the old man’s hangover. Andy couldn’t see anyone else around; there were no prying eyes or hidden cameras on the trees, and no sirens or SWAT team sprinting toward him. He took one more step toward the hole and stopped.

  A strange, moth-like creature flew up into the air and hovered about ten feet off the ground. If that’s a moth, he thought, it’s the biggest bloody moth I’ve ever seen. The body of the creature was the size of a rugby ball and its brown leathery wings stretched out about six feet from tip to tip. Two antennae were sticking out of its head, waving around like divining rods. They were covered in a light fur that appeared oily; the raindrops were splashing off the creature and onto the ground, leaving the flying beast dry.

  Andy looked at it with amazement. The creature had no eyes or mouth that he could see; it was like a massive moth with no face. It fluttered its wings slowly and secreted a dark liquid from its rear, a dark gooey substance that dribbled down its belly before dripping onto the earth below. The creature still hovered in the air with only its wing flapping and its antennae wiggling around. Andy took a few paces away and the creature started to follow him. Its wings flapped slowly and Andy was amazed it could remain air-born. He tried to think if he had seen anything like this anywhere before; he’d seen bats and bizarre creatures that lived in remote jungle caves on documentaries, but nothing like this, nothing in a central London park.

  He took another few steps and the strange creature followed him again, this time coming closer. He wasn’t sure if it was the developing rainstorm, but the air seemed alive, as if the very atoms were crackling.

  Thinking he must tell Grace about the weird flying animal, he watched as the flying beast rose higher into the air. Relieved that it was leaving, Andy heard a low humming noise. Looking closer at the moth-like creature, he realised it was coming from the animal. Its body was vibrating, its wings suddenly flapping furiously, and its whole body shuddering. Andy stepped back, alarmed, and the antennae suddenly went stiff, pointing directly at him. He turned and ran as the creature swooped.

  He heard the wings beating behind his head, as he ran on the soft and slippery ground. Panicking, he turned and the creature was right in front of his face. Its wings wrapped themselves around his head and the rigid antenna dug themselves into his eyes. Andy screamed as the stinking creature’s body enveloped his face, muffling his shouts for help, and covering his bleeding eyes.

  Andy sank to the floor, blinded as the antennae probed further into his head, reaching into his brain. Unable to breathe, Andy pulled frantically at the creature, but his fingers could not find a hold and the more he pulled, the more the creature dug in. His fingers slipped uselessly off the creature’s furry body. Andy’s lungs filled with blood and his heart beat furiously. Aware he was dying, Andy tried with one last attempt, one final adrenalin-fuelled charge, to rip the creature from his head.

  The animal’s body quivered and with a tremendous thrust, it ejaculated a brown thick liquid into Andy. Its antennae were used for both sensing prey, and delivering its fatal poison. Andy’s body pulsed, soiled itself, and lay still as the creature continued trembling, its sticky seed flowing into Andy’s brain.

  Finally, it was spent and the creature unwrapped itself from him. With its job done, the creature used its last ounce of energy to fly up into the nearest tree where it curled up in the concealing branches to die. The animal knew it had a short life-span, but was content it had fulfilled its purpose. It had little energy left and would probably wait here for a while until it slipped into sleep; unless something else came along to draw its attention.

  The storm grew stronger and the rain fell on Andy’s dead body, the water pooling in his empty eye sockets. Dark brown droplets of liquid oozed from his ears, nose, and mouth, mingling with blood before trickling down onto the wet ground. Blisters appeared on his face and painful red boils erupted on his neck that popped like fresh kernels of corn in a microwave.

  A young woman, another jogger, entered the park a moment later and saw Andy lying on the floor ahead of her. She raced over to him, but she knew that he was clearly dead. Assuming he had suffered a heart attack, she didn’t touch his body, but left him alone and called for an ambulance, the police, and then finally her boyfriend to tell him of the excitement. In all the confusion and drama, she didn’t notice the unnatural hole in the ground. She was
so busy tweeting about the dead jogger in the park that she failed to notice when the ambulance men took Andy away, and a strange, furry, creature with huge wings flew up into the air above her.

  * * * *

  The bus journey to work changed little, no matter where you were headed, thought Tom. He looked around the bus at the coughing lady, the stinking old man with rolls of newspapers under his arms, the obnoxious school children playing obnoxious music from their obnoxious phones, and the atypical surly driver. Tom tried shuffling further to the window, away from the fat woman next to him whose blubbery rolls of fat were threatening to engulf him and his bag. He cursed her in his head and focused on the street outside, raindrops spilling down the glass and obscuring his vision. He used to get off here, go into college, grab a coffee, chat to a couple of guys on his course, pretend to be interested in what his boring tutor was lecturing him about, shoot home as quickly as possible to avoid doing any real work, and get straight back to doing nothing.

  There was no escaping it though - those cushy days were over. One week. His parents had given him one week’s grace between leaving college and forcing him to get a job. So here he was, squashed up on a bus that smelt of piss and chips, headed to what was probably going to be a very boring day at a new job. His father had a word with a friend, and got him in ‘Fiscal Industries.’ Even the company’s name sounded boring. Apparently, it was a call centre and he didn’t know what he’d be selling. Thanks dad, thought Tom.

  He yawned and his breath fogged up the glass. The fat lady got up as the bus stopped, and Tom was grateful he wouldn’t have to squeeze past her when he got off at the next stop. The streets were full of people, scurrying through the rain to work. His father had told him he was wasting his time taking media studies at college. Certainly Tom couldn’t see how he was going to use his knowledge in a call centre, selling foot-rot pills to old folks for seven quid an hour.

  He’d rarely been to this area of the city, but then he’d seldom had cause to. Tom preferred to stay near home or college; there were enough pubs not to need to go into the city. Here, executives, rushing from one meeting to the next, populated it. Why would he want to mix with people he had nothing in common with? Abundant skyscrapers scratched the skyline whilst at ground level, the rain pelted down on grey concrete and black suits.

  Tom finally spied the building he had to get to, and pushed the button to get off. He tried not to breathe in as he passed the old man with the newspapers. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, and stepped off the bus into the rain as it pulled up by the side of the road.

  “Watch out, idiot,” said a nondescript man bumping past him, trying to dodge the raindrops as he rushed to his office. Tom shrugged and looked at his watch: nine a.m. He looked around at where he would be working as the bus pulled away. He stood under the bus shelter, sheltered from the rain, marvelling at the skyscraper in front of him. He tried counting the floors, but could only get up to twelve before the misty rain hid the rest. We used to build churches, he thought, now we have giant, glass, monoliths to worship, and money. C’est la vie.

  Tom checked the road and ran across to the entrance. He was struck by how much glass there was: the doors, the walls, and even the tables. Hope they’ve at least got proper walls in the toilets, he thought, as he slipped unobtrusively through the large sliding doors. The interior of the foyer was huge: marble columns sprouted from a smooth, slippery marble floor, and vast chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Men and women bustled past him, to and fro, ignoring him; Tom felt invisible. He approached the reception desk.

  “Good morning,” said the beautiful young girl behind the glass desk. Tom couldn’t help but notice that her complexion was perfect, and her hands were perfectly manicured. Through the glass desk, he also noticed her long legs. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad working here.

  “Hi, I’m Tom, Tom Goode. I’m here to start work today at Fiscal Industries,” he said, smiling, while reading her nametag: Jessica.

  “Certainly, sir, please take a seat, I’ll get someone to come and fetch you,” said Jessica. She gave him a smile and picked up the phone.

  “Thanks,” Tom said. “So, Jessica, what’s it like working here? You like it?”

  She ignored him and proceeded to ask someone to come down to get him.

  “Seats are over there, sir,” she said, ignoring his gaze, and spinning her chair around to talk to her colleague.

  “Pleased to meet you, too,” he muttered, walking away to the black leather sofas. He sat down and marvelled again at the building. The entrance alone was bigger than his entire flat, and the whole place was spotless. Men and women sped past him to the lifts at the far end, already at work on their mobiles. Suddenly Tom felt very out of place. He straightened his tie and looked down at his shoes; he hadn’t even polished them this morning. He surreptitiously licked one finger and bent down to rub the scuff marks and dirt off. As he did so, his phone vibrated and he took it out.

  “Hi, Mum, I can’t really talk, I just got here,” he said glancing around and talking quietly. He bet none of the suits filing past him talked to their mothers in the morning.

  “You’re there already? Oh God, Tom, just leave, come home quick, come now,” said his mother rapidly. She spoke without pause, without hesitation. Tom frowned. His mother was not the nervous type or one to worry unduly. Plus, his parents lived miles away, on the edge of the city. It would take him hours to get home.

  “What’s wrong, Mum?” he asked. “I just got here, I don’t think I should leave before I’ve even...”

  “Shut up, Tom, just leave now, something’s happened... city... you...”

  “Mum? Hello? Mum?” Tom looked at his phone. The line was dead. He tried calling her back, but he just got an engaged tone. Surely if something was wrong, then everyone would know about it? Queues of people were still going past him into the building and outside, it appeared normal. He could see buses and taxis driving past, trees blowing in the storm, and bits of rubbish swirling down the drain. Hundreds of people were spilling out of the tube station. Surely, his mother was mistaken?

  “Hi, Tom Goode? I’m Jillian, from Fiscal Industries. Welcome,” said the woman standing beside him. She stared at him, holding out her hand.

  “Oh, hi, yes, I’m Tom,” he said shaking her hand. He stuffed his phone back into his satchel and got up.

  “Great, follow me please, I’ll take you up. We’re on sixteen. Best views across the city - when it’s not raining,” said Jillian, winking at him.

  Tom smiled back and followed her. He would call his mother later at lunch time; she was probably worried about nothing. He was already anxious about his first day at work and an odd phone call from his mother was not helping settle his nerves. He couldn’t help but think that today was not going according to plan; the receptionist had been hot, but was a bit of a bitch quite frankly, and then being told to leave the city? He couldn’t very well ask his new boss if he could just go and call his mummy, could he?

  He followed Jillian to the lift, where she swiped a card outside the door and took him in. She stood facing the doors with Tom behind her, as they rode up with two suits to his right. He looked her up and down; she was probably thirty something, married with kids, no doubt, slim, smartly dressed. She seemed nice enough. Perhaps he was worried about nothing. He would spend the day in a nice warm office, meet some new people, and go home a little bit richer than when he started. Sadly for Tom, he was wrong; he would never go home again.

  * * * *

  Sally ran so hard; she thought her lungs were going to burst. As a trained nurse, she knew that was not possible, not literally, but she had seen other things today that she knew were not possible; not in the world she lived in, and yet she had seen them. The unimaginable horrors she had seen would not be shaken from her; she forced herself to forget and think about home. She had to get home. Her son would need picking up from school soon. She had to get out of here. Her son needed her.

  Sally kicked off her s
hoes as she ran and left them behind. Her bare feet hurt on the road, but she could run faster without her shoes slipping in the rain. She glanced over her shoulder; they were still coming.

  When they had brought the body in, they hadn’t known the true issue they were dealing with. A male had been found in Stepney Green Park, apparently attacked, the victim of a mugging, and left for dead. First reports were that he had suffered a heart attack, but he had suffered facial wounds consistent with a beating. Whoever had called it in, had been a poor judge, as they had told them that the man was dead. When he arrived at the hospital, he was very much alive. They had to restrain him as he lashed out whenever they tried to help him.

  They had taken him straight to ER and worked on him, but he died shortly after. They thought it was a simple mugging gone wrong, although gouging someone’s eyes out for twenty quid was unusual. The police went to inform his next of kin, while they, Doctor Collins and Nurse Tina, noted the time of death and began tidying up. The man had fought for his life; he had regained consciousness very briefly before the end, spluttering something about the dark before passing out. His body had been wracked with convulsions and he had vomited blood everywhere. From the state he was in, she had wondered if it really was a simple mugging gone wrong; now she knew better.

  As she cleaned the blood off the floor, she heard Tina cry out. Sally had looked up to find the deceased jogger sitting up on the hospital bed, and biting Tina’s arm. As Tina tried to push him off, the man bit her harder, ripping skin and tissue away. As the blood poured over Tina’s uniform, Doctor Collins tried to push the man back down. Sally could see the Doctor was confused. He had been declared dead two minutes ago, and there was no way they had got it wrong. Sally had to admit she had frozen. She had been trained to deal with angry patients, dangerous ones, and people with mental problems or on drugs; but a dead man coming back to life?

  By the time she sounded the alarm, it was too late. Doctor Collins was dead and Tina lay dying. The deceased ran out into the corridor, oblivious to Sally, and she could still hear the echoing screams from the corridor now. After that, it was total mayhem. People were been running all over the place. She heard the police firing shots, something she never dreamed would happen in her hospital, ever.