Blood Water Page 2

  ‘Oh yeah.’ He turned and went back into his bedroom, wondering why nearly everyone Mum knew seemed to be called Jean.

  ‘And I don’t want you out of that bed today, you understand? You nearly ended up in hospital yesterday.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he replied. He knew only too well. He closed his door before picking up his copy of Northern Lights and getting back into bed. Pulling the covers over him and pushing the pillows up behind his head, he glanced at the image on the front cover. He didn’t recognize it at all – it seemed different. He stared at it for a whole minute, trying to force himself to remember it, but it was no use. Why didn’t he recognize it? Why was he still having problems with his brain? He tried reading, but he couldn’t get into the book any more. Besides which, he was now developing a headache. He decided that since he was confined to his bed, he might as well sleep. So he did.

  He awoke again at around one thirty, to an awful din outside. It sounded like rain, but if it was, it was really hammering down. He got out of bed, went over to his window and opened the curtains to reveal a furious downpour outside. The density of the rain was incredible; the ground was already covered in water, tiny explosions from the raindrops making it look almost alive.

  Sean heard his mum’s voice from downstairs. She was talking to someone, on the telephone. When he turned back to the window he was shocked to see his dad below him, hands raised to the sky, smiling as though he was enjoying the deluge. But he should be at work now, Sean thought.

  ‘What the hell… ?’ he mouthed. He turned and ran downstairs to find Mum in the living room, staring out of the large bay window at the front of the house, the phone held to her ear.

  ‘I know… I know, it’s ridiculous. They said it would be big, but this… I know—’

  ‘Mum,’ Sean said, interrupting. ‘Mum, what’s Dad doing in the back garden?’

  ‘Hang on a second, Barbara. What do you mean "What’s he doing in the back garden"? Your dad’s at work.’

  ‘He isn’t. I just saw him out the window. He’s standing in the rain in the back garden.’

  ‘What?’ Mum just stared at him for a second before: ‘Barbara? I’ll call you back in a few minutes – is that all right?… OK. Don’t you leave the house again.’ She hung up and headed for the kitchen, Sean following close behind.

  It was hard to see through the window. First Mum peered out into the garden through the window over the sink, then through the one by the dining table, but it wasn’t long before she turned to Sean, shaking her head.

  ‘He’s not out there, sweetheart – you must have imagined it. Now get back to bed.’

  ‘But I saw him, clear as day. It must have been him.’

  ‘Well…’ Mum went to the back door and opened it – ‘Bloody hell!’ – and closed it again. ‘This rain is ridiculous…’ She turned back to look at him. ‘Do you want me to call him, just to be sure?’ She went into the hall and picked up the phone. ‘I’m sure he’s at work,’ she said as she dialled. ‘It wouldn’t make sense… Ah, Rob, are you at work?… Oh, it’s nothing – it’s just that Sean thought he saw you in the garden… Yes, I know, I told him that… Yes, I know… All right, don’t worry about it, I’ll see you later.’ She hung up and replaced the phone in its dock. ‘You see, I told you he was at work.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Get back to bed, now! Come on.’ Sean’s mum ushered him back up the stairs, ignoring his protests. ‘You get some sleep and stop worrying. You’re just having hallucinations. You need time to recover properly.’

  ‘I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’ve slept enough.’

  ‘Well, read your book then, or watch television.’ She guided him up to his room and then stood in the doorway. ‘And don’t worry about school – you can stay at home all week if necessary. I’m not having you going back until you’re ready.’

  ‘OK.’ Sean climbed into bed and just lay there, feeling miserable.

  ‘Oh, cheer up, it could be a lot worse. Now what do you want for lunch? How about some soup?’

  He just nodded.

  It was nice not to have to go to school, but on the other hand Sean had the feeling that he was going to get very bored confined to his room all week. He was in his last year of school, and was having the best time he’d ever had. Lessons were more casual, the teachers were less strict with them – probably because they knew they’d be out of their hair soon. He hated to think he was missing out on something.

  Outside, the rain had eased temporarily. He picked up the remote for the TV and turned it on. He found a weather report and saw a map with several red symbols indicating severe weather warnings. He wondered how bad the rain really was, and if they would have another flood like the one a few years back. The report ended, and as there were no other programmes on that he was prepared to watch, he shifted down to the end of the bed and switched on his games console. He was in the middle of a game called Undead Platoon, in which the player took on the role of a zombie soldier. His mission was to help his unit fight their way through a post-apocalyptic landscape and stop a madman from unleashing a deadly virus that would kill off all life on the planet, including the oppressed zombies. The unit was led by a rather unpleasant character called Sergeant Maul, who yelled orders and insults at the player if they were doing particularly badly. Sean loaded up his saved game and continued playing – until he was killed by a shell from an unseen enemy tank.

  ‘Damn!’ He dropped his controller on the bed beside him and watched as the ghastly decaying face of Sergeant Maul filled the blood-soaked screen.

  ‘I did not give you permission to lie down, you maggot! Damn! Dying once is bad enough…’ the soldier said, his voice fading. ‘Dying twice is inexcusable.’ And then the familiar words game over appeared on the screen, sealing Sean’s failure.

  He sighed and put down the controller. He was bored already. Maybe he should go back to sleep until Mum brought his soup up. Maybe when he woke the rain would have stopped and she would let him go outside for some fresh air. He wriggled under the covers and closed his eyes.

  The next thing he was aware of was the sound of bombs, machine-gun fire and the screams of dying men. He opened his eyes to find that he was lying on the ground, staring up at a night sky illuminated by flashes and explosions. The noise all around him was deafening and made his head hurt. He tried putting his hands over his ears, but he couldn’t seem to move them; all he could do was lie there, wondering what on earth had happened. Then, amidst the cacophony, he heard the sound of heavy boots stomping across the ground towards him.

  ‘Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing, soldier? Did I say you could take a nap? Get on your feet before I tear you a new one!’ A face came into view. An angry, ugly face, almost green in colour, pockmarked, scarred and wasted. There were no lips. One eye was missing, and in places the skull beneath showed through. ‘You’re a disgrace to this platoon! I ought to stuff you into a body-bag myself and ship you back with all the other lumps of useless meat. You make me sick! You hear me? You make me sick!’

  Sean opened his eyes to find himself back in bed, but the sounds were still there. Then as his senses returned to some kind of order, he realized that the noise was different. It wasn’t gunfire or the sound of exploding shells, it was the rain again, and it sounded just as insistent as before. He turned over and looked up to see the decaying, putrid face of Sergeant Maul.

  ‘You make me sick!’

  ‘Aaaaargh!’ He closed his eyes and braced himself for the next shock. He waited for what seemed like ages, shivering beneath the bedclothes, praying that when he opened his eyes again the horrible image would be gone. When he finally summoned up the courage to look again, the sergeant was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, gazing around the room before focusing his attention on the downpour outside. ‘I can’t take any more of this.’ He looked at the clock – almost four – then got out of bed and headed downstairs.

  His mum was sit
ting on the sofa, a magazine on her lap, once more talking into the phone. She hung up and looked at Sean questioningly.

  ‘I thought I told you to stay in—’

  ‘I can’t,’ Sean protested. ‘I keep freaking out.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I keep seeing things… I just don’t want to stay up there. Can’t I just watch TV down here for a bit?’

  ‘I suppose so. At least I’ll be able to keep an eye on you. I brought your soup up earlier but you were fast asleep. I didn’t want to wake you. You can put it in the microwave when you’re ready.’

  The only things on TV were boring discussion programmes, soaps and quiz shows like Brainbox, Mum’s favourite, but Sean didn’t really mind. He didn’t want to be alone in his room any more. It was having a bad effect on him. He occasionally turned to the window to see how the rain was doing; just after five it actually started to die down.

  ‘Looks like it might be over,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, but they’ve forecast more for tomorrow,’ Mum replied, her attention on her magazine. ‘That’s when we’ll get the worst of it apparently. I hope the river can cope. It’s burst its banks before.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be bad.’ But for some reason Sean actually found the idea of a flood quite exciting. And if he was off school tomorrow as well, he might be able to go and take a look. That’s if he could persuade Mum to let him out of course.

  Dad arrived home shortly afterwards, and while he washed his hands in the sink, Sean filled him in on the strange vision he’d had earlier.

  ‘You saw me in the garden? What was I doing?’

  ‘Just standing there in the rain… Enjoying it from the look of things. It was like that scene in The Shawshank Redemption.’

  ‘Ha ha. Well, that’s not the sort of thing I’m likely to do, trust me.’

  ‘I know, it’s just… It was so real, you know?’

  ‘The brain can make you believe whatever it wants you to if it tries hard enough.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s my brain. It’s me… It should do what I tell it to. It’s not some other creature.’

  ‘Well, sometimes it can seem like that. It can rebel, do things you don’t expect, don’t want. It’s the brain’s way of telling you that something’s going wrong, or that something has happened to it and it needs time to recover.’

  ‘Mmm, yeah, I suppose. I can’t believe all this is because I didn’t drink enough water.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Dad said, drying his hands on a towel, ‘you’ll know better next time, won’t you? Graham said you were "severely dehydrated" and narrowly avoided heat exhaustion. People have had strokes after going through what you did.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yep. So you’d better be careful next time.’

  ‘Yes, he’d better,’ Mum said, coming in to check on the status of dinner.

  CHAPTER 4

  Feeling lazy, Sean slept most of the following morning. After lunch the rain eased up a little, and by then he was desperate to get some fresh air; he felt like a prisoner. Mum would be home from the hospital at about three, so he had over an hour of freedom before she got back to insist that he should rest. He needed to get out, but he was also curious to see how high the river had risen. He put on his jacket, then his boots, opened the back door and stepped outside.

  It looked like the end of the world had begun. Water streamed over the slabs in the back garden and large muddy pools had already drowned the flowerbeds. The sky was unbroken grey clouds. The weather reports had been right: this was really bad. God, Sean thought. If it goes on much longer we’ll all be submerged.

  Although the rain was definitely stopping, the water was taking a long time to drain away into the already sodden ground. Sean locked the back door, then turned and splashed his way to the gate, stepping onto the driveway and looking to see if there was anyone else around. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t. He crossed the end of the cul de sac and went down the small path that led to the main road, hoping no cars would race through the deep puddles by the kerb and soak him.

  As he passed the hospital and the New Inn, he wondered how much damage the rain might do, and if it would be permanent. It wouldn’t be the first time the river had burst its banks, but it had rarely reached the high street. If it did so now and flooded the shops and houses of Orchard Wells, they would be in trouble.

  When he reached the petrol station he was able to see the bridge and the river, and what he saw made him stop and stare. The river was far higher than he had expected; it raged under the arches of the bridge and was no more than a metre from the road. The foaming muddy water swirled as it hit the bridge; large branches and foliage were sucked under the torrent to emerge in pieces on the other side. He’d seen the river high, but never this high.

  He walked on and saw a crowd of people gathered by the bridge, marvelling at the spectacle. As he moved among them he watched them shake their heads and laugh or just stare at the water surging past. He looked up into the sky and groaned as the rain resumed; how long would it be before the water rose up over the bridge? It had already swamped more than half of the field on the side of the river he’d just left. On the other side, the town side, it was nearly up to the car park of the Bridge Hotel.

  After Sean’s eyes had taken in enough, he walked on over the bridge, and instead of continuing up the high street he turned and followed the path along the river, towards the park. He couldn’t take his eyes off the raging water, mesmerized by the little whirlpools. Two women with small children passed him, the children giggling and whooping with joy at the swollen river, their mothers markedly less impressed. Sean looked up to see lighter patches in the sky. Perhaps the sun would make it through after all.

  As he entered the park, he kept his eye on the river. A huge branch bobbed above the surface of the torrent as it was hurtled downstream. He watched it until it disappeared from view, then walked on, turning right by the pagoda, where the river met a stream. The stream was also swollen and muddy, the water rushing by. Then he saw something that made him slow down and stop. There was movement between the trees on the slope leading down to the water. It looked like someone on his hands and knees, crawling slowly up the muddy bank away from the swollen stream. He seemed to be in a bad way. He was drenched, hair and clothes dripping as he struggled up the slope.

  Sean continued to stare, slack-jawed, at the figure several metres below him. Finally he shook himself and started to stumble down the sodden slope towards the figure at the bottom. He didn’t quite know what he was going to do when he reached him. It would be hard to help anyone up the wet, slippery bank, but if he left him and went to get help he might fall back into the stream. Sean held onto branches and tree trunks as he made his way down, terrified of losing his footing. When he was a couple of metres away he stopped. The figure was no longer moving.

  The man was now lying face down on the muddy ground. Sean swallowed and started to shake. Was he dead? God no, don’t let him be dead! But maybe Sean could still save him… Just as he was trying to work out what to do, he heard a low, drawn-out moan; it grew louder and the man started to raise his head.

  As he caught sight of the face, Sean’s concern turned to shock, then repulsion and fear. The man’s skin looked yellow, sagging and corpse-like. His eyes were bloodshot, and had what looked like blue specks in them, though it was hard to be sure from this distance. His eyes held Sean’s for several seconds; then he coughed and vomited into the long grass. Sean backed away instinctively, his own stomach heaving at the sight of the man emptying his. Before turning away he noticed that the vomit was red, like blood. This man was in a bad way, and it was nothing to do with the flood. He was trying to stand up, but seemed to have lost all sense of balance: he swayed on his feet and toppled over again. Sean wanted to go down and help him, but all that stuff the man had brought up had put him off. He could smell it now too – strong, pungent, with a distinct metallic tang that could have been the blood.

  The man was
dying – Sean knew this instinctively. He attempted to get up again but just slumped back to his knees. He was clearly in great pain and struggled to speak. The words Sean could make out seemed meaningless. Then the man vomited again, this time violently and for a long time. Sean couldn’t understand how anyone could hold so much in their guts.

  Convulsions rocked the poor man’s body. He glanced pleadingly up at Sean, shook his head, then his eyes rolled around and his mouth gaped open to give a low moan and a sound like a distant hissing. Sean could only watch in horror as something black and slimy wriggled out of his mouth; it slid out, then fell with a splash into the foul mess the man had just disgorged.

  He rose to his feet, staring at Sean, and said: ‘The… the centre… ‘ before falling backwards into the raging water with a huge splash.

  Sean was all set to rush to the water’s edge to try and help the man out – but then he noticed the black slug-like thing move. In two minds, he glanced at the ferocious torrent and realized that he couldn’t have saved the man anyway – even if there had been any life left in him. He looked down again – and screamed as the black thing started sliding, snake-like, towards him…

  CHAPTER 5

  Sean panicked and turned, scrambling up the bank to get away from the creature and back home as fast as possible. Then he could tell Mum and Dad what had happened and let them decide what to do. But would they believe him after the way he’d been behaving since the run? They’d think he’d imagined it all – and he wouldn’t blame them. But that was something to worry about later; right now his main concern was getting home – it seemed the waters were rising by the minute. He managed to climb back up to the path, getting his clothes filthy in the process, then jogged away from the bank, past the pagoda, and back in the direction of the bridge, his breathing laboured and his mouth dry. He had to stop for a moment or two when a throbbing began in his head followed by a wave of nausea.