Decaying Days: The Decaying Days trilogy Book 1

By Rachael Boucker

When control of the infected fades, their murderous rage will be unleashed.

Luke is a vigilante zombie killer for hire. He sees what most people refuse to in the white eyes he shuts - the end. With collars failing, and  infected roaming he will need all his skills to survive. Strange mutations will spread through the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scratcher Publications
• Release date: Dec 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781916306516

Book preview

Anika West

34 years ago

The best and brightest gathered at the SIA (Scientific Initiative Alliance) fundraiser to pitch their latest breakthroughs. The main auditorium swelled when Anika West took to the podium.

My edible fungus has passed preliminary trials. This strain is nutritionally complete, and has proved capable of surviving in both arctic and desert habitats. It has not only grown, but thrived under the harshest of test conditions. Anika held up a glass jar filled with floating orange fungus spores. The jumbo screens behind her zoomed in on it.

Marazsha, with her arid landscape, is the only country terrestrially that struggles to grow and rear food, but think beyond that. With a few jars of spores, like this one, astronauts could grow their own food indefinitely, potentially even using it to colonise new worlds.

The crowd mumbled with excitement.

Tobias Davidson watched silently. For once, he wasn’t here to pitch anything himself. When the talk finished, and Anika’s fans and well-wishers had thinned, he approached. Anika knew him instantly. If she was the one to watch, then Davidson was the one they were already watching.

That was inspired, Davidson said.

We have buckets of inspiration, jars of it even. Anika smiled and gently shook the jar of spores. What we are lacking is the cash to push it further.

You’ll get funded. How could they refuse a product pitched by such an attractive model?

Anika glowered. My work speaks for itself.

I suppose, but it doesn’t hurt to have curves around old men with deep pockets.

Then you must have made your pitches in drag.

Davidson laughed and held out his hand. Come with me to dinner.

Anika didn’t remember taking his hand, but she remembered the intense fluttering inside, as she held it all the way to the restaurant. At dinner, they took over a table usually used to seat six, and talked more of his work than hers. Davidson was a renowned geneticist, obsessed with finding the next stage in human evolution.

These are the testing grounds. Mother nature is twisting and tweaking anatomy to see what benefits. His voice was melodic, and she drank in every note. Davidson laid out papers and photographs of disfigured people. These are not mistakes, not malformations. These are mutations in the making. He had it mapped out on their large table, papers held in place by napkin rings and empty dessert bowls. He was animated and his eyes glistened when he spoke. Though your work sounds exciting too, the mushroom thing I mean. Davidson finally gave pause for Anika to speak.

Unfortunately, the exciting part is done for now. Anika eyed his maps and annotations with a twinge of jealousy. We will have to duplicate our results before we can test it outside of the lab. The next year promises repetition and tedium for me.

Ugh, scoffed Davidson, surely that’s work for the lab monkeys and interns.

Yes, she said, picking up a photo of a child with a third functional eye. Lab monkey work.

***

Years had passed since Anika first dined with Davidson. They travelled the world seeking mutations, until the Authority drafted Davidson to work on Project Re-gen. He was tasked with creating trainable undead soldiers to help with the ongoing war between the Authority and rebels.

Anika found her mind wandering back to the moment they were first abandoned at this remote facility.

An Authority General stepped off the boat and rattled off the names of the passengers.

Tobias Davidson, Christian Forde, Irene Grey, Thomas Jonstone, Anne Meyers, Albert Tanner, Edgar Trist, and Anika West. You all signed the non-disclosure agreement. You will be confined here until your task is complete. There is enough food to sustain the eight of you for the next five years. All communications are routed directly to Minister Plack. You will not be able to reach anyone else. Is this understood?

The General turned and marched back to his boat before their sea of nods had stopped bobbing.

‘Has it really been a year already?’ Lost in that moment of arrival, Anika walked straight into Irene.  With a silent glare, Irene barged past and twisted her heel on Anika’s scattered papers.

Anika’s back slapped against the wall. She slid to the ground where her notes lay trampled. Anika West had been the one to watch; now she was stuck in an underground lab with colleagues who despised her. Everything here was white and hard. She missed the flowing lines of nature.

Are you ok? asked Edgar Trist. He knelt down and offered his hand.

Anika blinked away regret, and nodded.

I read your thesis on sustainable fungus, said Trist, his eyes trained on the notes, not her reddening face. You are more than a glorified assistant.

I’m not a geneticist though, am I?

Then why are you here?

I followed my heart, not my head, said Anika.

And you call yourself a scientist. Trist chuckled. A grin spread across Anika’s tear-stained face.

They walked to the end of the corridor where they parted. Trist followed Irene to the testing rooms, and Anika made her way to Davidson’s office.

She walked in, placed the papers on his desk, and tried to smooth them down. I can make fresh copies if you like.

Davidson glanced at the paper. No that will be fine, stick it in the file.

What’s the matter?

Nothing.

I know you, Tobias, Anika said. You are a compulsive neat freak. Read them? Maybe, but there is no way you would let crumpled papers be filed. Even in the chaos of the jungle, your tent and files were pristine.

I’ve had an email from the Authority. The war has intensified, they’re asking for results now, and I have nothing to give them.

How bad is it out there? Anika slipped into a chair and rested her face on her palm.

The rebels are making a stand alongside the Marazsians. Minister Plack is in hiding, he fears there are spies within his ranks. He needs the army we promised him.

Just send him what you have, soothed Anika. You can do no more than that.

Disappointing as they were, after Anika left, Davidson tried to forward his findings to Minister Plack. A message from the postmaster declared his email was undelivered. He typed the email address in once more, and re-sent. Still undelivered.  

Perhaps the servers are down, Davidson mumbled to himself. He picked up the satellite phone and dialled the only number it would connect to. The phone beeped three times and then hung up.

Every day he tried the phone and the email. Every day he was met with disappointment. After a few weeks, he resigned himself to the fact that their connections to the outside world had been severed. He told no one and continued with his work. 

Another year passed.

***

I’m starting the drip now, said Irene.

The body lying on the table was cool and grey. The gravity fed serum travelled down a line into the corpse’s neck. The muscles in its cheek twitched. Tremors ran through its arm into its fingers. Then, the hand started to violently spasm.

This is incredible! It had taken two years, but Davidson now stood in triumph.

Anika felt her stomach lurch. She put down her notepad and made for the door, her hand grasping her mouth. The corpse caught her arm as she moved by it. Help me! It has my arm.

This is most interesting. Do you think it has spatial awareness? Irene peeled up the corpse’s eyelids and flashed a torch into its unresponsive pupils.

The vice like grip on Anika’s arm tightened. Tobias!

Davidson sighed and turned off the drip. The corpse’s muscles relaxed. Anika snatched her arm away and rushed out of the room.

The arm was the only muscle group working to capacity. I think if we...

Irene’s voice faded as Anika picked up her pace. She was at full jog when she reached the end of the facility. Wrenching open the service hatch, she climbed the ladder up the narrow tunnel to the surface. The air was warm and humid, not crisp and cool like her air-conditioned home below, but this sticky air tasted fresh to her. She inhaled deeply.

It seemed like a dream now: her mushroom spores, her awards, her future. She slumped into the overgrowth and stared at the wisps of swirling clouds above her. Was their romance a dream too? They had travelled the world searching for the next step in human evolution, an adventure of a lifetime in the name of scientific advancement. If the military hadn’t called upon him, if they hadn’t been secluded in this middle of nowhere place, would their love have prevailed?

After an hour of warmth and wind, she squeezed back down the tunnel into the complex.

***

Davidson’s excitement was uncontainable, but short lived. A single moving limb was useless in the field. He ignored the fact there was no one to report his progress to. Everything would fall into place once he had completed his work.

I know the formula to be sound, but without a way of bonding it permanently to the host, or making it self-multiplying, its usefulness is limited, Davidson said to Anika. He scratched his smooth-shaven chin, and rubbed antiseptic gel into his hands before picking up his notes.

It breaks down too quickly, he continued, dissipates without a trace. I am convinced that the brain, the epicentre of all that is human, is the key to exploding the formula’s potential. But I am missing something, something so blatantly obvious that it sits between my eyes and eludes my vision. He leafed through papers, disorganising his perfect system.

If perspective is what you seek, then rest and return with a fresh one. Anika dared to step forward and knead his tense shoulders.

Rest? Davidson raged, flinging his arms back. How can I rest? We are a military funded team. Plack expects results, his emails are constant. You know this and you tell me to rest?

I’m only trying to help. You have been working tirelessly for days. She took a step back.

What I need is ideas, and since you are devoid of them, the greatest gift you can give me is your absence. She lingered, pondering a response to pacify him. Leave!

When you speak to Plack, ask him to send transport for me, Anika said calmly. I can’t stay here anymore.

What are you babbling about, of course you’re staying. The work is not done.

I didn’t come here for the work, Tobias, I came here for you. We aren’t what we were. Anika pulled up her sleeve and showed him the deep purple marks left by the corpse’s grip. You haven’t even asked me how I am.

You were too close, you know to stay back and... He looked at her and sighed. I’m sorry, I was so caught up in the success of the moment. Please stay. He coiled his arms around her. The warmth of his embrace soaked into her and her anger ebbed away. I have to message Plack, but you will stay won’t you? Anika nodded. Good, take the day to rest and I will see you later in our room.

After she had left, Davidson typed the word ‘Hello’ into the subject bar and sent a blank email to Minister Plack. Almost immediately a response from the postmaster appeared. Delivery failed.

***

Anika stood outside of the testing room staring at Davidson. She had waited up for him, chanting the words she needed to say to him to her feet as they paced, but he had not returned.

Anika’s reflection in the locked door held a muse worthy of any artist. She had striking features framed by thin mousy brown hair which fell straight without effort. She tried to hide her body, but the fabric of her oversized lab coat still straddled her curves when she walked.

She watched Davidson through the glass wall. They had been happy before Re-gen, travelling the world together, perhaps one day they could be again. ‘The man I love is in there somewhere.’

Her attention moved to the body on the metal table. It was small. ‘This one must be very young,’ Anika thought, craning her neck to get a better view.

The serum was fed intravenously at the base of the skull, and the results were quickly coming to fruition. First came the twitching of multiple limbs. The sweet high-pitched moan was not audible through the soundproof glass, but the team of three could be seen clasping each other’s hands in triumph.

The dead child rose from the table and slid to the floor. Still tethered to the bed by the drip, it slowly wobbled toward Edgar Trist. Trist rummaged in his pocket and pulled out some flash cards.

Do you recognise the shape? The colour? said Trist, smiling kindly.  He knelt down and laid the cards face up on the floor. Find me the one that matches.

The child stumbled towards him slowly, stretching its arms for balance. Trist’s smile broadened as it stepped closer. It gave no warning before it knocked the cards from Trist’s hand, and sunk its teeth deep into his cheek. Davidson turned off the drip but the violent assault continued. Trist pried the child from his face. His flesh made a slapping sucking sound as it tore off.

Irene and Davidson strapped the child to the table. It struggled against the restraints, growling and snapping, its lolling head stained with Edgar Trist’s blood.

When Davidson finally left the room, Anika stood at the door waiting for him.

Did you see? The subject has been deprived of the formula for twenty minutes and is still animated. This is the greatest scientific advancement of the century. He wore that smile, the one that Anika had longed for, but the way he wore it unsettled her.

I saw Edgar being mauled by a child’s corpse.

The aggression is advantageous. All we need to do now is teach it the difference between ally and foe. I have another cadaver defrosting ready for this afternoon.

Tobias, I’m pregnant, Anika said. She had kept her secret for months. The perfect moment she longed for would never come, she realised that now. The swelling in her stomach threatened to reveal her condition. At least today he was happy, today he had found his smile.

It’s a little early to be requesting maternity leave, he said, brushing aside her revelation. The procedure starts at three and I want you present. I have to return to the office and write up my notes. Fetch me a coffee, and bring it to me there.

Davidson turned to leave but Anika grabbed his arm. Is that all you have to say? she screeched. A torrent of emotion surged through her body. I am carrying your child!

He glared at her. You have a chance of conception every month. My work is exceptional, unlike your condition. If the Lord created life, then I am a god in my own right. Do what you will with the foetus I have no interest in it. He broke her grip and continued to his office.

Anika suffered quietly through the day and secretly planned her escape. The opportune moment came later that evening. There was a gathering in the canteen. Tables were lined with champagne that had been hidden away for this occasion.

Anika snuck away, choosing Jonstone’s office to hide in. His computer was unlocked, and he always kept his blinds drawn. She sat there alone listening to the distant celebratory cheers, and wrote the following email:

I cannot stay here any longer. This isn’t a psychological reaction to isolation or any other neuroses. My life and the lives of my colleagues are in danger. 

Today, Dr Davidson reanimated two corpses. The first attacked Edgar Trist. His face is disfigured and the blood loss has been severe enough to confine him to the infirmary. The two subjects have fully bonded with the formula, but show no signs of understanding commands. We cannot control the husks we animate. We are building monsters here, not soldiers.

I write to you in desperation. Earlier today, Dr Davidson suggested the key to control may be found by testing on a live human. These past two years underground have warped him. I am afraid for myself and my colleagues, and urge you to send help.

Anika typed in Plack’s email. She attached CCTV footage of the recent experiments before hitting send. The postmaster replied. Delivery failed. Undeterred, Anika switched users, she typed admin into the user bar and password in the bar below that. The profile had been set up by the people who prepped the facility for their arrival. There were archived emails, sent to the tech teams, the military, and also the morgues that had stocked the freezers with cadavers. Anika forwarded her email to every Authority affiliated address. Six messages sent. None of them failed. She waited for a reply, but soon dozed.

***

Anika’s message was addressed to Minister Plack, previous ruler of their totalitarian government. She was unaware that the man had been put to death by firing squad for war crimes a year earlier. With no prior warning, and the push of a button, Minister Plack had wiped Marazsha off the map. An entire country reduced to ash and bone. The Authority and rebels brokered a truce out of his execution.

The new Minister didn’t know that Project Re-gen existed. Anika’s email came in a time of peace. It took two weeks for the Authority to send a military unit to the facility, and when they arrived, only two staff members were alive. They were quarantined, and all research was seized and sealed.

Written out of existence, Davidson’s murder complex gathered dust. Minister Plack was also re-written by historians. His destruction of Marazsha was said to have been a last resort, one which he took many steps to prevent. The official listed cause of his death was a heart attack.

Thirty years passed before a strange virus surfaced. It animated the dead and brought a ravenous hunger to the living. The Calamity, that’s what they called those early days of panic.

The dead rose and they sauntered. They could easily be out walked. Their numbers were so few to begin with, that they were considered an amusing oddity.

The threat came from the living afflicted, named Wailers. The early Wailer symptoms varied, though the final stage was the same. They were full of rage and devoid of words, screeching ferociously, and devouring the flesh of unafflicted humans. Their pupils stayed sharp, but their irises fogged and whitened as colour faded.

How the illness was contracted remained a mystery. An airborne pathogen seemed unlikely, the rate of infection was too slow, and the afflicted sprouted up in small pockets. Bitten victims had not become infected, ruling out bodily fluid transmission.

Only a select few in the Authority’s chain of command had knowledge of Davidson’s experiments, and even they were slow to draw parallels between his work and the Wailer infection.

They called upon the greatest minds of the scientific community, and were not disappointed. A geneticist named Loralias Adder devised a serum which rendered the dead inanimate, and the living infected docile. It could also be used to inoculate the unafflicted. Ten percent of the world’s population were lost, but the apocalypse had been avoided.

One year after the Calamity, the risen dead were almost unheard of, and the Wailers were collared and cared for. Minister Farr adopted the slogan: "We control the infected. Under my rule, we will cure them!"

Chapter 1: Luke

There are rowed teeth that rip, and clawed hands that grip

Rose-tinted eyes and lips fill and spill with the lies they sip

There was a threat but now it’s fine, healing with the passing time

The infected roped and kept in line —

until the day they choke our kind

I’ll just go get your supplement, love, won’t be a minute. Lynne patted her husband’s knee before walking into the kitchen.

She took a tin down from the cupboard and pulled back the lid. A cylinder of jellied meat slid into the bowl. Lynne mashed it with a spoon and walked back into the living room. I won’t miss this when you’re cured, Lynne said, pulling up a stool. Stuff smells vile.

She put a spoon full of supplement against Doug’s lips. The man-turned-Wailer did not move. Come on now, Doug, open up. Sit forward for that matter. I’m straining my back leaning over you.

Doug remained slumped on the sofa. His eyes — whitened by his condition — were motionless and unblinking. Lynne placed the bowl on the floor and leaned in closer. The collar clasped around Doug’s neck had a green light and the gauge showed the serum was topped up.

It’s working fine, Lynne whispered. She tucked two fingers inside of the collar and felt for a pulse. Love, can you hear me? Feeling nothing, she pulled her hand away and tried his wrist. There was still no blinking, and as she leaned in close, she heard no breaths. No pulse, Lynne mumbled, still clutching his wrist hoping to feel a beat.

Doug’s eye twitched. Muscles in his face and arms began to spasm, but his heart remained still.

Lynne sprang back. Ethan! Ethan, come quick.

Her heavy footed teenager raced down the stairs. Mum? What’s—

Lynne had Doug propped up, his arm draped over her shoulder. I think he’s had another heart attack.

But he’s not dead. Ethan paused and watched his twitching father. The collar would make him still if he were dead.

The collar should make him compliant if he’s alive. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Just help me get him in his room.

Ethan grabbed Doug’s other arm, and staggered with Lynne to the small room at the other end of the living room. Doug’s twitching increased and he let out a low groan. They practically hurled Doug through the door. Lynne stood dumbfounded as her beloved husband twisted round to snarl at her.

Move! Ethan pushed Lynne out of the way, slammed the door, and locked it. Immediately, the banging started. Doug was no small man. The door shook every time he flung his weight against it.

I need to make a call, Lynne mumbled.

The door splintered.

Mum, we can’t stay here. He’s gonna get out.

I need to make a call, Lynne repeated. She walked to the sofa, sank into it, and took out her phone. Hello? Yes, I need my husband to be seen by a doctor, he’s had a full regression. There is no way this collar is working ... Yes, I’m sure. He’s trying to crash through the door and ... I don’t know if he’s still alive, he’s been infected for ... The Authority? Listen, Miss, a collar technician from YOUR practice installed this piece of...

Lynne dropped the mobile phone on the seat next to her, lifted a scatter cushion to her face, and screamed into it. The wrinkles she’d tried to moisturise out of existence deepened on her furrowed brow.

"She hung up on me, can you believe it? Call the Authority, she said. We don’t deal with the dead."

Mum, there is another option. Ethan held out a business card. I’ve got Guy’s number, remember? He’s the one who’s been cleaning up infected problems.

There was a drip, then an ooze from the corpse braced against the widening crack in the door.

"Guy’s guys are vigilantes run by a wannabe mobster. No, we pay our taxes and abide by the law, someone has to help us." She dialled the phone again.

Doug had been peering out through the hole, but that moment of calm passed, and he continued to rage against the wood. They had partitioned the small room from the living room. Originally an office, it had been converted into a lockable living space after Doug’s diagnosis.

Hello? I need to speak to someone from your Infection Control department. It’s urgent, my hus ... Ok, thank you ... Yes, my name is Lynne Birch, my husband Doug is infected ... He was diagnosed eight months ago ... He has a collar fitted, but it’s not working ... No, my doctor’s surgery believe he’s dead and refuse to treat him ... His work placement? Why should I notify them? ... I don’t care about the workplace premium! My husband is trying to kill us and you’re worried about ...  I’ve never missed a collar maintenance appointment ... I get him to the work placement, feed him, bathe him ... No, I’m not looking for respite, my family is in danger! ... Yes, but the door won’t hold ... Forty-eight hours? We can’t restrain him for that long. Get someone out here now! ... No, please, I’ll be calm. I just want someone to help me. Please!

Bound by paperwork, the Authority’s Infection Control unit had set questions for dealing with family members, which often left them feeling blamed and helpless. Doug was not deemed an immediate threat. If he had died, the family could terminate him. They were to restrain him if he was alive. Killing him, would bring a criminal charge.

Lynne twisted the silent phone round and tapped it on her forehead. Hand me the card, Ethan. Taking a deep breath, she dialled the number.

Hello? ... Yes, one ... Confined to a room, but the door is starting to buckle ... twenty-three Ballmont Road ... Doors and windows, got it ... Yes, I have somewhere to go ... Under the welcome mat ... You can reach me on this number when it’s done ... Thank you.

Lynne and Ethan locked all doors and windows, put the cat out — much to her dismay — and left an envelope under the door mat, with cash and the front door key inside. Lynne’s sister lived close by; they would walk.

Ethan reached for his mum’s hand and held it. Lynne turned to look at him. His green eyes sparkled as he smiled at her. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d volunteered affection, after all, her little boy was as tall as her. She squeezed his hand and felt reassured.

***

The Silver Dragon had been assigned to deal with Doug. His real name was Luke, and he was Guy’s most skilled employee. Luke was in his twenties, average height, slim but toned. His dark blonde hair was fine and obedient, and he wore enough stubble to stop people from mistaking him for a teenager. The job kept his parkour and fighting skills fresh, and paid enough for him to stockpile supplies.

Luke believed that everyone around him was delusional, waiting for a cure. They were in the eye of a storm and the carnage of the Calamity awaited them on the other side.

Before the Wailers came, Luke had been a salesman of martial arts classes and a teacher in training. He was not the best in his field, but progressed quickly. He engaged with his body, feeling the fluidity of his movements, listening to his sensei, practising, honing — then redundancy came.

Rebuilding a social order was prioritised under the Authority’s rule. Recreational activities, such as fight schools, were heavily taxed, leaving smaller businesses no choice but to close. Luke could have retrained through the Authority’s scheme, but it would be months before he would see any money. Besides, he knew a Guy who had work for a man with fighting skills.

Doug Birch was not Luke’s first call that evening. He had an idea of what was to come, but no two jobs were alike. Confidently, Luke walked up the Birch’s drive, and retrieved the money and the front door key from under the welcome mat. He turned the key and listened at the door. Grunting and crashing noises came from within. The beast was no longer contained. It sounded slow and clumsy, definitely not a Wailer.

Luke opened the door. Mrs Birch had switched off the lights as she left, meaning he stepped into the dark entrance hall of an unfamiliar home. Guy was brief and efficient when he took a call, that’s what most of his clients liked about him, but sometimes Luke wished he spent a little more time instructing the clients. For example: don’t switch all the lights off and leave items strewn on the floor — he wasn’t a skilled nocturnal hurdler. And turn your house alarm off — that had been an eventful call.

Luke flicked the light-switch. A low grunt came from the next room as Doug aimlessly zigzagged towards the light. Doug was a large man wearing a tattered blue shirt that had once been perfectly tailored to him. Many splinters had speared him through the fabric. His left arm hung out of its socket. A big chunk of wood protruded from his stomach, leaking deep yellow bile from the wound.

Waiting until the last moment, Luke jumped up high, his feet finding the windowsill behind him. He kicked Doug in the head and jumped left onto the stairs. Doug took a moment to orientate, then stumbled forward. After giving him another hefty kick to the face, Luke jumped over the banister into the entrance hall, and slowly backed up.  

He stroked the wall as he entered the living room, but missed the light-switch. Doug’s steady pace closed the gap between them. Luke’s hands found the sofa arm, and he raised himself up on it, lifting both feet off the ground into Doug’s abdomen. The forceful move pushed the large splinter deeper into Doug’s stomach. A curdled mixture of blood and bile squirted over Luke’s legs. The dead man kept coming, and they both toppled onto the seat.

Luke used one hand to hold the grunt’s jaw and reached for a holstered needle with the other. He put the plastic cap in his mouth and pulled the needle free.

Doug pawed at his face, though he was doing no real damage. He had lost all of his fingernails to the door. The left arm still hung limply, giving Luke easy access to the back of his neck. He plunged the syringe at a sharp angle to get it up and under the collar. Then he waited. Doug continued to forcefully stroke Luke’s face.  

Something was wrong. The serum should have been having some effect by now. Doug was not slowing. His eyes were not rolling into his head. Instead, his hand dragged more aggressively over Luke’s face, finding his slender neck, and then the cuff of his shirt. Luke gasped for air. He jabbed the now empty needle into his attacker’s eye, and with great difficulty, rolled out from underneath him. Luke backed away towards the room with a missing door.

Doug’s shoulders twitched, his head jerked around, moaning as he tried to stand. Luke picked up a large shard of door, leapt towards him, and thrust it into the dead man’s temple. With a thud, Doug hit the floor. Luke roared as he stamped the splinter in further. Doug lay there, finally lifeless.

Quietness swept through the room. Luke became aware of his own panting breaths. Then hairs pricked on his neck and sent a chill through his skin. He felt a new set of eyes on him and spun around, meeting the gaze. The Birch’s cat sat on the outer sill. Mewing, she placed her paws upon the window and padded the glass. Luke exhaled.

Considerations had to be made. Did he leave the stake in the head, or take it out and risk blood and brain gloop falling to the floor? He looked around at the well organised home and decided to leave it in. He rolled Doug onto his side. The collar seemed undamaged, the serum was topped up, and the delivery warning light was green. The injection hadn’t worked either. Somehow, this guy had developed immunity to the serum.

Luke put on his balaclava — black, with a silver dragon curled around the eye — and pulled Doug to the front door. Other than his injuries, death had left this man unchanged. He was still recognisable as the family man in the wall mounted photos. Luke left the key in the outer door. The family had a teenager. It would make sense for them to leave a spare key under the mat.

Luke had parked a few blocks away and taken a casual stroll to get here, but leaving would be harder. Things had not gone to plan. The injection should have given Doug a natural death, or had he still been alive, it would have quietened the Wailer in him temporarily. Plan B meant that he would have to be seen.

Luke dragged the body out into the driveway, to the base of a tree on the lawn. It looked strong enough to hold the body. Luke was a poor counterweight against this large middle aged man. It took many heaves to hoist Doug up. The neighbours gathered in the street. Luke finished the job by writing monster in marker on the dead man’s chest.

A mother in the small crowd shielded the vacant eyes of her collared child and pulled him close to her. You’re the monster, she screamed at Luke.

The monster’s in that tree, said another bystander, and in your arms.

How dare you, shrieked the mother. As a slanging match broke out, Luke slipped away over the Birch’s gate, and started his garden hopping route back to the car.

After avoiding dogs, nettles, and twitching curtains, there were just two more gardens to go.

He jumped the next fence and his feet slipped from underneath him. A beam of light cut into the darkness as he switched on his torch. Beneath him