Class Four: Those Who Survive (10 page)

Conspiracy Theory - Part 2

We put the radio on one day, though, and nothing came out. Dad wheeled through all of the numbers and there wasn’t anything there except static. He scratched his bum-bum and said how odd it was, then he got that look in his eye. I remember it as it was the same one the picture in the papers showed of him just before he tried to get into his plane.

Before they had to tell him that he wasn’t allowed to bomb anyone.

I think he just worried that people were getting all chilly through the Cold War, so wanted to warm them up.

Ha ha, do you get it?

Warm up.

EXPLOSIONS.

Cold War.

Well, Dad and I thought it was funny.

So the radio went quiet and Dad’s eye went all boggly, like someone inside his head was pumping it up. He didn’t say anything for a while. Mum said it was best to leave him. When he spoke he said that it probably meant that the Russians had won and they had invaded. He said the zombies were the first wave of troops, that we were all alone now and had to accept that we might have to stay in the bunker.

Forever.

Patches didn’t like what he had to say. Mum put his pasta down that night and he didn’t even get up. When she stroked him, she said he was all cold and hard.

Something about Ed and a doornail.

Dad’s eye went all funny again, except this time it was his other eye. I knew something was wrong, but I had my tomato soup like a good boy and went to sleep.

I tucked Patches into the end of my bed, where he always used to lie. He didn’t lick my face like he used to, and he smelt funnier than normal. I didn’t mind though, Patches was my friend.

In the middle of the night, I remember Mum and Dad having an argument, worse than ever, shouting and saying rude words. Mum even said that he was a complete and total count.

Which was odd, as I didn’t think dad was a vampire, though he did become a...well, I’ll get to that bit in a minute.

I heard her say that she couldn’t put up with the pair of us anymore. I didn’t like it. I hugged up with Patches and we stayed hidden until my alarm went off.

Mum was always first up. She’d knock on the side of my doorway, by my curtain, and say, ‘Morning pumpkin, time for breakfast. Better be quick or Patches’ll be sick and you’ll have to make do with porridge’. But my alarm went off and Mum wasn’t there.

I waited for ages, thinking perhaps she was just playing a game of hide and seek with Dad, and was doing really well, so didn’t want him to find out.

So I stayed under the blanket and me and Patches played Beg.

Except he didn’t do as well as he used to. Poor thing must’ve been dead tired as he didn’t even open his eyes or wag his tail.

A few hours later, I realised that Patches must be ill. I remember one time when we went to the vets, the animal doctor had to take his temperature, but instead of putting the thermometer in his mouth, he put it into his sticky-out sausage-hole.

You know, his bum-bum.

Patches made an awful crying sound that day.

So I thought I’d go and be like an animal doctor. I would put my finger in his sticky-out sausage-hole. I must’ve been good, as he didn’t even make a sound.

I had to push quite hard too. I broke off a finger nail and lost it inside Patches. He was very cold then.

I got up to tell Mum and pulled my curtain open, and I saw there was light shining down on the bunker stairs. I was terrified. I thought the Russians must’ve found out where Dad was hiding and had come to get him.

But they hadn’t.

Mum and Dad’s curtain was pulled closed and I could hear a moaning sound. Mum always said that if the curtain was closed, and there was moaning to be heard, then whatever you do, do not disturb.

I had looked once before, and that was enough. It was like they were wrestling; Dad was winning, I think. He had Mum pinned down and she was obviously hoping for some help, as she was saying, ‘Oh god, oh god, that’s it.’ Dad saw me and told me to go back to my room. I didn’t want to see that again, but I had to tell Mum about Patches.

The curtain started bulging out, but it looked like a foot. I don’t remember their feet kicking the curtain last time, so I shouted out loud that I was going to open it and pulled the curtains apart.

There wasn’t any wrestling, but there was still a moaning. I opened my eyes and I was staring at Dad’s winky. I’d never seen his winky before. It was like mine, but it was all grey. I looked at the rest of him and saw that he was hanging from the light grill by this rope round his neck, and that he was all grey.

Guess he had suffered his mid-life crisis in the night huh?

His head was all tilted, like he was playing the ‘look at me sideways’ game. I laughed and told him that it was a good one, but his eyes looked all weird too. His arms kept trying to grab me, but I know the rules: one hand is fine, but to win you need two, and then you have to say ‘Gotcha’. I had a look on the bed, but couldn’t see Mum anywhere.

I made myself some breakfast. I had strawberry Nesquik with a can of peaches. I felt good, as already I’d had two of my five a day. Mum would be proud of me, except I couldn’t see her.

Patches didn’t touch his pasta, and that went cold, and Dad didn’t seem too fussed about his rollmops. He was still hanging there, and kept trying to grab me when I tried to feed him the stinky fish.

He obviously didn’t know that the game was over cos I called ‘Quitsies’ when I was stirring my condensed milk and wee…I mean, Phil’s water, to make my Nesquik.

I got bored of Dad keep on trying to play the grabbing game, so I thought, as the door was open, it would be okay to take Patches for a walk.

Wow.

He was
not
keen.

I had to drag him up the stairs when he was on the lead. He wasn’t as stiff as the night before, but he still wasn’t well.

Why are you laughing, Dee? Do you have stiff things in your bed at night, too?

Oh, sorry, please don’t force the lungs out of my body by kicking me in the stomach with your army boots.

I managed to get Patches outside, but he didn’t want to play fetch. I lost count of how many times I threw the ball; he didn’t chase after it once. Then I remembered what else the animal doctor did, and I put my head to his chest and listened for his heart-drum.

I couldn’t hear anything.

I spent ages trying to listen. I even opened his mouth up and tried to look down into his tummy, to see if I could see his heart, but I couldn’t. His eyes wouldn’t stay open either. That’s when I realised that poor old Patches must be like when I saw Nana the last time. I tried to remember what Mum said, but Patches didn’t look at all like brown bread. I hugged him again, and kept the flies away.

Stroking his fur didn’t feel the same, so I knew I hadn’t made a mistake. It’s weird though isn’t it? Those times when bad things happen, and people seem to always be there for you? I didn’t hear anything, but as I held Patches that last time, I felt a cold hand on my neck. There he was, my Dad. He’d come up to say goodbye to Patches.

Though he looked like my Dad, but a bit more grey, like those aliens we used to watch from olden times, when the doctors cut them up. He looked funny. He was still playing the ‘look at me sideways’ game, even after I told him ‘Quitsies’.

Summat wasn’t right.

Summat wasn’t right
at all
.

His neck was all purple and swollen. He still had his winky out as well. I remember it made this little slapping sound as it hit my coat. All he wanted to do was hug me.

To begin with anyway.

I moved out of the way so that Dad could hug Patches and say goodbye to him, but instead of doing that, he just kept following me, and I told him to stop it, but he just wouldn’t listen. He was making the moaning sound again, and was still trying to grab me. I stayed ahead of him, but only just.

When I was walking round the garden, that’s when I realised. He was one of those zombies from the television.

He had gone Russian.

I started crying. If they had got him, they could get
anyone
, damn bastards. He’d fought all his life so that me and Mum were free of their embrace, and now, well, his name was probably Ivan or summat.

This must have been why Mum left; there would be no way she could stay with someone from there. Dad did all this stuff for her and me. To see him become the very thing that he hated must’ve been too much for her.

Me and Dad were always the strong ones.

I pleaded with him to stop. I even tried in Russian, though one of the only words I knew was ‘ot'ebis'’. He didn’t even understand that. They must’ve got him good. The radio said that if you had to take the zombies on, you had to do so by removing the head or destroying the brain. Dad was the cleverest man I met, so I knew his brains would be difficult to destroy.

Luckily, though, in Mum’s hurry to leave Ivan, she had left the rotary washing line in the garden. I pulled it out of the ground and just about managed to get away before he grabbed me. I knew that I’d only get one shot at this, as I could hear some more Russian moans not far from me. Who’d have known, even when he was gardening and pushing the daisies up, that Patches would save me?

Dad came for me again, but didn’t see my trusty pal. His foot caught on Patches and he went flying, landing on his front. I never realised dad had such a hairy bum-bum.

Those aliens must’ve had to trim loads away before they got anything up there.

I stood over him, and he looked like that turtle I had when I was younger. I used to put him on his back and his little arms and legs thrashed around, but they couldn’t help him stand up. Dad’s neck looked even worse. There was a bone or two sticking out of this hole just above his shoulder, and you could see raw pork chops inside.

His hands were grabbing the lawn. He was pulling clumps of dirt up with his hand. Mum would be well mad when she got back and saw what he done. Those hands…

I pulled the rotary line together and clipped in the arms; it was like a pole I held in my hands, it felt so big.

Why are you laughing, Dee? Have you held a big pole in your hands before, too?

Sorry, please don’t pull my tongue out of my head and what?

Beat me to death with the wet end?

I’ll remember that when I’m fighting the Russian zombies next, thanks!

I looked down at him. He looked so strange. His moaning had changed, probably because he was eating dirt. I froze. I couldn’t do it. Then he kinda growled ‘nyet’, and that’s when I knew that he was gone. Cos that’s Russian, he knew what I was going to do.

So I did it.

He would’ve been proud of me. I did it in one go, and didn’t cry. His hands stopped digging straight away. His legs kinda kicked out a bit and then he stopped, like someone had turned him off.

I don’t really remember what happened next. I could hear the moans nearby. I think I ran. The next thing I know these men had stopped me in the street, said they were going off to a biscuit factory to get away from the zombies and said they’d look after me. I said if they were going to a biscuit factory, I’d love to go with them.

I miss my dad.

And my mum.

But most of all, I miss Patches.

Chapter Thirteen

Steve removed his glasses carefully, rubbed his tired eyes and said, “Thank you Matt, that was…a real eye opener. I hope that you feel better after sharing your tale with the group?”

Matt stared gormlessly at his inquisitor, shrugged as a clump of slick matted hair slipped from its cordon behind his ear and swung in front of his face. He looked around the group and raised a cautious hand. “Yes, what is it Matt?” Steve asked.

“Do you think we’ll get fish fingers for tea tonight? I love fish fingers. Mum used to cook them for me after I did something good. Ha. Which wasn’t much, she said. I think I’ve only had them four times. Each time I had potato wedges, normal ones, and baked beans. Once I put brown sauce on the beans, but they tasted well funny, so I didn’t do it again.” Once the words were expunged, his head disengaged social protocol and dropped to look at the floor again.

“What an absolute bellend,” Anton quipped, scratching the scar around his eye. “If I have to put up with any more fucking sadsack stories, I think I might just top myself.”

Sylvia winced at his words. She started to stroke the inside of her arm again, trying to calm herself down.

Steve hastily put his glasses back on. The arm broke off and got embedded in his hair. He knelt down by her and whispered calming words.

Dee’s eyes darted from Sylvia to Anton in a hummingbird’s heartbeat. He raised his hands. “Woah, calm down mental bird. Didn’t mean nuffin’ by it, till next time, yeah?” With that, he stood up and made his way out of the room. Matt and Tristan stirred and followed suit.

“It’ll be alright, Sylvia. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you, shhh.” Steve looked over to Dee and nodded towards the door. She gratefully took the cue to leave.

She was so preoccupied that as she left she bumped into a man standing in the doorway. “Steady on, Dee,” Andy said. She looked at him with disdain and stomped off into the factory.

Andy gently rapped on the open door. “Steve, sorry mate, Chopper needs you. Our new guest has woken up. Could do with you having a little chat with him. Just to make sure he’s not a policeman short of the Village People, cheers mate.”

He headed back into the factory, walking past people going about their daily tasks. With some he exchanged nods of greeting.
Best get Thomas, assign him his duties. He’s quite handy but bloody hell, he must have a bladder the size of a walnut.