Demise of the Living

A PERMUTED PRESS book

Published at Smashwords

Trade Paper ISBN: 978-1-61868-130-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61868-131-7

Demise of the Living
copyright ©
2013

by Iain McKinnon

All Rights Reserved.

Cover art by Roy Migabon.

This book is a work of fiction. People,
places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
historical events, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without
the written permission of the author and publisher.

To Alison simply the most
wonderful woman in the world.

To Brennus for making me strive
to be better.

To Audrey and Emma for
giving me your time, your support and your help.

To Mum and Dad for always being
there for me.

To Peter, Joe and Dave thanks
for the inspiration and the sound advice.

And to my online buddies too
numerous to mention and too prized to forget. Thank you for all the
crowd sourced answers on Facebook.

The sound
trac
k to writing this novel:

Nine Inch Nails, Combichrist,
Psy (yes I know).

There are none who can
defeat death.
There are none who can silence death’s roar.
And there is nothing of man’s making that can endure forever.
For as long as man is at war with himself.
For as long as hostility and hate rule.
For all eternity there can be no likeness of death.
No living face may turn unblinking to the sun.
None can seize the distinction between the living and the
dead.
And death’s release forever will remain a mystery unto man.
For when demons and gods conspire, the mother of fate is forced to
act.
It is she who decrees the demise of the living.

--
From the Epic of Gilgamesh

Monday

Chapter
1

“Calm down,” Liz pleaded.

“Get out of the road,” Harrison
cursed.

There was no way the shambling
fool could hear him. Harrison's voice was raised, his annoyance
clear from his tone, but it was restricted to the confines of the
car.

Harrison peeped his horn and
shouted, “For fuck’s sake!”

“
This isn't helping,” Liz
said. She glanced at the kids in the back seat.

Harrison looked round and
smiled at the young boy and girl.

The two children had been
sitting quietly, engrossed with the cartoon playing on tiny
screens, headphones clamped over their ears, but now they were
focused on their stepfather’s rage.

“They can't hear a fucking
thing,” Harrison said, unaware the children had taken an
interest.

“We've got a long trip ahead of
us and I don't want it getting uncomfortable so soon,” Liz
replied.

Harrison’s cheeks were
flushed. He waved his hand to point out the man’s lumbering
movements towards the car. “Look at him! Look at him now. Still
drunk from last night.”

Liz looked out at the pitiful
fellow. His hair was matted and tussled. He wore a crumpled and
soiled suit jacket and his tieless shirt was awash with dirt and
grime.

“
Just drive around him
and stop making a fuss about it,” she said.

Harrison looked at his
watch. “We were almost an hour late leaving and we’re not even out
of town yet when this moron starts with us. I've got a good mind to
just run him down.”

“
Now don’t be ridiculous.
You’re just causing a drama out of nothing.”

Harrison swung the
steering wheel down and swerved as if he was about to circle around
him. As they drew level he stopped the car.

“Is the man okay?” Melissa
asked from the back.

“What are you doing?” Liz asked
Harrison.

Harrison didn't answer her. He
pressed the button to roll the window down.

He leaned his head out and
hollered, “Hey buddy, get off the fucking road!”

“
Harrison, for God’s
sake,
don’t
,” Liz said.

“
Who’s pissed on
Harrison’s parade?" Grant asked.

Liz turned to see both
Grant and Melissa had slipped their headphones off and were paying
close attention. Grant had his biological father’s physique, stocky
yet well-built, but with Liz’s eyes and mouth. Melissa, on the
other hand, could have been a clone of her mother, tall and thin as
a twig.

“Grant, I have told you not to
use that language,” Liz said. “Now sit back down and let your dad
and I deal with this.”

“You mean Harrison and you,”
Grant said cheekily.

Harrison glanced at Grant
in the rear-view mirror. “Would it kill you to call me Dad just
once?” he asked.

He leaned out the window
again.

“What is he doing, ma?” Melissa
asked.

Liz barely stopped
herself from blurting out, ‘
Your step dad’s being a dick
.’
Although true, she knew it would only serve to heighten the
tension.

“Let the grown-ups deal with
this, children,” she said, falling back on one of her parenting
stock responses.

“
You being a smartass or
something?!” they heard Harrison shout.

The man slowly shuffled
his way up to the driver’s window like a geriatric bereft of the
energy or will to move any faster. He drew so close that Liz lost
sight of him through the narrow field of vision between her husband
and the roof of the car.

“
I can’t see—who’s
Harrison talking to?” Melissa asked, bobbing her head to look out
of the side window. “Let the fuck go!” Harrison shouted.

“
What’s going on?” Liz
asked, trying to peer past her husband.

There was a scream.

“Let go of me, you fucking
pussy!” The car door was thrown open, but blocked by the vagrant it
bounced back with a thud.

“Harrison! Not in front of the
kids,” Liz scolded.

Harrison tried again to
push the door open to get out, but it was impossible. The man was
too close and the door kept being slammed shut as they
tussled.

“Harrison, what are you doing?”
Liz asked, her voice raised.

“Jesus Christ! Fuck off, you
filthy bastard!”

“You’re not supposed to use
that language,” Grant said, parroting his mother with a singsong
voice.

“Grant, you be quiet!” Liz
shouted. She turned back to her husband. “Stop it, Harrison. Just
drive on.”

There was a scream and a spray
of blood squirted across the windshield.

Liz froze. She looked at the
blood and it took a moment for her to realise it was running down
the inside of the windscreen.

She put a hand to her mouth to
stop herself from screaming but it was too late. Shrieks of terror
were soon bouncing around the confines of the car.

Harrison was being pulled
through the open window, fighting and flailing as he went.

“Harrison?” Liz said.

It dawned on her that Harrison
was in dire need of help.

“
Stay here!” she shouted
at her children through the thick noise of the screams.

She fumbled for the
release to unbuckle her seatbelt, unable to concentrate with the
screeching bombarding her. Beside her, her husband was now almost
completely removed from the car through the driver’s-side window,
still kicking and thrashing.

Liz looked down at her
seatbelt clasp and pushed the red button. The seatbelt clicked
free. She turned and yanked at the door handle. Throwing the door
open, she bolted from the car.

Immediately the screams
from her family seemed more distant. The low morning sun cast
gargantuan shadows across the street, making it feel like the
bottom of a canyon. Like a canyon, the air felt cold and damp. Yet
there was something else in the air: a faintly rancid smell,
repugnant and disconcerting that caught the back of her nose. She
shook off the surreal feeling pressing down on her and ran to the
front of the car.

The man in the dishevelled suit
was savaging her husband. The attacker was grabbing at Harrison and
nuzzling his head in as if trying to force a kiss. All the while
Harrison screamed and thrashed and tried to push his attacker
away.

Liz grabbed the man by the
shoulders and pulled.

She cried, “Get off him!”