Garbage Man (26 page)

The brown suit was loose because he'd lost weight so he punched extra holes in an old Swedish army belt and pulled the trousers tight around his waist with it. He wore a white shirt and an old, broad-ended tie. He had no dress shoes so he wore his walking boots, also brown, and pulled the bottoms of his trousers down to cover them as best he could.

Standing dressed outside the back door it was easy to believe that he'd imagined or hallucinated the things he thought he'd seen out there. It was such a long time since he'd eaten that his mind might have played any number of tricks on him. One thing it hadn't done was let him forget his morality. He had done wrong - ultimate wrong - and he intended to do something about it before the end came. What exactly he would do, he wasn't certain, but he felt a small power left within himself, as though he'd discovered a final crusade worth pursuing.

He neither drank nor ate anything. When the sun came up, it burned into his eyes for several seconds before he turned away. Something made him take off his boots and for several minutes he stood barefoot on the soil of his garden before brushing his feet clean and putting the boots back on.

He walked away from his suburban lair with determination.

***

Kevin's drive back to Bluebell Way was worse.

Small accidents had occurred on many roads, mostly because of the distraction caused by the animated waste that crawled or slithered in every street. But some people, the small and the slow, perhaps the overly inquisitive, had already been unlucky. He passed a mobility scooter on which sat an elderly man. The man wore a flat cap and a dirty coat but his face was obscured by a creature half rabbit and half spoilage. Evidently the man had been trying to scream for help when the rabbit thing had extended a pseudo limb of some kind and thrust it up through his exposed palate. Now the old man stared ahead while the rabbit educated itself on his aged brain and other limping chimeras of junk and flesh crawled over him. They disassembled him, added him to themselves.

Too occupied with the fate of the elderly man, Kevin himself almost hit a cyclist who had wobbled into the centre of the road. He resolved to keep his mind on the journey.

Armed police had arrived at the top of one terrace where the rubbish seemed to be invading in force. He remembered that this street had both a home for the elderly and a day nursery. He wanted to stop then and do something to help. The thought of the rubbish cannibalising parts from children barely old enough to stand made his stomach turn over and his anger ignite. But what could he do?

He pulled onto the kerb to watch the police operation. It was clear that though they had their routines and training, it didn't fit the situation. The group converged on a large knot of resurrected debris, their rifles and pistols aimed downwards into them. Officers glanced at each other and shook their heads. Someone gave the command to open fire and the street echoed with the unfamiliar sounds of war. Automatic bursts and single shots popped and clattered into the rubbish. Here and there Kevin saw puffs and bursts and tears in the amalgamated flesh and plastic, the tin and bone. But the majority of the rubbish kept moving, seething forward. It was slow because it lacked the limbs to propel itself properly. But it came forward without fear, unaffected by the threat of bullets that could rip through it so easily. Many of the individual creatures that had been hit were still moving - evidently, the bullets had missed the vital components or hadn't torn big enough holes in their ‘skins'.

Kevin remembered the way Ozzy and Lemmy had chewed open the fat tadpole-shaped thing he'd seen at the reservoir. That had been enough to end its life. The bullets were making only small holes and probably passed right through their targets. They'd need something less precise to stop the landfill creatures. He pulled back into the road and put his foot down for home.

Correction, my ex-home.

Bluebell Way was an invasion site. Kevin couldn't believe it.

It looked as though the landfill had been airlifted in ten tons at a time. But looking closer he could see dozens of individual landfill creatures moving in their hesitant, fumbling way. Christ, he thought, they're so much more dangerous than they look.

Dozens of them were besieging his house. Tamsin was upstairs looking out of the window in pale-faced terror and disbelief. Before he parked, he turned the car to face back the way he'd come. If they made it back out of the house they needed every advantage. Lumbering, crippled assemblies of rubbish and animal flesh assailed the door, climbing over each other to break in. One of the panels in the frosted glass had already shattered and something was
pouring
itself in through the space. Kevin had no weapons.

He spent several valuable moments thinking before he jumped out of the car. Tamsin had seen him by now and was jumping up and down at the window in desperation. She looked like a child. He saw another look on her face too, one he'd never seen before. Remorse. She was sorry. Sorry for what she'd done or sorry for what he'd done, he couldn't tell.

The garage was clear of creatures; it was the living they craved. He ran to it, unlocked it and hauled the door up. As soon as they sensed he was there landfill creatures converged on him from every direction. Panic rose and swelled in him. It was like an urge to piss with time running out. How long could he hold himself together? He hauled the door down behind him. It creaked as they pressed themselves against it.

In the garage he grabbed the tool with the longest handle, a rake they'd never used - it still had the price sticker on it. In the corner there was a five-litre plastic petrol can in which he kept the two-stroke fuel for the lawn mower. He picked it up and shook it. It was less than half full. Would it be enough? Was two-stroke even flammable without a wick? He couldn't remember.

Something scratched the leg of his jeans and he shook his foot violently. With a pathetic mewl, something unrecognisable crashed back against the wall. Whimpering, it began to crawl back to him. They'd lifted the door enough for some of the smaller creatures to slip under. More of them were working their way through the gap.

He let himself out the side door of the garage, shutting the things inside, and went to the back of the house, watchful and twitchy. There were two or three landfill creatures crossing the garden towards the back steps but the main body of attackers was still at the front door. He crept quietly to the front of the house, now, along the side wall. Several of them had already found him. They swarmed down the alley formed between the house and the garage but they were all small fry. He pushed them back with the rake as though sweeping. Some of them tore badly and a filthy plasma leaked out. Kevin choked on the smell but kept pushing.

Most of the landfill creatures were slow moving and ungainly. He knew if he was nimble enough, he'd be able to do enough damage to buy some time.

At the front of the house he risked hopping over several of the things to get closer to the main entry. Fumbling and shaking, his knees jittering as he stood on the spot, he unscrewed the lid of the petrol can and splashed the fuel out towards the front door and all over the converging landfill creatures. They shivered at the touch of the liquid as if knowing what would follow. Darting between other creatures on the lawn he spilled fuel out behind him as he sprinted back to the side wall. He hoped the trail of fuel was unbroken and he tried to douse as many of the creatures in his path as he could. When he reached the back garden he took the pink Bic lighter from his pocket and thanked God he hadn't quit smoking. It was so low on gas he couldn't hear any fluid inside when he shook it. He flicked it beside the fuel-glistening grass but there it had no effect. He flicked it again and again.

‘Come on. For God's sake, come ON.'

The fuel caught, not from the lighter's flame but from a spark hitting it. It leapt to life burning his eyelashes and the front of his hair. He fell backwards onto the grass. The fire was already around the corner to the front of the house. Every landfill creature the flames touched caught light and began to melt. Every one of them made such desperate, haunted cries he almost wanted to turn the hose on them. The leaping flame and the writhing of the dying creatures mesmerised him for a few seconds as he lay on his side. The sound was hard to bear. It interrupted his concentration.

There was a searing pain in his ear and then he was screaming and rolling away from it. He struggled to his feet and put his hand to the side of his head. Most of his left ear was missing. It had disappeared inside the razorblade mouth of a tiny trash freak.

‘You dirty fucker,' he screamed.

He used the rake to tear it apart. Scattered and broken it was soon still. There in the liquid shit of its blood, lay his severed ear. He didn't dare touch it.

Crying at the pain, he went to the back door and used the rake on the other creatures that were scrabbling at the glass, killing them easily. Then he let himself in and locked the door behind him. Terrified that the wound would be infected, he turned the tap on, bent down and bathed what was left of his ear under it. The water made the pain worse but he gritted his teeth. With the damage had come a kind of hyper-clarity. The creatures outside were an obstacle. He would find a way around them. Getting Tammy to safety was a problem he would solve. The insanity of the situation no longer screamed at him and slowed his thinking down. Everything was simple now.

Pressing a clean tea towel to the side of his head he ran up the stairs.

She was waiting at the top, tearful and overjoyed.

‘Oh Christ, Kevin. Thank you. Thank you so much.'

‘I only came back for a change of boxer shorts.' She noticed the bloodstained tea towel.

‘Was it . . . one of them?'

He nodded then pushed past her to the bathroom to search in the cabinet. The things he didn't want he threw on the floor. When he found what he was looking for he unscrewed the cap and handed it to Tammy. This was the feared and respected remedy his own father had put on all their cuts when they were little - hydrogen peroxide.

‘I won't be able to do this to myself.'

‘What do expect me to do?'

‘Just tip a bit on when I take the towel away.'

Their eyes met for a second and he saw she'd have no problem doing what he'd asked. There was still enough hate in her to power a city. He took the towel away and she upended the bottle over what remained of his ear.

‘Aaaarrgh! Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIIIITTT.'

The exposed flesh turned white as it fizzed. He forced the urge to hit her back down again. They had to concentrate on getting out. But it did cross his mind to wonder again why he'd come back for the bitch.

Never mind, Kev, just keep it moving.

He dropped the tea towel and when he looked at her again, she was crying.

‘What is it?'

‘I don't want us to hurt each other any more, Kevin. I've had enough. Enough for a lifetime. And I . . . I can't believe you came back. I know I don't deserve it.'

‘We're not out of this yet, Tammy. The whole town's infested with these things.'

‘The whole t -'

The sound of smashed glass and something heavy landing on the kitchen floor came from downstairs. It was a terrifying sound. The sound of an intelligent action, part of the landfill creatures' plan.

Kevin took her hand.

‘Come on, we're leaving.'

He ran from the bathroom to the spare room. He looked down into the back garden but couldn't see anything out there. From the front door came the sound of writhing, moaning creatures on fire and the smell of burning plastic and charred meat.

He led Tammy to the top of the stairs. At the back door, he heard the lock being turned and the handle being pushed down. He cursed himself; in his haste, he'd left the rake in the kitchen. There had to be something in the house he could use. If the creatures weren't very strong, keeping them at a distance would be enough. Perhaps they could reach the recess under the stairs. Then he could use the sweeping brush to keep whatever was in the kitchen at a safe range until they got out.

He descended the stairs more cautiously than he'd come up them, bringing Tammy by the hand behind him. Smoke was seeping in around the frame of the front door. It smelled like the paint and wood had caught fire; the whole house would catch soon. He didn't plan to hang around long enough to see their home go up in flames.

At the bottom of the steps, he looked over the rail and into the kitchen. In the middle of the floor, surrounded by shattered glass, was a flower pot. It had also smashed when it hit the floor, scattering compost and jettisoning a geranium. But there was no movement in the kitchen and no sound inside the house other than his own breathing and heartbeat.

He motioned to Tammy that it was safe to move and together they stepped down into the front hallway. He signalled for her to stay behind him and then edged forwards towards the door of the storage recess under the stairs. He had to turn his back on the kitchen to open it. Even though he was stealthy, the hinge creaked because the wood had warped. It took three tugs to get the door open. Inside it was too gloomy to see what he needed.

‘Where's the broom?' he whispered. Tammy shook her head then remembered.

‘Outside the back door.'

‘Shit. There must be something else in here.'

Tammy leaned across and flicked the light switch for him.

Vacuum cleaner. Dustpan and brush. Bleach. Feather duster. Flimsy plastic mop.

‘Come on, come on.'

Then he saw the tool box.

‘Thank you, Lord.'

He crouched down to unsnap the latches. Inside was the nearest thing to a weapon he was going to find, his claw hammer. As he reached into the tool box he heard Tammy's scream cut short. He leapt up with the hammer in time to see Tammy being dragged into the kitchen by her throat. Not all the creatures crawled any more. Not all of them were slow and small.