Fear of the Dead (Book 1): Fear of the Dead Page 2

  The only disadvantage to this was that the first night of late night shopping for the holiday season always tended to be much busier than any of the others, and it looked as though tonight was going to be no exception.

  But that, Harry thought, was a small price to pay for having all his shopping out of the way, all done and dusted, knowing he could just sit back and relax, if he wanted, for the rest of December; content that he had nothing else to buy other than perhaps some food and possibly even some booze to help him drown away his sorrows.

  Actually tonight, Harry was surprised the city was as busy as it was - he’d kind of hoped the heavy snowfall they’d had the last few days might possibly have put people off and helped keep them away, but obviously not.

  If the snow kept up like this for next few weeks, Harry thought, they might even end up getting a white Christmas for the first time in more years than he could remember.

  The snow was falling so thick, and fast, it was practically a blizzard and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d had to pay his wages in, and wanted to get his Christmas shopping done and out of the way, Harry might have stayed home himself.

  As it was, he didn’t know how long it was going to take him to get home again for, as was the norm for this country, the coming of the snow had blocked all the roads and brought all forms of public transport to a grinding halt.

  Already local councils were no doubt preparing their excuses as to why they hadn’t gritted the roads, not that it would probably have made much difference even if they had.

  In this country, people simply didn’t know how to deal with the snow.

  In Russia, and in other Eastern European countries more prone to such extreme weather conditions, they just got on with it, got the snow ploughs out and then it was all just business as usual again, but over here, you only needed a few flakes of snow and the whole country ground to a standstill.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad, Harry thought, but it wasn’t just antsy shoppers, eager to get their own shopping over and done with that he knew he would have to deal with tonight.

  No, everywhere he turned, there seemed to be more and more people dressed up as Santa Claus.

  It was triggering his phobia something chronic, and sending all his anxiety levels into overdrive.

  I wouldn’t have come into the city tonight if I’d known, Harry thought. Now that he thought about it, he thought he remembered reading something about some kind of big Santa Claus convention being held at one of the hotels in the city, as part of an attempt to break the official world record for the most people dressed as Father Christmas under one roof, but that had been weeks ago when he’d first heard about it and he had forgotten all about it since then.

  Should’ve marked it in my diary, he thought, but it was too late now.

  He was here and if the snow kept falling the way it was, he might be stuck here in the city for some time.

  It was all he could do to keep his anxiety in check, and Harry was glad he had remembered to take his meds before leaving the house today, otherwise he would probably have been freaking out right about now.

  Actually, there was no probably about it.

  Everywhere he turned there seemed to be more and more of them all around him. Everywhere he looked, more and more people dressed up as Santa; many of them holding and shaking charity buckets in a bid to try and raise some money for a good cause or two.

  He began to feel surrounded and penned in, and in an attempt to try and distract himself, and give himself time to try and calm himself down, Harry turned away and instead of looking at the crowds, began to study the contents of a nearby shop window display he was standing by instead.

  The shop he was standing outside was an electrical store, part of a major chain, and its window was filled with televisions of all sizes and descriptions, allegedly all at ‘Unbelievable prices’ if the posters on the window could be believed. As Harry watched, a breaking news report came on – breaking into the regular programming – to talk about the weather and how it had seemed to have prompted a series of attacks that had all broken out all up and down the country. There was something about some kind of terrorist attack that had apparently just happened in the Capital, and something about some kind of virus that had been released following the attack, that appeared to be making people turn violent from what little Harry could tell reading the subtitles running along the bottom of the screen.

  Meanwhile, in other news, the newsreader began saying, tens of hundreds of people were all stuck; trapped in their cars all up and down motorways all across the country, and though the Emergency Services were doing their best to rescue as many of them as possible, the Police and local authorities were currently advising people not to leave their home unless absolutely necessary and to avoid travel wherever possible. If you were currently stuck somewhere in your car, the newsreader was saying, then the general advice being offered was to lock and close all doors and windows and wait where you were rather than trying to go for help.

  Wish I’d seen all this earlier, Harry thought to himself. It seemed as though in the last hour or so since he’d left the house, the whole world had all gone to hell in a hand-basket. Now, not only was he now trapped here in the city, miles away from home, but it also looked very much as though he might be stuck here indefinitely the way things appeared to be going.

  For a second, he thought about abandoning his shopping trip and just turning around and attempting to head back home on foot, but that, he told himself, was a foolish notion. He was here now, in the city and it would take him almost twice as long, if not more, to get home – even if he made it that far in the snow - than it would for him to finish what he’d come out here for in the first place.

  He’d just been paid; if the worst came to the worst, he’d just find himself a hotel room, book himself in for the night, and then worry about trying to get home tomorrow in the morning or, worst case scenario, the next day come to that.

  As Harry turned away from the shop window, he found himself being accosted by one of the charity muggers – or ‘Chuggers’ as they were more commonly referred as – that he’d seen earlier, dressed as Santa, shaking his collection tin at him in his face.

  The man looked really ill, Harry thought. Either that or drunk - for his eyes were bloodshot red, the same colour as his costume, his skin was all blotchy and pale, and he looked like death warmed up, and even then, only lukewarm.

  The smell coming off him was enough to make you gag – a bit like a combination of stale sweat, rotten eggs, and rancid meat all rolled into one.

  Harry felt sick, and it was all he could do to stop himself from retching.

  The Chugger never said anything, just rattled his bucket in Harry’s face and let out a guttural moan – and with his phobia already well and truly triggered, Harry lashed out, pushing the drunk Santa away from him.

  “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME,” Harry bellowed, shoving away at the man as he tried to back away. “Fuck off already; be off with you, you fucking pikey!”

  A few people moved out of the way as the chugger, who was presumably high on something – either drugs, or alcohol, or a combination of both, Harry thought - fell to the floor, but for the majority of them, there was nowhere they could go.

  As the man fell at their feet, he reached up at them, clasping at their coats as though begging them for help, but as Harry watched, he could see more than a few of the crowd retching themselves as they too, suddenly caught a whiff of the man’s unpleasant bodily aroma and tried just as desperately as Harry to back away.

  As the crowd of shoppers all around them began to increase, and more and more people stopped to watch what was going on, the drunk Santa got to his feet, bent forwards and threw up violently into his bucket. God alone knew what it was the man must have been drinking, Harry thought, but whatever it was, his sick looked the colour of blood.

  As the chugger raised his head, Harry could see clumps and clots of the man’s vomit matted in his beard, staini
ng it red. The man started moving forwards again, moving towards Harry, ignoring – for the time being at least – everyone else around him as Harry raised his fists.

  “I’m not telling you again, man. Fuck off already. Get the fuck away from me, I mean it, I swear. You come at me again, Bruh, and I won’t be held responsible for my actions…”

  Harry lashed out with his fist, catching the man square on the jaw, sending his head reeling back. The man collapsed back on the floor again in a heap and for a brief moment, Harry almost felt a small twinge of guilt as he considered the possibility that the man reeling before him, struggling to get back to his feet again, might not actually be drunk at all, but seriously ill.

  But then the man threw up again, this time all over the pavement, and just like that Harry’s brief moment of conscience quickly passed.

  “Hey, you! Yeah, you. Leave that poor guy alone,” came a voice from amongst the crowd behind him, as someone shoved into Harry, pushing him forwards towards the man he had just physically assaulted only a few brief moments before.Harry spun around quickly to face his assailant, his fists up again already, ready for a fight.

  “You want some as well?” Harry asked, squaring up to the man who had just shoved him. “I mean, seriously? You want a piece of me too? Because I tell you right now, my friend, today of all days I am seriously not in the fucking mood!”

  The guy who’d pushed him was a tall, gangly youth, dressed all in black, wearing a Santa hat with the slogan, ‘Bah Humbug’ printed upon it – the sort you could buy from any discount store, and probably for less than a couple of quid. Seeing the visible anger in Harry’s face, the youth who’d pushed him suddenly paled and, realising he’d probably underestimated Harry and more than likely just bitten off a whole lot more than he could chew, quickly started to apologise.

  “I’m s…s…sorry, man,” the youth stammered, backing away “But you know, it’s seriously not cool, dude, picking on that homeless man like that. I was just…just…”

  “I don’t care,” Harry told him, “either finish what you started or back the fuck away from me, NOW!” He made to move towards the youth, and the young lad quickly got out of his way.

  Harry brushed past him and through the crowd continuing to gather, and carried on the way he’d been headed before he’d been so rudely interrupted by the Chugger - towards a nearby department store, a few doors down, that sold everything under one roof.

  Behind him, Harry thought he could hear angry shouting coming from the crowd that had gathered around the man he’d pushed, aimed no doubt at him, and thought he heard someone calling for someone to ‘stop him,’ or at the very least, ‘call the Police,’ but Harry ignored them. In his peripheral vision, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see someone pointing in his direction, and so quickly made his escape via the store.

  No way was he just going to stand out there, hang around and wait for someone to call the Police on him, he thought. The last thing he either wanted, or needed, this close to Christmas was trouble from the law, and the way his luck was going today, he’d probably end up getting arrested and taken down the station and all for just trying to defend himself.

  The stupid chugger back there had been asking for it anyway, Harry thought, trying to justify his actions to himself. He’d been asking for trouble the way he had pounced on Harry like that, rattling his collection tin at him in a threatening manner, grunting and moaning at him.

  They weren’t supposed to do that anymore.

  There were laws about such things.

  Nowadays Chuggers were supposed to just stand there and look at you all guilty like, not try and accost you.

  No, he had been perfectly justified in acting the way he had, Harry told himself.

  Safe in the department store, at least for now, he risked a quick glance back the way he’d come through the great, big, glass double doors that marked the entrance to the store.

  A couple of passers-by were doing their best to try and help the guy dressed as Santa Claus back to his feet and as he watched, Harry thought he saw the chugger immediately turn around and begin attacking them – grabbing one man by the arm and ripping out his throat with his teeth.

  What the actual fu…he thought

  As Harry continued to look on, he saw the man sink his teeth into another of his would-be-saviours, ripping away huge great chunks of flesh as he tore his head away, sending people running off screaming, but before he could see any more, suddenly someone stepped in front of him, one of the store’s sales assistants he realised, and just like that his view of what was going on outside was blocked.

  .“Sir…sir…SIR,” the very persistent sales assistant was trying to say to him, doing her level best to try and get his attention. “I’m sorry, Sir, but if you’re coming in here to shop, I’m afraid you’re going to have to hurry; we’re closing up the store in the next ten minutes or so, management’s orders, so that all of the staff has time to try and get home before the snow starts getting any worse.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that,” Harry muttered, then more loudly. “It’s okay, I won’t be long; I already know what it is I’m after…”

  He tried to see what was happening outside now, but the sales assistant was still standing in his way. He could see another crowd starting to gather, forming around whatever it was that was happening out there, and flashing blue lights back the way he’d come as the Police finally arrived on the scene, but that was about it.

  Before the sales assistant could bother him anymore, Harry turned around and walked away from her, quickly heading further into the store– leaving her behind to try and intercept more shoppers trying to come inside, no doubt in a bid to try and seek some refuge from the snow still falling heavily outside, not to mention whatever else it was that might be happening out there.

  He didn’t get very far before he was intercepted once again.

  “Can I interest you in our special offer today, Sir?” another sales assistant asked, cutting him off, deliberately moving into his path - a tall, blonde this time, all dressed up to the nines in what was no doubt supposed to be a sexy Santa costume. She was brandishing an expensive bottle of perfume in her hand, drastically reduced in price for today only, no doubt in an attempt to shift some of the mountains of stock the store had gotten in to try and cope with the anticipated Christmas demand that, as yet, had so far failed to happen.

  Though the city outside might still have been busy, people just didn’t have the money that they’d had to spend in previous years and as a consequence, a lot of shops had seen a big drop in sales this year – especially when it came to expensive things like £120 bottles of what was essentially scented water.

  “No thanks,” Harry told her. “I’m afraid I’m not interested…”

  “Are you sure?” The tall blonde asked again, moving even closer to him, obviously unaware her costume was triggering all sorts of anxiety in him right now. “It’s a great bargain – and available at this price for today only while stocks last…”

  “I already told you,” Harry repeated, more forcefully, trying to push past her, “I’m NOT interested…”

  She was a good looking girl, had a cracking pair of tits on her, and at any other time he might have feigned an interest just to spend a few more extra minutes in her company, but the way she was dressed was really not doing it for him and, in actual fact, triggering his phobia in all sorts of ways, none of which were particularly pleasant. Just standing here, beside her, Harry thought he could feel a panic attack coming on and thought he might pass out or be sick at any minute.

  “It’d be a great last minute present for your girlfriend…” the cute blonde continued, getting pushy now in what was obviously a desperate effort to make a sale.

  Just like the man he’d encountered outside, Harry thought, the sales assistant looked ill - either that or hungover, which seemed far more likely considering this was just the beginning of what was supposed to be ‘the season to be jolly’. In fact, h
e decided, she looked more than a little bit worse for wear. She didn’t smell as bad as the man dressed outside as Santa had though – though no doubt that was in part because of all the expensive perfume she had drenched herself in, in an attempt to try and help entice shoppers to come her way and hopefully buy her wares.

  “What part of no are you not getting?” Harry said, finally snapping now and reaching the end of his tether. “For fucks sake, woman, get that fucking shit away from me and out of my fucking face!”

  He lashed out, striking the bottle she was holding, sending it flying out of her hand and away from him, half-way across the store or so it seemed.

  He heard it land somewhere with the sound of breaking glass, and thought he heard somebody scream.

  “Well, there’s no need to be rude,” the sales assistant snapped back at him, visibly upset and from the look of it, pretty much close to tears. “Jeez, for fuck’s sake, you don’t have to be such a fucking arsehole about it. I’m mean, I’m only trying to do my jo…”

  She broke off into a coughing fit, bending over and hacking up, loud enough to fetch up a lung. As Harry watched, the young girl dressed as Santa began starting to bring up a thick, tarry liquid that, to him, looked a lot like blood.

  Moving quickly to avoid getting it on his shoes, Harry started to back away.

  Jeez, he thought, don’t tell me she’s sick as well?

  It was bad enough that the Santa suit she was wearing was triggering his anxiety, the fact that she was now throwing up at his feet only made things worse. He found himself suddenly thinking again about the chugger outside that he’d assaulted, and how he’d thrown up as well - right before he started going crazy and attacking people, including those who had been trying to help him – and thought too about the news report he’d seen, back in the window of that electrical shop he’d stopped at, about people falling ill, going crazy, and attacking each other in the Capital following a terrorist attack that was supposed to have occurred there.