The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin Read online

  “Daddy, your eyes look funny.”

  “Funny how?” he asked, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.

  “They look sore,” she replied, trying not to giggle.

  He thought they may well do, as they felt as if they were burning.

  “Daddy is okay sweetheart, just a little bit tired.”

  “Is that because you have been awake fishing?” She asked, as he poured milk into her bowl.

  “Yes sweetheart, Daddy was silly, now eat your breakfast my angel and I will go and find your shoes”

  Leaving his daughter in the kitchen, he made his way into the hallway. He checked the shoe rack but her school shoes were not there. He tried to remember yesterday when he picked her up from school, as to where she may have taken them off when they returned home, but his thoughts were interrupted by the painful throbbing in his head and the burning sensation behind his eyes.

  He remembered he took her to ballet lessons the prior evening and she ran straight to her room to change.

  Ascending the stairs, each step caused his legs to ache.

  Entering her bedroom, he found the shoes resting against a large cuddly animal, a stripy fish from one of the cartoons she loved to watch.

  Leaving the bedroom, he made his way along the hallway, the feeling inside his head causing him to feel nauseous.

  Standing in the doorway of his own bedroom, for the briefest of moments he considered waking his wife up to ask her to take their daughter to school for once.

  Looking in at the huge mound under the quilt, the sound of snoring accompanying each rise and fall of her bulk, he thought better of it.

  He returned to the kitchen with Rose’s shoes in his hands.

  Finishing her cereal, she sat brushing her long blonde hair.

  “Here you go Princess,” he said, passing her the shoes, “are you almost ready?”

  “Yes Daddy,” she replied, turning around and giving him a loving embrace.

  The drive to her school a slow and luckily uneventful one, he felt worse, the pain behind his eyes now affecting his vision. It blurred and he found himself more than once, rubbing at them with his hand.

  Luckily her school stood located only a five-minute drive from their home. Finding a parking space swiftly behind one of the other parents’ cars, he switched off the engine.

  Exiting the car, he walked to where Rose waited for him to open the passenger-side door.

  After retrieving her satchel and lunchbox from the rear seat of the car, they made their way across to the school gates. A few of the parents he knew and spoke to each day were congregated there chatting away, as they did each school day.

  Maxine Morgan stood with her husband John. They were a nice couple who lived a couple of roads away from them. He could never remember exactly what John did for a living; something in an office or other. Maxine worked in the newsagents where he picked up his fishing magazines and Rose’s comics from.

  Seeing their daughter Amelia, one of Rose’s best friends, she ran immediately to be at her friend’s side.

  “Dave, you look bloody awful,” Maxine stated, staring at him.

  “Jesus mate,” her Husband added, “are you okay?”

  “Think I’m coming down with something, I feel terrible,” he replied, nodding his head.

  “You need to get to the doctors to get checked out,” Maxine said.

  “I know, I can never get a bloody appointment there for myself as they are always full but,” he squeezed the bridge of his nose as it felt like his sinuses were starting to burn, “I will have to. I have a shift tonight and have to collect Rose later from school and get her straight to the kid’s club.”

  “I’d take a day off mate,” John said.

  “John’s right,” Maxine said, “call in sick. And don’t be stupid about picking up Rose and getting her to the club. I’ll do that as I have to collect Amelia from school and drop her off at the club anyway.”

  “Are you sure?” Dave asked, looking at her gratefully.

  This was not unusual, he often picked up Amelia along with Rose if they were running late and vice versa.

  “Of course, I’m sure,” Maxine replied, “and if you need us to get her home from the club, just send us a text and we will drop her off at yours.”

  He thanked her, then watched as she led both Amelia and Rose up the pathway, leading to the school doors.

  “Just ring in sick mate and get yourself better,” John said, placing a hand on his shoulder,

  He started to reply, but instead of words, there emitted a sneeze, catching the other man full on in the face.

  He began to apologise, but John laughed it off, and producing a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped off the mucus substance covering him.

  “And get better sooner, rather than later for fucks sake,” he said, laughing.

  After apologising again, Dave returned to his car.

  Entering in, he turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared into life. Indicating to pull out, the flashing light on the dashboard appeared brighter than usual.

  Fuck, my head is killing me.

  He pulled out, heading home.

  By the time he returned home, Karen was awake and stood in the bathroom.

  His ears pounded so much, he felt his heart would erupt from them, though he could still hear her emit a large passing of wind as he passed the door. Normally it would fill him with more loathing and disgust for her, but all he wanted was to reach the bedroom.

  I will close my eyes just for a while then I’ll contact Bob and call in sick.

  Falling on the bed on his chest, he closed his eyes, not realising the darkness he felt himself falling into, was not of his usual slumber.

  Karen walked into their bedroom minutes later and saw him asleep.

  Walking slowly to his prone body, she pulled the quilt from her side of the bed, over his body.

  I’m not stripping him, fuck that.

  Descending the stairs and walking to the kitchen, she set about creating herself a large pile of toast and a cup of tea, before sitting on the sofa and switching the television on.

  Immediately, she pressed the buttons to activate the ‘un-freeze’ on the period drama she watched the previous evening. Reaching only halfway through the second series, there was another series for her to sit through.

  Settling into the sofa, she placed a large piece of toast into her mouth, devouring it as she took a huge gulp from her cup.

  She awoke on the sofa from after a long nap, which she often took after midday. Glancing around at the empty biscuit wrappers and the empty two-litre bottle of coke she sighed aloud.

  I’ll have to go to the kitchen now.

  Letting out a large burp, better out than in, she giggled to herself, she rolled her bulk into an upright sitting position.

  Standing up and looking around the room, she stretched her arms, her large folds of ‘bingo wings’ wobbling as she did so.

  Walking across the lounge to the kitchen door, she entered the kitchen, immediately to the refrigerator.

  Opening it, she retrieved a large bottle of coke, from the many sat on ‘her’ shelf.

  Opening the bottle, taking a large swig out if before placing it upon the kitchen table, she looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. She made her way upstairs, needing to go to the toilet.

  Finishing, she made her way to their bedroom.

  She noticed his prone body underneath the quilts.

  For fucks sake, he’s supposed to be picking up Rose!

  “Dave!” she called.

  He did not move or respond to the sound of her voice. Moving across the bedroom to his prone figure, the odour pervaded her nostrils.

  What the fuck’s that smell? It smells like shit.

  “For fucks sake Dave, you’ve overslept,” she said, leaning her ample figure down, her knees aching under the weight as she pulled the quilt from him.

  She briefly noticed his face appeared as white as their newly painted bedro
om door, covered with a web of thick dark veins, a second before she noticed the dried blood on the pillow.

  Shit.

  “Dave,” she whispered, moving her hand to his shoulder, to awaken him from his slumber.

  Her fingers nearly touched his shoulder, when his eyes opened slowly.

  She took a moment to take in a sharp intake of breath, to stare into the redness of his eyes, enough moment to notice the lines engraved around them, causing him to appear decades older than his years.

  She slowly backed away as he raised himself up, struggling as he still lay under the large quilt on their bed.

  Stumbling against one of their bedside cabinets, she fell, her large backside hitting the floor.

  She sat in a sitting position as he arose from the bed, an obscure thought running through her head.

  What is that clacking noise, is the boiler acting up again?

  Arising from the bed, he moved towards her, his arms rising until they were outstretched in front of him.

  His steps were slow and cumbersome, appearing he only now learned how to use his legs.

  Her screaming began, the moment it dawned upon her, the clacking noise originated from his teeth, clamping together repeatedly as he moved slowly to her.

  Chapter Eleven

  After unlocking and opening the door, Mike placed his fishing tackle inside the porch of the bungalow.

  Jesus, my head is aching.

  Not aching enough, he would forget to take his boots off, before proceeding to unlock the front door.

  His wife Brenda would kill him if he dared to walk in with them on, already conceding to allowing him to leave his tackle in the porch, when he returned home from a nights fishing.

  She would take it and lock it in the shed whilst he took a bath.

  He loved her for those little things.

  He would previously spend ages traipsing around the side of the bungalow to lock his tackle away in their secured shed.

  Their area went downhill since the council rehoused various people, from a less desirable area of the city, into the new eyesore of an estate, not far from where they lived.

  He placed on his feet, the slippers his Granddaughter Charlotte bought him for his last birthday.

  He and Brenda completely doted on their little Lottie.

  Their daughter Melissa married a Civil Engineer from London and moved into one of the suburbs down there.

  As much as he loathed London, he cherished those occasions, when he and Brenda would catch the National Express coach to see them.

  “Is that you Mike?” Brenda called from their kitchen.

  “No,” he called, his voice sounding more croaky and hoarse than usual, “it’s one of yer fancy fellas.”

  Walking from the kitchen and into their small hallway, she noticed the pale pallor of his skin.

  “Love, you look awful.”

  “Pleased to see you too sweetheart.”

  “No, honestly Mike, you look terrible.”

  “I feel terrible babe. I think I am coming down with something, you know what I mean.”

  “Well love, the water is nice and hot, so I will run you a bath before I put your things away.”

  Despite the dreadful way he felt, Mike smiled and walked to their spare bedroom, as she would never allow him to take his ‘dirty’ fishing gear off in their bedroom.

  God I’m aching all over.

  His head felt as if warm water seeped into his brain and slowly heated up.

  Managing to strip down to his briefs, he sat on the edge of their spare bed, closing his eyes.

  His head throbbing ferociously now, he felt each pulse of his bloodstream magnified a thousand times.

  “Hey sexy,” he heard his wife say.

  I must’ve dozed off.

  Looking up, he saw her in the doorway, holding a couple of towels in her hands.

  “You’ve been like that for well over an hour love.”

  “Sorry Hun.”

  “No need to be sorry Babe,” she offered, walking to him and placing her hand upon his shoulder.

  “I’ve run you a hot bath, so just make sure you get in it before the water turns cold. I’ve left you a glass of rum on the side of the bath. That should warm you up a bit.”

  He looked at her and smiled.

  “I’m popping in to see our Lauren, then I’m off to the shops and will pick you up one of those gammon joints you like so...” she began, then stopped, as Mike let out an involuntary sneeze, catching her in the face.

  “So,” she continued, using the edge of one of the towels to wipe her face, “if you don’t do as you are bloody well told and get in the bath and stop sneezing all over me, you can have a bloody microwave pizza.”

  “I’m sorry babe, I didn’t mean to.”

  She leant over, kissing him upon the top of his bald head.

  “Don’t be silly love, I know you didn’t. Now get your bath!”

  She made her way to the front door.

  “Love you Hun. See you later,” she called.

  “Love you too babe,” he replied, walking to the bathroom.

  Placing the towels onto the heated towel rails, he stood next to the bath, removing his briefs.

  Staring at the bubbles, he watched the steam rise from the water underneath. For a strange reason, he felt nervous for a second, then shrugged it off.

  Easing his portly frame into the hot water, he exclaimed aloud as the heat of the water hit his thighs, buttocks and groin. Once acclimatised to the heat, he slid in, until the water covered his shoulders.

  He submerged his head under the water and for the briefest of moments he felt as if being suffocated.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw the vision of a mouth full of bloody teeth closing towards his, as if to kiss him.

  Bringing his head rapidly from the water, the bright light of the ceiling lights hurt his eyes, then the moment passed and he relaxed his body again. All the while, begging for the throbbing from within his skull, to go away.

  He lay soaking in the bath until the water turned cool.

  His body still felt cold.

  Finishing the glass of rum and after leaving the embrace of the bath, he dried himself with a nearby towel, before walking to the kitchen to pour himself another glass.

  Taking the glass to their bedroom, he lay on the bed, placing it upon the bedside table, before lying and closing his tired eyes.

  Awakening, he found the room bathed in sunlight.

  Glancing at the bedside table where the full glass still stood, his head throbbed more persistently and his eyes seemed to be burning from behind the pupils.

  His throat felt parched, never feeling this thirsty before.

  Getting up, he unsteadily made his way to the kitchen.

  Pouring himself a glass of water, he like retching, but though his stomach now suffered small spasms and convulsions, nothing came out.

  Managing to return to the bedroom, he sat on the edge of their bed.

  Maybe some fresh air will clear it.

  Each part of him ached as he struggled to get dressed. His calves burning, as he stood up to zip up his trousers, his feet feeling as if filled with lead, he struggled placing his shoes on.

  After dressing, he moved shakily to the doorway of the bungalow.

  Uncertain whether he should leave the bungalow, he knew he needed to do something, to clear his pounding head.

  As he opened the door, the late sun, disappearing beyond the horizon, still managed to make him squint his sore eyes.

  He started down the path to the gate, but the pain in his head increased tenfold, causing him to hold onto the side of his temple.

  His thoughts now turned to return into the bungalow.

  Fumbling at the doorway, he attempted to retrieve his keys from his pocket, experiencing a haze of sheer pain behind his forehead.

  For fucks sake, I’ve left them inside!

  Stumbling, he made his way to the gate at the side of the house. He tried to open it, but
found it locked.

  Knowing the latch faulty on the other side, Brenda being on at him for weeks to get it fixed, he shook the gate violently, until the latch worked loose.

  Pushing the gate open, he made his way up the side of their bungalow. He tried to open the kitchen door but, as he knew it would be, it remained locked.

  Starting to make his way to the shed where he kept his fishing tackle and assorted garden implements, he noticed, through his hazy gaze, the locked padlock.

  Fuck! The spare keys are on my key chain.

  Before any other thoughts could pass through his mind, the inside of his head entered an orchestral crescendo of pain and he felt himself blacking out into a deep darkness, leaning against the door of the shed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brad let himself into the pub his mother owned via the front door, placing his fishing tackle down on one of the tables in the lounge.

  He still felt disgusted at the events of the night, feeling nauseous at the thought of the fish bones being in his mouth.

  He turned at the noise of the toilet doors opening, as one of the cleaners appeared, pulling a yellow bucket on wheels behind her, a mop clattering loudly against the door.

  “Morning Brad,” she said, “you been out fishing all

  night?”

  “Oh, hi Lynn,” he replied, glancing at her, “yeah, not caught more than a cold.”

  “Well best be off to bed with a hot-toddy then before you go spreading your germs, know what I mean?” She replied, laughing at his attempt at humour

  “I will do,” he replied.

  Walking across to the bar, he opened the door behind it, entering the corridor leading to the rear of the pub.

  The corridor contained doors leading to the office, the rear yard, the stair-way for the cellar, and one to the stairs leading to their home above the pub.

  As he walked along the small hallway, the door leading to upstairs opened, the statuesque figure of his mother stepping through.

  “Hiya love, how did it go?” she asked him.

  “Not too good,” he replied, pushing passed her.

  “Oi, what was that for?”

  “Sorry Mum, just feel tired,” he apologised, “I’m going to bed, so please don’t wake me up.”