The spread book 4 the ro.., p.1
The Spread: Book 4 (The Road), page 1
The Spread
Book 4 (The Road)
Iain Rob Wright
Ulcerated Press
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
CONTINUE THE STORY
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Chapter One
Two Months ago…
Sophie didn’t know the time, but it felt like late afternoon. Sunlight spilled in through the supermarket’s tall front windows and showed no signs of fading. Yet, despite the early hour, she was bone-tired and fuzzy-headed. The possibility of taking a nap in safety was enticing.
It’s bizarre, not having to watch my back or find somewhere to hide.
Sophie and her would-be mother-in-law, Nancy, had discovered this supermarket full of friendly strangers shortly after dawn. They had been hiking alongside the highway on their quest to exit Manchester when someone had started waving at them enthusiastically from the building’s car park. It had been a risk, but the people turned out to be friendly and more than happy to welcome them both inside. With twenty-two aisles stacked full of supplies – and a warehouse filled with more – the forty-odd residents here had food and water to last a year. It was a much better set-up than the last supermarket they had stayed at.
It was tempting to stay put. To just ride out the apocalypse here and hope for the best.
But that would mean giving up on Ryan.
The world turned to shit two weeks ago. Sophie and Nancy had remained inside their homes at first, before eventually being summoned to an emergency rescue centre set up inside a large supermarket near the city centre. It had been twice as big as the one they were now in, but filled with twenty times the number of people. It had been a badly organised mess from the start, and the authorities had quickly abandoned the place. People had got twitchy and dangerous after that, fighting over supplies, so three days ago, Sophie and Nancy had fled and hit the road. The going had been tough every step of the way since then, and they had witnessed anarchy and destruction on every corner, from simple vandalism to brutalised bodies lying in the gutter. Mass panic had ignited upon the arrival of the very first news reports describing a vague calamity that no one seemed to quite understand. People started looting and rioting, or they bunkered up inside their homes, armed to the teeth. Nobody worked together or attempted to keep the anarchy at bay. Disinformation reigned supreme. The dominant theory was the most frightening of them all.
The Earth was being invaded by an alien life form.
I still can’t believe it. Alien organisms sent from space. It’s insane.
The final news reports airing before the lights went out warned of a green fungus spreading rapidly to all four corners of the globe. Manchester, so far, remained free of infection, but the damage caused by the previous fortnight’s rioting was severe. A quarter of the city burned – from Salford to Stockport – while the rest was a fomenting war zone. Tribes formed; people fought and stole from each other, desperate to see themselves and their families safe. Sophie didn’t blame them – she and Nancy had partaken of a little looting themselves – but she couldn’t help but worry that they were making their lives harder. Clearly, no miraculous government intervention was incoming, so it was up to everyone else to hold things together. Society was in danger of plummeting into an abyss, but everyone had their backs turned.
After three days of sleeping rough, Sophie intended to make the most of being at the supermarket. She and Nancy had been robbed twice since leaving the emergency rescue centre, and two days ago, a horrible old man had struck Sophie around the head with a walking stick for no reason. They had kept off the beaten track since then. People were dangerous. Unless they were in large groups like this one. Apparently, people needed people to act like people. Alone, they were animals.
It was a relief not having to worry for a while, so Sophie lay back on her sleeping bag and focused on the rhythm of her own breathing. It was the most relaxed she had been in days, and she was desperate not to spend the time worrying. She fretted a great deal lately, which was hardly surprising. The frikkin’ world was ending.
Nancy, however, was full of beans, holding enthusiastic conversations with everybody she saw, pecking them on the cheeks, hugging, and telling jokes. She laughed out loud several times, which was almost an alien sound after what they’d been through. It made Sophie realise quite how much of a social creature her mother-in-law was. Sophie, on the other hand, could take or leave people in general. Especially as of late.
Nancy had been a social butterfly even before the fungus arrived, known by everyone on the estate and liked by most. Twice-weekly bingo had been the highlight of her life. Sophie, however, was as comfortable by herself as she was in company. A night in front of the telly with Ryan had always been enough for her. Perhaps that was why she was so weary now, surrounded by so many people like this. Learning forty names and smiling politely was draining.
Despite her aversion to people, a selfish voice kept whispering to Sophie that she should stay at the supermarket. She could survive here in comfort and safety – at least until the fungus inevitably arrived. Why set out on a perilous journey to find Ryan when the chances of finding him were so close to nil? She would probably die before she even made it halfway to Scotland.
Don’t think that.
The moment you think that, you lose something you can’t get back. Hope.
Sophie chided herself for her weakness. On the day Ryan had proposed – at Alton Towers of all places – she had joked about not letting him off the hook, and that she would drag him down the aisle if she had to. Ryan was a man-child – which was one of the things she loved about him – but it was time for him to grow up now. To grow old with her. She didn’t see why an apocalypse was an excuse for him not to keep his word.
I’m coming to get you, Ryan.
Because I love you.
I love the way you can’t eat baked beans without burping for an hour afterwards, and I love the way you can never pronounce ‘Worcestershire sauce’ properly, no matter how hard you try. I miss every silly thing about you, everything I used to think was annoying or childish.
While determined not to remain at the supermarket for more than a single night, Sophie would allow herself one indulgent evening. She deserved that much. She needed that much. The last eight days had felt more like seventy.
I’m trying to be strong – to take charge – but I’m not sure I can do this for much longer. The world is getting more dangerous every day. People are dangerous. It’s like the frikkin’ Hunger Games out here.
Just let it go. Just for one night.
Yeah, just for one night. It’s okay. It’s safe. Relax.
Are you safe, Ryan? I have to believe that you are.
So tired. So tired.
Her eyes were growing heavy and everything felt sluggish. She would grab a quick nap, and then afterwards she would grab a paperback from the display stand beside the tills – and a bottle of wine if they allowed her – and crawl up someplace quiet. Only a hot bath and trashy reality TV would make life any better.
Like that series on the yacht with the chef who always cooks beef cheeks.
What the hell is a beef cheek?
Before Sophie got a chance to nap, Nancy came over and disturbed her. She was eating from a giant bag of crisps, the crumbs coating her pincered fingers. “Get yourself fed,” she said as Sophie propped herself up on her elbows to face her. “Colin said we can stuff ourselves silly for tonight. He’s a good man.”
“Yeah, it seems like it.” The person in charge of the supermarket was the store’s ex-manager, a cheery soul named Colin. He had explained, upon their arrival that morning, that rationing was in effect, but that anyone who made it in from the road could have a little extra on their first night. New survivors reportedly arrived every day, and only twice had anyone been turned away. Colin refused to say why, but it was easy to read between the lines; not everyone played nice with others. Less so now than ever before. Several patched-up broken windows told stories she could easily interpret.
“Part of me wonders if we should stay here,” said Nancy in a conspiratorial tone.
Sophie sat up and hugged her knees. “I’ve been wondering that myself. What do you think?”
She appeared to think about it for a moment, then shook her head. “My boys are out there. I have to find them. I understand, though, if you want to stay. It’s safe here, and the people are decent, unlike the last place we stayed.”
“It’s not safe, Nancy. For now, maybe, but eventually trouble will find this place.”
“You’re such a cynic, Sophie. They’re making the best of it here, so can’t you at least wish them the best?”
“Perhaps you’re right. All the same, I don’t want to stay here. I love Ryan, just like you do. Enough that I’d ra
Nancy shrugged. “Love is love. I used to think you were a bit stuck-up, that you wanted to change Ryan into something he wasn’t, but I know now that he was lucky to find you. You’re focused. You don’t get distracted.”
“Thanks, I think. Look. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, Nancy, but it’s nice not to be alone in this.”
“I agree.” Nancy rolled up the crisp packet and put the remains in her pocket. She leant back against a breadcrumb-covered shelving unit and folded her arms. Then she let out a long sigh. “I keep thinking about all the people I’ll probably never see again. All my friends, my family – even the postman. I keep imaging who’s alive and who’s dead. It’s morbid, I know, but I fall asleep every night listing the people I don’t think will survive this. Like Frizzy Lizzie at the end of the road. She has no one: no kids or grandkids. She’s outlived all her friends. I can’t think of a way she won’t die alone in that old bungalow of hers. That’s if she’s not dead already. It breaks my heart.”
“I keep thinking about my mum and dad,” said Sophie. “That last phone call I had with them before the lines went dead… They were hiding out at my brother’s house in Kent. I have no idea if they’re okay.” The news reports had shown most of the South under attack by strange monsters – misshapen people covered in a dark green fungus – and had warned of slug-like creatures spreading an oily, toxic substance. It was a shitshow. She shook her head ruefully. “They could be dead and I wouldn’t even know it.”
“They’re alive, dear. Of course they are. Hasn’t this place given you any hope that the world isn’t over?”
Sophie pulled a face. “Manchester’s burning, and the fungus isn’t even here yet. I can’t imagine what things are like elsewhere.”
“So don’t imagine. If you can’t be sure, why guess? Your mind will only conjure the worst.”
“I suppose so. Anyway, I’m going to take a rest, if that’s okay?” She lay back on her sleeping bag, desperate to give her mind and body a break. “Wake me up if you need me.”
But please don’t.
“Okay, dear. I’ll be in the staffroom. There’s a pool tournament going on.”
“Amazing.”
“We’ll find Ryan and Aaron, you’ll see. Try to stay positive.”
“I’ll do my best.” Sophie closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, it was dark.
Candles flickered in various places, yet away from the front windows, it was almost pitch-black. She blinked several times, trying to adjust her vision, but the most she could make out was grey shapes and splotches. Upon arriving at the supermarket, she and Nancy had been allocated a space over in the bakery – an area of the supermarket devoid of food, as freshly baked goods didn’t keep very long – but it still held a trace of that comforting smell of newly risen loaves. Several other people had beds in the bakery too; she could hear them snoring. She also heard something else. Something strange.
A tapping sound followed by a dragging sound.
Sophie sat up on top of her sleeping bag, placing her hands on the cold resin floor. The movement in the darkness was too far away to make out clearly. It was more the suggestion of movement: a shifting of shadow.
It’s probably just somebody going for a pee. None of my business.
But I could use the toilet myself. Is it okay to just get up and wander around in the dark? What are the rules?
She lay back down on her sleeping bag and tried to drift back off to sleep before the urge to pee overtook her. How long had she even been asleep? Her intention had only been to take a quick nap, but that nap had obviously turned into a marathon snooze. What time was it now? Obviously deep in the night.
I must have been shattered. Can’t say I don’t feel better, but what do I do now? Lie here until dawn? How long is that?
The movement in the shadows continued, closer now. Clearly, someone was creeping around, but again, Sophie assumed they were heading for a toilet break. Or perhaps it was some scoundrel searching for an off-the-books snack. The night owls were probably in their element now that the daily grind no longer existed. All the same, the movement and constant tapping were beginning to irk her. Not just irk, but worry. The rhythmic tapping was unsettling. Not footsteps. Something else.
But what?
Why are they tapping like that?
Sophie sat up again, hoping to make eye contact with whoever it was if they came close enough, and make them realise they were keeping her awake. Not that she could complain. She was a guest of these kind, generous people.
The mysterious night owl did indeed move closer. The shadowy form took on the shape of a person – arms, legs, and a head – except there was something not quite right. One of the arms was too long. It dragged along the ground.
What the hell?
Sophie leapt to her feet and backed away. There was a fire escape behind her, and her hip struck the horizontal bar, making a racket loud enough to stir Nancy, who was lying four feet away in her sleeping bag. “W-What are you doing, Sophie?” she asked dopily.
Sophie shushed her. “Something’s wrong.” She looked ahead, trying to get a better picture of the person in the shadows, and growing more and more anxious that something was wrong.
Then she got confirmation of her fears.
The figure stepped out of the shadows, close enough now that they could be seen in detail. The woman’s face was grossly distorted, one eye bulging with some kind of growth. Her left arm was sinewy and over a metre long.
Something glinted in the near darkness.
Sophie screamed and ducked as something sharp sliced the air over her head.
Nancy clambered out of her sleeping bag and bundled against Sophie, swearing at the top of her lungs. The two of them scurried away, screaming and trying to find a path through the various displays and people taking up the floor.
“Help!” Sophie cried out. “It’s one of them. One of the monsters.”
Torches and lighters flicked on. Voices in the shadows complained as sleepers were woken without warning. Several voices were anxious, nerves already frayed by the unfolding apocalypse. They called out for loved ones or whimpered in fright, all the while unaware that a creature stalked them in the dark.
The fungus is in Manchester. I knew it was only a matter of time.
A man rose from a nearby cot bed, demanding quiet. He shone a torch, trying to work out what was happening. The infected woman turned on him, mumbling incoherently, and then lashing out with a long, twisted talon. The man screeched in agony, terror rising out of him in a whirlwind as he cried out, “My eyes. I can’t see. I can’t see!”
Nancy put a hand on Sophie’s back. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing good lasts.” She grunted. “Not any more.”
“The fungus is here?”
“Yes.”
More torches switched on throughout the supermarket, their light shafts bobbing up and down in the aisles as people raced around trying to locate the cause of the furore. Once enough people reached the bakery, the area lit up and the infected person showed themselves to all. Sophie recognised the woman. They hadn’t spoken, but she had been sweeping the floors when Nancy and Sophie had arrived at the supermarket. She hadn’t been infected then. She was definitely infected now.
Or maybe she was infected this morning. People lie. They get scared.
And scared means stupid.
“Cathy?” said Colin, appearing from the aisles. He had a set of keys jangling on his belt and a heavy-duty torch in his hand. He still wore the shirt and trousers he had on during the day. “Cathy? My God.”
“She’s infected,” someone shouted. “Get rid of her!”
“She’s going to kill us all,” someone else yelled.
