L4D:GB
Chapter Two
Day 3
Wednesday 14th September 2022
6:13pm
The Cricketer's Inn
The bar in which they always met was, for want of a better word, a dive, picked by Chris because he enjoyed watching Joshua squirm with discomfort at being so out of place. He always tried to arrive first so that he could see the barman's expression when Joshua asked for a glass of hot water, a Chinese habit he had reluctantly picked up from his father. On this occasion Chris was too late; he could see Joshua at a table in the corner under a light, scribbling away with a critical red teacher's pen with a clear glass steaming in front of him. He pushed open the heavy door and entered.
Chris stepped through the double-doors, his stride ever-present as he walked to the centre of the uncharacteristically empty room, taken back by the lack of patrons in the normally busy public house. Chris shot a quick look at the Fosters beer clock hanging from the wall in the otherwise bland room, save for some dim lights and two sleeping customers in the corner of the room. His sharp eyes locked onto Joshua sitting away from bar, his rudimentary brown-coloured attire the first thing the police officer recognised.
"Long time, no see," Christopher remarked as he stepped over to the bar, not too far his friend's chosen resting place. "I'm the liking the jacket," he added, his sarcastic tone ever-present as he smiled to the taller man. Before a reply could be heard, however, he nodded to the bartender, who appeared suspiciously young to the inspector as he ordered his drink, placing the coinage on the sticky bar surface in preparation. "Pint of Summer Lightening, please."
"You're late," the man in brown simply replied, not looking up from his work, inwardly enjoying the prospect of irritating his newly-arrived companion, pausing to put his pen down only to sip from the warm glass. "It's not the first time, either." Chris laughed as he nodded to the bartender after taking the pint glass in his hand; the condensation ran down its glass curves, wetting the inspector's still-gloved fingers. "And you don't have to keep those on all of the time, either." Joshua was now looking up at his friend, indicating the gloves with the end of his pen, his brown eyes quite stark behind his glasses, which he then removed and set aside, along with his paperwork. Hereditary poor eyesight had condemned him to needing varifocals at twenty-nine, which he avoided by adding a pair of glasses to his contact lenses while reading. A sarcastic comment about going to Specsavers entered Chris' mind, but he decided not to open his mouth save to gulp another mouthful of his tan-coloured beverage. "Don't drink too much of tha-"
"Yes, thank you, mother, I am aware I am driving." Morgan placed his pint glass onto the table the teacher was working at, throwing his gloves recklessly next to it as he sat opposite. He reclaimed his drink once comfortable, and took another swig. "It's bloody mayhem out there, mate; arseholes running – and driving – around all over the place. Almost ended up spending the evening drinking my beer through a straw… the amount of emergency vehicles about, too!"
"Had your work cut out, of late? Thought you got yourself promoted, Chris. No more running after ne'er-do-wells down the street?" Joshua looked up at the static on the television propped up in the corner of the dark room, dismayed at missing the six o'clock news.
"Yeah, it's been good." Chris took another sip, savouring the taste for a few seconds. "None of that changes the fact there's only about ten of us that have actually turned up for work today… there've been terrible amounts of accidents and collisions and what have you; they're using regular vans and trucks as emergency ambulances to cover everything that's been going on." He eyed one of the sleeping men, slightly disgusted at the sight of the fluid seeping from one of his nostrils, deciding to turn back to Joshua. "What's it been like at the school?"
A sad grin grew across the thicker-set man's face. "Not much better. Most of the teachers aren't in, and even substitutes aren't turning up… just over the last couple of days, too." His pale face grew grim. "I feel sorry for the kids; some of them are clearly too ill to even be there, but parents – too ill themselves to look after them, from what I've seen – have still sent them in."
"Bloody ridiculous, isn't it?" Another sip. "And how about your lovely ladies? They haven't come down with this flu-thing, have they?"
"Not yet. Well, I doubt either of them will. The amount of time she's spent in those relief areas, Saw doesn't seem to catch anything. Holly's absolutely fine. Missing her friends." Joshua turned his head as he recognised the Raven's Flight Home theme play in the distance, Daniel's voice barely audible over the albeit quiet murmur of the public house. He threw a thumb in the direction of the radio. "You a fan?"
Chris chuckled, putting the nearly empty glass back down on the mat he had picked up, arching his fingers together as his elbows rested on the table. "It keeps me amused in the hour or so after work. Speaking of which," he glanced at his analogue watch, citing the time quietly to himself, "we can go pick up the witless wonder in a little while. I take it I can't drink anymore until later, mum?" He quipped as he evaluated the couple of centimetres of liquid still sloshing in the large glass.
"Quite right, too, boy." Josh smiled a toothy grin before turning to listen to what Daniel was saying over the radio, barely managing to hear whatever may be playing through that microphone in front of Mr Raven's mouth.
"Well, that was a fun little song now, wasn't it?" The radio presenter exclaimed cheerily into the equipment sitting in front of him. "Now, don't think me rude, but I must answer nature's dirty little call, so I leave you here now in the good company of Queen – Bohemian Rhapsody to cover my chances – don't go anywhere!"
Standing tall at six foot two, Daniel darted out of the doors, rushing down the stairs two steps at a time, narrowly missing the last step, luckily saving himself with the banister. In the few seconds thereafter to allow his heart to return to its normal pattern of beats, he noticed – with some withheld shock – how absent the seafront was, alarmed by the complete absence of hustle and bustle usually present, even in September, come rain or shine. All he could see in the distance was another build-up of traffic; the line extended from the Kursaal (now merely a tourist attraction, rather than a dance hall) well up to the theme park – Adventure Island – Southend Radio was situated next to.
As he stepped from the café into the reception area, he also noticed Julie, the receptionist, was absent from her chair, although her nail file suggested she hadn't been gone long, as well as a half-finished instant messenger conversation on her computer still running. Ever the lazy bitch, Dan thought to himself, picking up the key to the toilet from the table. Shouldn't even be here today, the way she's been choking and spluttering all over the place. Could catch something! He opened the window in the men's toilets, a sharp, cold wind blowing through immediately, catching him off-guard and sending a shiver down his spine. The salty air was still a pleasant change from that of cold tea and unclean, damp carpets.
The muffled sounds of horns greeted Daniel as he stepped back out of the room, locking the door behind him, the window still open without his realising. "What the?" He glanced over his shoulder, a deft movement catching his eye from its corner, a slight rummaging noise emanating from back upstairs. A thud was heard, causing Daniel's ears to perk up and his shoulders to tense as his eyes followed the spiral stairs upwards. "Julie?" He called up them, carefully placing one foot after the other, being sure not to slip or trip as he had so many times before done so. "Matt?" It could very well be Julie, as she was absent from her workplace… but Matt was certainly the one who worked upstairs in the tech room. "What's goi-" The sentence was cut short by shouting and fumbling from the room opposite the stairs; the door was open, and the grunts and shouts of both a male and a female could be distinctly heard, although some of the noises sounded almost animalistic in nature, forcing Dan to pause before he went any further, stopped purely by a loud smacking sound, and what he believed to be something heavy hitting the floor, followed by a loud squeal that hurt the hidden listener's ears.
Dan rushed into his studio, pushing paperwork to and fro off the desk, knocking bits of his equipment side-to-side, carelessly pulling wires here and there and unwittingly activating the microphone. "Where are you, ya little bastard?" His nimble fingers rushed around the surface, finally finding their target: a set of keys. Another sound from the next room met the keys' jangling noise; whatever was in there was now stirring… and heading towards Daniel, as exposed by his blundering around the room, the sound of rushed footsteps muffled by the soft melody of Paul McCartney's Live and Let Die. Moving quickly, the presenter fumbled for the key that would open the display case overlooking the room from above the window onto the seafront, where a family could clearly be seen running from something, not that Dan was taking any notice of that. The baseball bat that had been in the case fell straight to floor, evading its owner's grasp and landing heavily on the floor, Dan kneeling down to reach it, pausing as he lifted the wooden object, his attention now focused on something altogether very different.
Standing in the doorway was a peculiarly tall woman, with very attractive distinguishable features; long, carefully curled blonde hair, a pleasantly curved nose, her eyes shone a vibrant blue, with well cared for red nails, and a charming floral dress… had it been any other day, at any rate. Today, however, dear Julie was not at her best; that sweet smile she always shot Daniel was absent, instead replaced by torn purple lips, which themselves sat uncomfortably, sagging at the sides as though stretched. Replacing her brilliant blue eyes were empty oceans of grey, set against a creamy backdrop, devoid even of visible blood vessels. Her nose was bludgeoned, broken by some object, likely, with near-coagulated blood already drying under her nostrils. The trademark red nails (now redder with blood, rather than anything else) were broken on one hand, and odd lengths on the other, half-filed, with her hair a complete mess, as if she had, quite simply, been dragged through a hedge backwards. Her dress was not exempt from this new unbecoming style of hers. What had once been rather artistic floral decorations was now spattered with fresh blood, and torn on one side, revealing scratch marks down one arm, evidencing further some struggle against the receptionist. She simply stood, legs slightly parted, arms arching forward as sullen eyes glared deeply into Daniel's own bewildered brown ones.
"Ju-Julie…?" He brought himself up slowly, bat in hand, firmly grasping its base. The bat itself was a masterpiece, a rare masterpiece at that, one of the relics of the United States. It was something Daniel treasured greatly, an old Yankees bat from before even the turn of the century, but desperate times… "Are-are you alright, Julie? Do you need help?" The woman growled softly, almost sniffing the air, as she stood, almost motionless, save for her heavy breathing. "Right… I'm just going to… move around you…" Dan began to shift his body, sliding carefully against the wall, only to be almost knocked off his feet by Julie's scream, lunging, arms forward, teeth-bared, at him. Acting through sheer instinct, Dan brought the bat round with force into the side of the crazed woman's temple, knocking her straight to the ground, her mouth now frothing as she wormed around the floor in pain, her hands and claw-like nails still outstretched in their attempts to claim Daniel's ankles, screaming aimlessly with sheer anger and frustration. Panicking, he stomped on one of her hands, the sound of the bones snapping and fracturing louder than expected, sending Julie into an even greater frenzy, her howls becoming wilder and less human. Daniel yelped, bringing his foot down once again, only this time on her head, and not simply once but again and again and again. And all the sounds in that recording studio were still being broadcast by the equipment resting next to the isolated incident of carnage, Paul McCartney and The Wings' Bond tunestill very much playing.
Everyone who heard it was looking in bewilderment at one another, exchanged looks of not just the expected worry, but also of sheer disbelief, with many patrons of the Cricketer's already dismissing what they heard as a media stunt. Chris and Josh, however, were not amongst their number. The former downed the last portion of his drink, stood up and claimed his gloves all in one swift motion, the latter packing his work into a briefcase and following him out of the door and into the cold outdoors.
The pair moved quickly into the car park allocated to customers, the flashing of BMW indicators signifying to the two men which car they were searching for, as Chris clicked the car keys' remote unlocking button.
Josh looked the car end-to-end before getting into the passenger's seat. "Nice… what happened to the old Peugeot?"
Chris was already in his seat, his seatbelt securely wrapped around his body when he replied. "Scrap metal." He keyed in the password for the PMH, all of the cars systems humming to life at once, the HUD of the windscreen listing the car's technical details as they reversed out of the parking space and the park itself. It was as they were driving along that Morgan broke the silence. "You know, it's not unlikely Dan might be trying to pull a stunt, you know." They turned a corner, bringing them onto a road overlooking the seafront and ocean, the water a murky green colour, fitting perfectly with the deepening orange colour of the setting sun on the horizon.
"Yeah," Joshua spoke quietly, a level of determined concentration still about him, "but I doubt even he could make sounds that believable, Chris."
"Maybe." Chris swerved to avoid hitting a poorly parked car, now turning onto the seafront itself, counting his blessings that the traffic jam hadn't quite reached this location as of yet. Josh was busying himself looking out of the windows, marvelling at how quiet it all seemed. Not simply that there were not many people about, but that there was actually less background noise than he was used to. Even the estuary seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation. "Right," the inspector started, pulling up just a little bit beyond from the radio station itself, "the station's just up… hang on. You see that, Josh?"
His companion peered through his lenses towards Dan's workplace, seeing that there was a figure outside of the door, evidently trying to get in. "There's a man outside, I think… smacking on the glass doors."
"C'mon, then. See what all this bloody fuss is about." The pair walked towards the oddly shaped building, stepping more cautiously as they neared it and the man came well into vision. He was a large man – that much was evident – sporting a cap and an inhumanly large blue fleece. With all of his might, he was smacking his bloodied fists against the double doors, even going so far as to smack his head against them in a vain attempt to gain entry. His skin was a gruesome blend of blood and dried skin, and he was not a pleasant smelling individual, forcing both Chris and Joshua to cover their noses. Beyond the doors, however, sat a figure at the base of the barely visible stairs; Daniel sat hunched over, his fearful eyes not moving from the large aggressor.
"Dan!" Chris called out. "Oi, Dan!" His friend looked up, but more fright entered his eyes as the hostile force turned to face the new pair approaching from behind, shouting incoherent words and screams as he moved with unexpected and unprecedented speed towards the source of the new noise, his arms flailing wildly as he grew in speed. Lunging at an unsuspecting Morgan, he launched them both a few feet backwards and onto the hard tarmac of the road. Chris scrambled around on the spot, the large man on top of him, being held up at his forearms by his panicked victim, who was staring with great distress into the wild, milky white eyes of the floundering mad man, struggling to maintain the position under the immense weight he was holding up.
"Get this fucker off me!"