Read Black Cat Tales: Where the Spiders Dwell: And Other Short Stories Page 10

camera a disembodied voice could be heard egging him on through fits of schoolboy giggles. Eventually, the BBC’s royal correspondent got a grip on himself and uttered something about being allowed to get his own back. Then, to Tom’s astonishment, reported proceeded to leave a rather distasteful message on the answering machine of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.

  Tom had not watched television since. Maybe if he had, he would have been aware that the plague had spread to Bournemouth and he wouldn’t have to try and rescue his fiancée now. Still, it was her choice to go to work this evening and there was no point in assigning blame to anyone else. So with this in mind, he knew he shouldn’t feel, even partially responsible, for encouraging Tara to go out this evening. It was just one of those things he reassured himself. Nevertheless, Tom considered he should probably try and help Tara.

  The noise outside the flat grew as Tom descended the staircase and gingerly peered around the heavy front door and out into the early evening. The entrance to their flat opened out into a dark narrow alleyway that led to the main high street. He never liked coming out here at night time because anyone could be waiting here in the shadows.

  As he stepped outside his fears were confirmed as a man in jeans and some kind of heavy metal t-shirt came hurrying towards him. Tom had a deep distrust of anyone who liked heavy metal music and instinctively scurried back inside and quickly closed the door again. He was just in time because the man in the Bon Jovi t-shirt hurried up to the door and shouted something about the inebriated masses roaming down high street. Tom shrank back as the man asked to be let in. Although he seemed steady on his feet and sounded sober enough, Tom thought it wise to leave him outside. It would be prudent to keep the door locked and not give the un-sober the chance to get in his building. The man banged on the door in desperation and pleaded to be let in but Tom just couldn’t take the chance. What if this man wasn’t really sober after all? There was no point risking exposure to one of them. Besides, the tenancy rules stated not to let anyone you do not know into the building for security reasons. The small hallway by the main entrance was little more than five feet by twelve feet with no other windows. He didn’t want to go back up to his flat so he waited there awkwardly for the man to go away whilst trying his best to ignore him.

  Eventually after ten long minutes of counting cobwebs on the ceiling, shuffling his feet and gazing in all directions except the glass door, the man eventually gave up and ran on down the alleyway. When he was sure he had gone Tom gingerly opened the door again.

  Outside, the dim amber light on the wall provided little illumination. Shadows from the trees and bushes that grew atop of the high wall opposite his building danced and wavered over the ground. Tom could see the Bon Jovi fan that he had narrowly avoided at the far end of the alleyway climbing into one of the large blue wheel-e-bins on the corner of the building. He managed to drop inside the large container and then reached up to close the lid. Was he planning to hide in there all night, without even trying to help anyone else? What a coward, thought Tom. Feeling emboldened by his mission to rescue Tara from the reveling hoards he cautiously made his way out towards the high-street.

  The sounds of cheering and laughter echoed back to him much louder now. Occasionally the town sounded like this on a Saturday night but at least there were police officers and security people patrolling the streets. This was a Tuesday evening and there didn’t appear to be any order or control. From over the noise of celebrations in the high street Tom became aware of voices stalking up behind him. He spun around as two women shambled towards him as if from nowhere. At first he couldn’t make out any details in the poor light but by the amount of noise they were making there was no doubt they had succumbed to the virus. Between howls of cackling laughter they’re voices slurred in the characteristic manner of the newly inebriated. Tom backed away slowly as they spotted him and shouted a raucous greeting.

  Tom managed a half-hearted wave in reply and stepped back uncomfortably, hoping they would ignore him and carry on towards the high street, but to his distress they stumbled towards him. Both women were wearing short black dresses as if they were off to a party, or judging by the state of them, they looked as if they were coming home from a heavy night out. One of the women; a blonde with long curly hair had an un-lit cigarette hanging limply from her mouth, as if she had forgotten it was there. While her friend, a brunette seemed to be missing one of her high heeled shoes. The blonde one was helping to keep her friend upright as they zigzagged towards him, almost bumping from wall to wall. They asked Tom what his name was and where he was going tonight. Tom shrank back, desperately wanting to avoid their attentions but knowing if they got a hint of his shyness they would lavish more attention on him. It was difficult enough talking to women who were sober, even at work but when they had been drinking they were more unpredictable and boisterous. The brunette reached out a hand and began running her fingers through his hair, ruffling his neat parting. Tom flinched back not sure how to get her to stop doing it. He felt his face reddening as he realised he could not avoid this conversation. She asked his name again and Tom cleared his throat while making a show of pushing his glasses up his nose before reluctantly telling them his name was Tom. For some reason that he could not guess at, his name was amusing to them. Both women looked at each other and then as if following some unseen queue they simultaneously burst into howls of laughter. Tom tried to back away from the pair but the blonde one barred his way.

  “Take our picture” the blonde demanded, thrusting a camera into Tom’s hand. He obliged and quickly gave them back the phone. As he did so though, the brunette stepped closer, snaking her arm through his. The blonde tried to link arms on his other side.

  “Let’s go, Tom” they shouted with a loud whoop. Tom struggled and managed to break free, worried where such physical contact would lead. They protested and said they needed to be escorted by a big handsome man. Tom backed away again hoping they wouldn’t notice his discomfort. Then an idea struck him as he spied the blue wheel-e-bin at the other end of the alleyway. “There’s someone in there that will look after you” he said quickly, pointing towards the bin. “He’s pretending to hide but if you go and see him I know you’ll like him”.

  “But we like you” the brunette complained pretending to be upset. Then she looked at her blonde friend. The man in the bin couldn’t stay there all night, Tom reasoned to himself. He would be found sooner or later and besides, it was a small sacrifice to pay if he was to rescue Tara. Tom pointed out the wheel-e-bin again and held his breath. The two women looked at each other and then glanced down the alleyway towards the large blue bin. With the women momentarily distracted, Tom saw his chance and he bolted. He ran down the alley and out into the high street as fast as he could.

  After checking those drunken predatory women were not following him he had to stop to catch his breath. Even though he had only run a few meters, he wasn’t built for physical exercise. Tara often said he should do more active things so he wished she had just seen what he done. Not only would she have been pleased with his running, she would have been really impressed with his quick thinking back there.

  Tom was still congratulating himself for his ability to think on his feet in the middle of a crisis when he saw the full chaos of the high street. Hordes of the mindless un-sober stumbled down the road mingling with each other and talking incoherent nonsense in unnecessarily loud voices. Tom was aware that he was probably the only person in Bournemouth still sober and he had to blend in if he was to find his fiancé. He picked up an empty can of Foster’s from the floor and wandered onwards trying to hold it as far away from his nose as possible. There was a strong smell of alcohol in the air which made Tom feel slightly unwell. Hopefully it would pass soon enough.

  As he wandered down the road Tom was surprised how calm he was feeling about the end of the world. Everything was going wrong all around him yet he remained sanguine about the whole affair. Tara, he decided, was definitely in good hands wit
h him. A new self-confidence was starting to build as he slipped between the ranks of the disinhibited. He walked at his usual speedy pace looking directly ahead, careful not to make eye contact with those around him.

  Up ahead a large crowd of the walking drunk had gathered outside the Kareem’s Kebab House. They were shouting and cheering, desperate to get inside. They were no doubt drawn by the irresistible aroma of pressed lamb’s meat. A kebab did sound nice right now but Tom knew he had to get Tara first. Maybe they could find something to eat afterwards? As he passed the takeaway he saw Kareem inside with his two brothers trying to push back the crowds of revellers, using wooden brooms to drive them away. His heart lifted for a moment to know that he wasn’t the last survivor.

  He hurried onwards, knowing Kareem’s valiant defence would not last and they would soon be over-run with the un-sober. He briefly considered staying to help them. Together they might stand more of a chance. But then again, with the drunken mob busy at the Kebab House he could move more easily down the road to Tesco’s where Tara was waiting for