'Anything?' Hayes repeated, refusing to be drawn.
'I checked all the barns and sheds myself,' he nodded vigorously, 'and the cellar and attic.' He smiled broadly. 'If any of the bloody things come round here they'll get a dose of this.' He lifted the shotgun proudly.
Hayes smiled, aware that the farmer was looking down at his own weapon.
'That bad, is it?' asked the man.
Hayes nodded, 'It's bad.'
Moore shook his head and sighed. 'You wouldn't believe it could happen in a place like this, would you?' There was a tinge of sadness in his voice.
Hayes turned to leave. 'You wouldn't think it could happen anywhere.'
Moore waved him away and closed the door behind him. Hayes took one last look at the expansive vegetable patch and made his way back to the waiting Jenkins.
'Nothing,' he said, 'old Nigel's fine; he says he's checked the place out himself.'
Jenkins nodded, relieved, and they trudged -back to the car.
'If one of those things came up against old
Nigel, I'd lay my money on him winning,' said Hayes, sliding into the car. They both laughed.
Davies checked his shotgun, running a hand down the sleek barrel, then he sat back in his seat and gazed out of the windscreen. The houses on either side were empty. The entire street was devoid of people. Those who had not been killed had simply packed up and gone. Redhoods Avenue was as dead as a doornail and there were many more streets in Medworth like it.
'Stop the car here,' said Davies as Greene turned into the road.
Davies sighed. There was no other alternative. Each and every house would have to be checked individually.
'How do you want to do this?' asked Greene, a bead of perspiration popping onto his forehead.
'You take that side, I'll take this one,' said the older PC.
Green swallowed hard, 'That's what I was afraid you were going to say.'
Both men swung themselves out of the car, checking their weapons once more, stuffing handfuls of extra shells in their pockets. Greene prayed that they wouldn't have the need for them. He watched as Davies reached for the radio.
'Puma Two to base.'
Grogan acknowledged.
'This is Davies. We're leaving the car to check every house in Redhoods Avenue, right? Over.'
Grogan said something about reporting in if they found anything.
'Will do. Puma Two out.'
The two policemen looked at each other for a moment, both sensing the other's fear.
'How do we get into the houses?' Greene wanted to know.
'Break in,' offered Davies and he walked away, the shotgun slung over his shoulder. Greene watched him walk up the path of the first house in the road, check the front door and then disappear around the back. The younger constable heard the crashing of glass as Davies broke a window and he realized that his companion must be inside by now. He stood still beside the stationary car for long seconds, just looking down the street. A street just like any other on any normal housing estate in any town in the country. A narrow road flanked on both sides by grass verge and carefully planted trees, their branches still, bare. Just an ordinary street.
He was sweating profusely as he set off for the first house. It lay directly opposite the one which Davies had entered, and, like his companion, Greene found that he had to break a window to get in. Using his elbow, he smashed a hole in the frosted pane set in the back door and reached through, fumbling for the key, wondering whether anything were going to grab his exposed hand. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as the lock gave and the door swung open. Clutching the shotgun, he stepped inside.
The kitchen was small, identical to all the others in the street. There was a yellowing calendar on the far wall and Greene noticed that it had not been turned to the appropriate month. It was two behind. He wished that time could, indeed, be reversed, so that all this had never happened. He drove the thought from his mind and continued through into the living room, pleased to find that the curtains were drawn and sunlight was flooding the small room. Tiny particles of dust fluttered in the golden rays. Nothing here. Shaking a little more, Greene made his way upstairs towards the narrow landing.
Three doors faced him. Two open, one closed.
All the houses on the road had either two or three bedrooms as well as an inside toilet. Greene could see through the two open doors that the rooms were both bedrooms. Not much chance of anyone hiding out in a bathroom, he told himself, trying to find reassurance in the assumption. He placed a hand on the knob of the closed door and, praying, shoved it open.
Nothing.
The house was empty. Thankfully, he hurried back downstairs out of the back door and made his way to the next house.
Meantime, across on the other side of Redhoods Avenue, Davies too had found the house he was searching to be empty. Almost disappointed, he left the building vaulting the low fence which divided the adjacent garden.
There was a loud crash, a shattering of glass and Davies looked down to see that he'd landed in a cold frame. He groaned and stepped clear of the wreckage, cursing himself for not being more careful. The grass of the lawn hadn't been cut for a while and it grew knee high, competing for supremacy with large growths of chickweed and dandelions. There was a rusted lawn roller propped up against the fence beside the remains of the cold frame. The constable walked up the path towards the back door which he found was already open. The lime green paint had peeled away in places, leprous slices of the stuff chipped away to reveal the thin wood beneath.
Davies lowered the shotgun, the barrel pointing ahead, and took a step inside. The kitchen smelt damp* the cloying stench mingling with something else. A more pungent odour which caused the constable to cough. He looked around, searching for the source of the odour. There was a white door to his right which he took to be a larder and, as he took a step towards it, he realized that his suspicions were right. The stench grew stronger.
Davies lowered the shotgun and pulled open the door.
'Christ,' he grunted, discovering the source of the smell. On the lowest stone shelf of the larder was a rotting joint of beef. It lay on the place in a solidified pool of blood which spread into a rusty circle around it. Davies heard the somonolent buzzing of flies; some were crawling on the meat. He also noted with disgust the loathsome writhings of maggots on the joint.
He pushed the larder door shut and walked into the living room. The curtains were drawn here, the room in semi-darkness but for the thin beams of sunlight lancing through gaps in the dusty drape. Wary of the darkness, Davies advanced further into the room and tore the curtains down, flooding the room with bright sunlight and throwing up a choking cloud of thick dust. The policeman stepped back, eyes darting round the room. Come on you bastards, he thought, where are you? Satisfied that downstairs was clear, he pushed open the hall door and made his way up the narrow staircase finally emerging on the landing. Four doors. Two bedrooms, an airing cupboard and a toilet. All empty.
Shaking his head he descended the stairs and made his way across the front lawn to the next house, wondering how Greene was doing across the road.
As it turned out, his younger companion was having as little luck as he in finding anything. There were not even any signs of the creatures and Greene was beginning to think that the search of the street would end up being fruitless. At least that was what he hoped. The perspiration which soaked his back was beginning to stain his uniform as he began searching the fifth house. He didn't even attempt to tell himself that the sweat was heat induced. It was the product of fear. Pure, naked fear. He wiped his brow and pushed the door which he knew led into the living room of the house. The curtains once more were open and he passed through without checking, anxious to scan upstairs and get out of the bloody place. There was a sofa and two chairs in the room, and no carpet on the floor. The sofa was stretched across one corner of the room, a sizeable gap behind it.
It was as the young constable made his way up the fifth staircase that morning, that the sofa was pushed
