At least I still have my brother.
“I need to speak to Sophie,” said Ryan, realising how glad he was that he would get to see her again. “She’s going to be going out of her mind with worry. She’s probably been thinking strippers, though, not green fungus monsters.”
Aaron chuckled, but it was a tense sound. “No one is going to believe us. When we tell them what happened, they’re going to lock us up in a looney bin.”
“You’re probably right, but when we tell them our friends are dead up at the cottage, they’ll have no choice but to investigate. They’ll see what happened. Then it’s their problem.”
“They’re all dead,” said Aaron, disbelief in his voice. “They’re really gone, aren’t they?”
Ryan didn’t give an answer. It was too painful to say out loud.
Another minute’s ride took them to the bottom of a hill. The village wasn’t far away now. In fact, they passed by a gutted, weed-covered outbuilding that Ryan remembered passing on the ride up to the cottage. That ride felt like a lifetime ago.
“There’s something in the road,” said Aaron. “I think it’s a car.”
Ryan squinted to see in the dark. The light on Aaron’s bike was weak, but there was most certainly a car up ahead, a Land Rover or other large vehicle. It was parked off to the side of the road, it lights and engine switched off. Ryan took a hand off the handlebars and checked his watch. It was just passed eight – an odd time to be parked in the middle of the nowhere. “Slow down, Aaron.”
Aaron did as he was told, coasting without peddling. After a dozen or so metres, they both stopped and got off their bikes, choosing to walk beside them. Ryan risked a glance back behind them, wondering how close the nearest infected animal was. How many birds had taken flight with the fungus coating their wings?
We’ll be able to deal with this. Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to cure it – or kill it – or burn it. It’s just a fungus.
A fungus from outer space.
The car’s driver side door was hanging wide open. Once Ryan got closer, he saw it was an old Land Rover. One he recognised.
“Mr McGregor?”
“Mr Cartwright?”
Ryan and Aaron jolted, instinctively pressing against one another. The voice had come from the rear of the Land Rover, and as they looked, a shadowy figure stepped out into the dim light cast by the yellow bicycle’s lamp. Old Mr McGregor wore a flat cap and wax jacket.
“Mr McGregor, what are you doing out here?”
“How was yer stay at the wee old place? I hope ye’ve kept her as ye left her.” He took another step into the light. The expression on his face was odd, somewhere between a grimace and a smile. One of his eyes was closed.
No not closed.
Green fuzz covered half of Mr McGregor’s face. Some of his teeth were missing. His right hand dangled beside his knee, far too low. His fingers were splayed to make way for a bony talon.
Ryan threw out an arm. “Aaron, get back!”
“He’s infected. How?”
“He must have been coming to check on us.”
Mr McGregor shambled towards them, arms out like he wanted a hug. Ryan shouted at him to stay back, but the old man didn’t listen. He kept coming towards them, determined to make contact.
He’s trying to infect us.
Ryan moved left while Aaron moved right. With his attention divided, McGregor looked back and forth between the two brothers. “Hope there’s nee mess,” he said. “Hope yee bonny lads behaved yeself.”
“The party got a little crazy,” said Ryan. “Perhaps you should head up there and check the old place out.”
“Aye, later for that, lad. First, I just wannee shake yer hand.”
Ryan backed away, nearing the opposite edge of the road. From the look of the old landlord, the infection had only just begun to change him. How long had it taken with Brett? Sean had infected him many hours before he had started showing symptoms – almost a full day. Had Mr McGregor been out here all weekend? Had his car died on the road like Tom’s?
“Come here, lad.” McGregor lunged, swiping his sinewy, too-long arm at Ryan’s face. Ryan dodged backwards and his ankle buckled, his left foot coming down on uneven ground. He cried out in shock and pain, then before he knew it, he was falling backwards into the weeds. The back of his skull stuck a patch of rocks and his vision filled with twinkling lights that he at first thought were stars in the sky.
“Shit, Ryan!”
Aaron needs to get out of here. He needs to run.
But he won’t.
“Aaron, help me!”
McGregor bore down on Ryan, but Aaron was quick to deliver a firm kick to the side of his thigh. It sent the old man staggering sideways, and allowed enough time for Ryan to clamber to his feet. He was dizzy, and the back of his head felt wet. A wave of nausea took hold of him. He wanted to defend his little brother, but he couldn’t. Every time he tried to take a step forward, he went sideways. Every time he tried to reach out, his arms disobeyed him.
McGregor regained his balance and chased after Aaron, both arms swiping at the air. Somewhere nearby an owl hooted. Aaron hopped back and forth, avoiding his attacker with ease. Every now and then he would throw a kick and strike a kneecap or a thigh. Before long, McGregor was limping and stumbling around like the injured old man he was. Bizarrely, though, he didn’t grow angry or annoyed. He just kept trying to grab Aaron, methodical and undeterred. Single-minded.
Ryan tried to get a grip of himself. If his brother tripped or made a mistake… If McGregor got his fungus-covered hands on him…
Aaron backed up towards the Land Rover, and when he bumped against it, it startled him and caused him to half turn
