The Turned Page 6

  ‘Didn’t turn out too well?’

  ‘The body count got up to twenty four before they put him down, and only then with a firestorm of lead.’

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘Ain’t nothing holy about it, brother.’

  ‘The virus helped him, I mean, it made him overcome his condition?’

  ‘Gunny, it cured his condition! Once they cut him open for the autopsy, the scientists completely freaked. Not only was his leukaemia in rapid reversal, but his arthritis was going the same way. This thing, whatever this thing is, cures the host of whatever they have in order to make them capable of healthy functioning in order to feed and spread itself. Word is that every cent of our Black Projects budget is being funnelled into seeing how they can use it to turn our troops into super-humans.’

  ‘That sounds just swell. Now just hang on until I get there, then we’ll figure out what to do.’

  Tucker laughed again. ‘You still don’t get it, do you, Gunny? This isn’t a pandemic . . . It’s our salvation.’

  BING!!!!

  Harry had actually heard the light go on inside his head as he realised why his friend wasn’t running. He sat down heavily on the bed, dropping the sock bundle he was holding as he pushed the receiver against his ear.

  ‘You crazy bastard,’ Harry had rasped. ‘You’re gonna get yourself infected, aren’t you?’

  ‘You’re damn right I’m gonna get myself infected.’

  Harry wanted to scream down the phone but he didn’t. He didn’t because the part of him that instantly knew his friend wasn’t crazy, the part of Gunny Trautman that didn’t want to kill himself, the part of him that wanted a miracle cure to his woes, took point.

  ‘You still there, Gunny?’

  Harry sat silent. His body was crocked but his brain was sharp as ever, and it was analysing events at the speed of light. But Harry didn’t moralise over the dilemma, because there was no dilemma. He had planned to check out anyway, so what did he have to lose.

  The insane decision Harry came to was the sanest decision for a fighter looking for a second chance.

  ‘Gunny . . . . Gunny?’

  ‘Wasn’t it you who persuaded me to join the marines?’

  Tucker boomed laughter again. For a man planning to turn himself into a vampire, he had been surprisingly jovial. ‘I believe it was, and that turned okay for you, didn’t it?’

  ‘How are going to do it?’

  ‘That’s my boy, on mission already. Do you know where I am?’

  ‘In your house, and I only hope this thing is gonna cure your dementia.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not in my house. I’m in my neighbour’s house.’

  Harry checked the caller number on his phone, which wasn’t Tucker’s. ‘Why are you in your neighbour’s house?’

  ‘He got turned yesterday, by his wife. I shot her and managed to lock him in his basement. Nice couple.’

  Harry realised there was a scratching sound in the background, near to wherever Tucker had been standing. ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘My boy’s gettin’ restless, so I’m gonna reel off the essentials for you.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ Harry had answered as he started making notes again.

  ‘First, you have to be bitten by a healthy one. I know what I said about how it cures, but that’s the host, so the one who bites you needs to be healthy, else you’ll turn into a Clacker.’

  ‘What the hell’s a Clacker?’

  ‘It’s the ones who are like trippin’ junkies. They’ve either been bitten by a diseased vamp, or they’ve taken bad blood. Once they go so far without a shot of healthy blood they go mad, drinking blood from anything, rats, road-kill, then they’re fucked. And so will you be if one bites you. They’re easy to spot, clucking and clacking just like a junky.’

  ‘But I thought you said the virus cures everything?’

  ‘It does to a point. Any biological condition will get zapped, but if someone has fucked themselves up with bad dope, then that nastiness is gonna get carried over.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Okay. Now there’s a chance you won’t even make it through the turning, it’s about fifty percent fatal once bitten.’

  ‘Shit happens.’

  ‘The next thing is to only drink healthy blood. You have to drink fresh, oxygenated blood, from a healthy human whose heart is still pumping or just stopped. It’s the only way to retain healthy brain function.’

  ‘Will I be me?’ Harry asked, fully engaged in the insanity. ‘I mean . . .’

  ‘You’ll be you. You’ll be Gunny Trautman, only with fangs, claws and a kick-ass rejuvenated body. You won’t be able to speak, though.’

  ‘The teeth?’

  ‘Their roots. They grow right into your jaw, seeding extra teeth in case you lose any. You’re saliva glands will expand as well, along with a ventricle system that will grow in your throat, to pump the blood you drink straight down to your heart.’

  Harry wrote it all down as he listened. ‘What about the claws?’

  ‘They’re like talons, the fingernails being replaced as the finger bones actually burst through and form razor sharp tips, intended to open up whoever’s on the menu. They’re self-regenerating, just like the teeth.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Only everything. Your hearing, eyesight, even the brain becomes enhanced, but only if you follow the rules, Gunny. And your heart. The ribcage thickens and forms solid tumours in the gaps, front and back, all for the purpose of protecting the engine.’

  ‘It all sounds good.’

  ‘But what?’

  Harry had looked at the picture of Linda on the bedside table. ‘I’ve always been the sheepdog, guarding the sheep against the wolf. Now I gotta be the wolf to survive. I’m not sure I can do that.’

  ‘My boy’s just about ready to break through this door, but I need to tell you about this kid they’ve got working at the agency.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Don’t even know his name. He’s a twenty two year old genius, and I mean g-e-n-i-u-s. Everything he predicted about the virus has come true, and he’s got a theory about the whole thing.’

  ‘Keep on target, Tucker, and tell me what this kid thinks.’

  ‘I’m locked and loaded, and kind of excited. Anyway, this kid. He thinks this virus isn’t a virus at all. He thinks it’s an evolutionary quirk, thrown up by nature to set off human development in a different direction. A thousand years from now we’ll be living on Mars, clipping our claws and teeth as we fly rockets, and cultivating humanoids for food.’

  ‘Sounds plausible.’

  ‘Can you feel it?’

  ‘Feel what?’

  ‘That rush? Knowing you’re about to go into something that might kill you.’

  ‘Just like ’Nam.’

  ‘Just like ’Nam, brother.’

  Harry could hear splintering wood and then a crash as Tucker’s neighbour broke down his basement door. ‘Guns up, Tucker!’ he had shouted down the phone.

  ‘My, my,’ Harry heard Tucker say as his voice drifted away from the phone the other end. ‘What big teeth you have, Grandma.’

  13

  Tucker hadn’t been exaggerating. A week later the pandemic had swept like a wildfire, engulfing the entire United States, as well as most of the world. Everybody was unprepared, not wanting or knowing how to deal with it. But Gunny Trautman had known exactly what he was going to do.

  So he put his Dress Blues on again, only this time substituting his mirror polished shoes for white tennis trainers, a more practical option if all went to plan. Donning the uniform also helped Harry feel better about the madness he was about to embark on, seeing his years of service, putting himself in harm’s way, as some way to justify what he was about to do.

  A pleasant spring had turned into a raging summer, so Harry smoked a cigar on his porch as he listened out. The night was drawing in and the turned were already r
oaming across the immaculate lawns of the residents of Brentwood. It was just the boost Harry needed. Never mind get juiced up by the virus, Gunny Trautman felt alive again just standing guard.

  As he listened, hearing a scream or two in the distance, followed by gunfire, Sheriff Wylett had pulled up.

  ‘That’s some serious decorations you got there, Gunny,’ Wylett had called as Deputy Gribbin had leant across to wave. Everyone called him Gunny, even his late wife.

  ‘Yeah,’ Gunny answered as looked down at his medal ribbons, smiling. ‘I think one of ’em’s for needlework. You taking care of this old boy, Lisa?’

  ‘Trying my best,’ she had called back. ‘But he’s as stubborn as a mule. You not going to one of the safe zones?’

  ‘I ain’t never run from a fight yet, see no point in doing so now. But I think a young lady such as yourself shouldn’t be hanging around these parts.’

  ‘I’ve already had this conversation with her, Gunny,’ Wylett called, shaking his head as Gribbin punched him on the arm. ‘And she calls me stubborn?’

  Harry smiled gain, nodding. ‘Just make sure the both of you keep your eyes open. Things are about to get a little frisky, Jake.’

  ‘Copy that. I’d appreciate you ridin’ shotgun with us if you’re staying. We’re gonna start clearing houses tomorrow, see if we can keep it contained.’

  Sorry, partner, but I got other plans, Harry had thought as he smiled again. He didn’t like lying to Jake Wylett, or Lisa Gribbin, two people who he had become friends with, both knowing the value of having someone like Gunny Trautman around.

  ‘Just come get me when you need me,’ Harry called out as he held up a pistol grip Mossberg shotgun. ‘I’m good to go.’

  ‘A bunch of us are meetin’ up early, at Lou and Betty’s Diner in the morning. Breakfast’s on me.’

  ‘I never turn down a free meal. I’ll see you both there.’

  And with that agreed the only two remaining Brentwood Police Officers drove off. Harry had decided he would probably go, just for the day, to see what he could find out. He still hadn’t actually met an infected person, so maybe breakfast at Lou’s wasn’t such a bad idea. Harry could postpone his conversion for a day or two.

  Cigar smoked, he grabbed the two walking sticks and went to head inside. Harry had made himself start using the sticks as a way to reinforce his mind-set. Seeing what was his future, with a stick in each hand, had made him more determined than ever to go ahead with his crazy mission.

  But before the veteran could close his front door, a rustling noise had caught his ear. As Harry spun back around, his arthritic hips protesting at the sudden movement, he’d gotten his first look at a person who had turned.

  She stumbled out of the bushes at the side of his garden, making her way across Harry’s lawn. Even in her dishevelled state he recognised her. Harry didn’t know the woman’s name but did know that she owned an organic café, and that she was also a keen marathon runner.

  Gunny Trautman had already purchased a Bite Suit, the same type the police used to train their dogs. It was padded, with a face guard, and would do the job. Harry had even cut off the left arm, intending to dangle that part of him to get bitten. The only problem was it had taken him an hour to get into it, and even more time to get out of it. He had visions of turning and being stuck inside the thing, so that part of his mission was abandoned.

  But now he just couldn’t turn down a golden opportunity. Harry quickly rolled up his left sleeve as he called out. ‘Hey, darlin, where you been?’

  The organic café owner’s demeanour changed in an instant as Harry stepped back out and into the light of his porch. She locked her red eyes with his, hissing as she did so. Even though he was prepared, it was still a chilling sight for the Vietnam veteran.

  But there was no going back as Harry threw his sticks aside and gripped the shotgun. ‘Supper’s here!’

  Then she did that thing he’d seen on TV. The woman dipped her chin as she eyeballed him, at same time crouching as she sniffed the air, then . . . charge!!!

  Harry caught his breath in shock at the speed of the turned woman. Before he knew it she was on his porch and nearly on him, but it wasn’t the first time someone had come at Harry with the intention of killing him. He planted his feet, stabilising his aching hips as he squeezed the Mossberg’s trigger.

  The first round of buckshot didn’t even slow the woman, and Harry pressed his back against the wood cladding behind him as he racked up the shotgun, blasting another two shells into the vampire’s midsection.

  As she had stumbled forward, her snapping jaw inbound, Harry threw the Mossberg as he drew his SIG pistol, at the same time bringing up his bare left arm. He had actually heard the pop of his skin as the woman’s fangs sunk all the way to her gums.

  The pain from the bite was negligible, partly due to the sharpness of her teeth, and partly due to Harry’s adrenaline rush, but it was the force of the woman’s jaw that made Harry realise how stupid he’d been. The infected café owner had been damaged by the three rounds of buckshot, but her bloodlust had taken over as she drank greedily, clamping her jaw ever tighter to ensure her meal didn’t flee.

  Harry’s arm was going to snap if he couldn’t get her off. He managed to press the SIG against the bucking woman’s head, staring into her demon red eyes, knowing it was too late to change his mind.

  ‘Honey, you’re way too rough for a first date.’

  He fanned the trigger, taking off the top of her head with the hollow point rounds. Even then she didn’t want to give up, but then her demon eyes rolled back and she slumped forward, landing on Harry as they both crashed through his doorway.

  The dead weight was a struggle to crawl from under, but Harry managed it, knowing he had to move as fast as his aged frame would allow. The downstairs bathroom was prepared, with blankets and quilts lining the tub, with the door reinforced and the window boarded.

  Harry’s heart was racing, convincing himself he could actually feel the virus crawling under his skin. He stopped, turning back to drag the dead woman inside, realising that if Jake Wylett saw an open door, he was bound to investigate. He locked up then headed into his fortified chamber. Sweat was dripping off him as Harry squinted against the mother of all headaches hitting him, but he still knew the importance of preparation.

  As he collapsed into the tub Harry cleaned and sterilised the bite mark, blinking through sweat tears as his body went into transformation, or death.

  Just as he was about to drop into unconsciousness Harry’s chest felt as if it was going to explode. He stared wide eyed up at the ceiling, panting frantically.

  ‘Oh shit!’ he had gasped. ‘I think I fucked up!’

  14

  Harry’s eyelids had snapped open. He laid still, not sure if he’d been dreaming it all, or if it had actually happened, and he was in fact dead. But he was alive, and felt great. The sweats and chest pains were no more, but then he felt a sharp stinging on the back of his hand. Harry looked down.

  A chink of sunlight had made its way through the boarded up window, and was settled just under his knuckles. He pulled his hand away, intending to issue an obscenity, but the words stuck in his throat as a pain bolt shot up into his brain. Harry felt under his chin and around his windpipe. He could already feel the swelling.

  Next he ran his tongue over his teeth, instantly drawing blood from the forming razor sharp Canines, already extended. Harry drew more blood as he felt over his Incisors, which were no bigger but sharper than a scalpel.

  Need to watch that, he thought to himself, as something else caught his attention.

  There was a scratching noise coming from somewhere. Harry smiled as he looked up at the ceiling and saw a spider walking across the paintwork. The sound he could hear was the spider’s feet, there delicate movement picked up by his enhanced hearing.

  Working already!

  Harry sprang out of the bathtub, keen to check himself in the mirror. His hand caught on one of the quilts, hi
s newly formed talon hooking the cloth. Harry smiled again as he looked in the mirror. He would normally don a pair of reading glasses, but not anymore. His eyes were bloodshot but the vision they were sending back was crystal clear.

  All in all it had gone to plan. Harry hadn’t died and the virus had done what it was supposed to, now his stomach was telling him he had to satisfy his end of the bargain. The hunger pains were hitting hard.

  Harry cracked open the door of his bathroom, peering out. The sun spilling through the windows was across the other side of the room, meaning it was late afternoon. He stepped out, careful to stay in the shadows. The dead woman was where Harry had left her. He crept across his lounge and bounded up the stairs, dodging the light as he went.

  Gunny Trautman was halfway along his upstairs landing when he stopped suddenly, smiling wider than ever as his new fangs poked out. He was standing upright, chest out, stomach in, marine style, and he was pain free, apart from his stomach. But the main thing making Harry smile was the fact he was moving with the grace of a gazelle.

  Tucker, you crazy bastard. You’ve gone and cured me!

  Harry had to wait until the sun had fully gone down before he could venture out to feed, and he knew exactly where to go. When the arthritis had kicked in Harry had tried to hold it at bay by visiting the gym, keeping mobile. The gym he had called upon was only a mile from his house, and it was all very snazzy, offering various blended smoothies to finish off whatever class had been attended.

  Harry had visited once, only to notice the two young trainers sniggering behind his back as he struggled along on the cross-trainer. It was both humiliating and infuriating. A decade earlier he would still have been able to take them both on, but age had caught up with the veteran. He left and never went back.

  But even if the two hipster trainers were disrespectful assholes, Harry assumed they’d make a first healthy meal. The payback would be an added bonus.

  Gunny Trautman covered the distance in no time at all. The gym was boarded up, but he could see, and hear, movement inside. Harry’s tactical brain kicked in. He climbed up a drainpipe and onto the roof, silently opening up a skylight and dropping through. There were two people inside, hiding in the office, the two that had made fun of him.