Blacker
Chapter Twenty: The Dead

He kicked open Charlie O’Donnell’s lounge door, knocking the six paneled oak door off its bottom hinge. A second kick dislodged the door completely. That was when he stopped screaming and shouting. When the heavy wooden panel thudded into the O’Donnell’s sable shag pile carpet. When the bright sunlight streaming through the massive open hole in the lounge wall made his eyes sting and squint. That’s when he heard Carol Anne screaming behind him.

He had his hand in front of his face, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness. He kept it there as he turned his head to look at the thing standing in the doorway. The pretty-eyed, freckle-faced and murderous thing that had killed every living thing on Earth.

“We can still be together,” she whispered, “just the way you want it to be.”

He looked at the dead body in the hallway. Fear had been overcome now with anger. It was a simmering rage that was beginning in his stomach, rising to his mouth.

“What the fuck is this? What the fuck are you?”

“It’s me!” Carol Anne moved towards him. “John, it’s me.”

He stepped away from her, moving into Charlie O’Donnell’s living room that was now half of a room. Charlie was sitting in an oversized leather sofa, ancient and decayed. A long dead bag of skin and bones facing a television that had fallen to the street below along with most of the wall. There was another figure on the sofa. Mrs. O’Donnell, MacGregor assumed.

“Tell me what you are,” MacGregor hissed, not looking at Carol Anne and still searching the large room, “Explain to me what all of this is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what is this? Why did any of this happen? Why did the power stop? Why did you kill everyone? Why did you kill everything?”

“The dead,” Carol Anne said quietly, “I understand the dead now.”

“Fraser,” MacGregor said, “Eilidh Hunter. Jack Braverman. That fucking lunatic Sharpe. Fucking Charlie Simard. Jackie, my sister, Avaline. Jesus Christ, you killed Avaline! You killed fucking everything. Don’t you understand, for fuck’s sake? You’ve murdered us all!”

“I can’t explain it,” Carol Anne was coming closer to him. “I’m not what you think I am. I’m here for you. That’s all I am.”

She was standing in the middle of the hallway. He glanced towards her feet, seeing the blood there. He stormed past her without a word, headed for the door which in his flat would have led to the neglected communal bathroom. He didn’t kick this door open, instead he turned the white knob carefully, apprehensively. There was no window in the bathroom or, if there was, it was completely occluded by weeds or debris. There was just enough light to see the bath and the white pedestal basin. The floor was made of shiny white tiles which helped spread out the meagre light from the O’Donnell lounge. There was blood all over the tiles and splashes of it along the side panel of the bath. The folding, seashell patterned shower screen had two bloody palm prints. MacGregor couldn’t tell if they were on the inside of the screen or the outside. He didn’t care. He pushed the screen away, not caring if it broke in his hands or not. The flash of yellow from the bath made him taste bile. He almost vomited. Almost, but not quite. He looked down at yet another Carol Anne, crushed into the bath and broken in so many ways. He couldn’t bear the smell and turned away, closing the door. He looked at the living and perfect facsimile of the love of his life. It was only in that moment that he realized that tears were streaming down his cheeks and that his lips were quivering.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t mind them. They were mishaps.”

He moved slowly towards her. Her dress was almost transparent in the sunlight from the O’Donnell lounge. She was standing with her legs together and her hands out by her sides, the palms facing upwards. She was smiling innocently, questioning him with her expression. Her eyes were set in a fixed, penetrating stare. They’d lost all of the passion and love that he’d seen in them. Now those same eyes examined him coldly as he started out of the flat.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just wanted to get away from this scene. He’d figure the rest out later. He clenched his teeth and marched past Carol Anne. Or he would have done if the palm of her hand hadn’t stopped him in his tracks. His shirt wasn’t buttoned up. The flat of her palm made it between the unfastened buttons and met his hairless chest with a solidity that made his blood run cold.

“I’m not right for you, am I?” Carol Anne’s voice was soft. “I know that.”

Her fingers touched his chest. He felt Goosebumps appear all over his body. He reached up to grab her wrist. He pulled gently at first but soon found that it took a great deal of force to remove her hand from his body.

“What are you, really? You have to tell me what this is all for. What was the Sphere? Why did you kill everyone.”

“I don’t understand any of that. All I know is that I’m wrong for you. But I think I understand now.”

“I’m going upstairs,” he said. “I’m going to collect a few things. Then I’m going to leave here. I… I don’t want you to come with me.”

“Why, John?” she said. “What’s wrong with me?”

He moved to the door, but she caught him by the wrist. Her grip was tight and almost painful. He looked at his wrist. Her fingernails were drawing blood.

“Tell me, John. I thought I was perfect for you.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. He looked at Carol Anne’s face. He licked his lips and they were dry. He felt cold and afraid. He tried not to shiver because he didn’t want to betray his feelings.

“I just want to get some fresh air,” he said.

“No, you don’t.”

He pulled away, or tried to. She was strong. Impossibly strong. He reached down with his left hand to pry her fingers away. He did so as carefully as he could even though every instinct in his being told him to struggle free with all his might. He took her hand from his wrist and ran for the door. He half expected her to come after him, but she didn’t. He turned right and bounded down the stairs into the diminishing light and towards the ground floor exit.

“John!”

He was breathing fast, irregularly. He reached the ground floor, but there was something wrong. There were small chunks of concrete as he left the stairs. Then, as he turned towards the vennel leading out of the building he found larger chunks of debris. He stopped running just in time to avoid smashing his knees against the collapsed wall which now formed a ragged barrier preventing his exit. He turned swiftly, almost unable to breathe. For a moment he stood still, his mind racing. He heard Carol Anne’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Was it all about her?” Carol Anne’s voice echoed off the walls. “Eilidh Hunter? Is that what you really want?”

There was another way out of the building, he remembered. The back way where the wheelie bins were stored. Even now he imagined he could smell the smoke from the many times the piled up litter bags had been set ablaze. He turned towards that exit, hoping that it was where he imagined it to be. There was nothing but darkness, but he ran into it headlong.

“Fuck me, John! Fuck me John! That’s what she said, isn’t it? And I know how much you hate those words, John. I know because you told me.”

“I didn’t fucking tell you that.”

“Well, I know anyway.”

He slammed into something heavy and wooden. His heart was in his mouth. It was the door. He fumbled for the handle in the darkness.

“Don’t run away!” Carol Anne shouted. “Don’t leave me again, you coward!”

“I’m… I’m just getting some fresh air.”

He found the handle and pulled it. The door refused to budge. For a moment he panicked and hauled at the door, pulling inwards at first and then heaving his shoulder against it. The door moved slightly but did not open.

“I didn’t mean that.” She was close, coming closer. “I’m sorry, John. But you need to be more of a man than this. That was why we broke up, wasn’t it?”

He pulled frantically at the cold, round door handle. He thought that it would come off in his hands, but it didn’t. After a second there was a grinding sound and the handle turned. The door opened a fraction. He pulled with all his strength. Something was pulling against him, like the door was roped shut from the outside. As the sun began to creep through the opening he could see green weeds tangled around and fused into the crumbling wood. With renewed vigor he hauled the door open. Carol Anne was close behind him. He could hear her footsteps, unhurried, approaching him.

“Fuck me, John. That’s what she said, isn’t it? She’s disgusting, John. I can’t believe what you did with her.”

The voice was right behind him. A confused and angry voice. He imagined its hands reaching for him. He put his fingertips into the gap he’d created and pulled at the door with insane strength. The weeds tore and fell as he wrenched the door open. He felt one of his fingernails come loose. It was the same finger he’d hurt earlier. He shouted in pain and tore through the leaves, thorns and nettles into the bright light.

The railway was somewhere ahead of him. He knew that, but he couldn’t see anything for the tangle of nettles and thorns that had overtaken the green. The refuse bins were on his right, the prefabricated concrete bunker’s lid matted with nettles. He clambered onto this just as Carol Anne was coming through the door behind him. There was a wall behind the bin store, but he could make it over this. Beyond would be the back of Ashraf’s little grocery store. There would be another vennel. Another way out to the road and to… well, that didn’t matter. He just wanted to get as far away from Carol Anne as possible.

He felt fingers clawing at the lightweight combat boots. The right lace was undone. He hadn’t had a chance to tie it. He felt her fingers grab at it just as he started over the wall, not knowing what was on the other side of the wall and not caring. He fell over, thin branches of some brown, dead spikey bush snapping and poking into his side as he rolled and through them. He closed his eyes tight as thorns and wood ripped into his flesh, tearing skin from his forearms and the roll of fat around his waist. He clambered to his feet even before his eyes opened, clawing his way through the foliage even as he heard the angry scream from the other side of the wall.

“Run away! Run, run away you coward!”

He was doing exactly what the now unrecognizable voice demanded. He pulled free of the dead bush, shrugging off long lengths of sharp, cruel rose thorns that were as tenacious as they were painful. He was free at last, running along the inside of the wall and past the mess of debris at the back of Ashraf’s store to replace the concrete tunnel that would take him out to Albert Road. There was a six-foot wooden fence separating the green from the back of the house and the passageway itself but this was heavily overgrown with more thorns. At the end – where MacGregor needed to cross over – the fence had fallen over under the weight of the wild undergrowth. He jumped onto this, his arms outstretched to keep his balance. The rotten fence cracked under his weight, but he kept his balance and kept moving forward. Ahead, he saw the vennel. He swore to himself when he saw the heavy black door that the Ashraf brothers had fitted there. As he reached it he realized that the lock was a simple steel latch that could only be opened from one side – and thankfully he was on the right side. He hammered the latch with the palm of his hand and yanked the door open. Although heavy, it moved swiftly enough. The was light coming through from the other end of the vennel. MacGregor ran towards it, avoiding stacked wooden crates full of empty tins and bottles The light grew brighter, closer. There was a thin white cloud of dust that blocked his vision of the world outside. He ran straight through it. The dust was like a fog in the air, swirling slowly in the wind. He kept moving through the concrete tunnel and within a second he was outside.

On his right, the large slice of wall had somehow remained intact after falling to the street. There were larger, unrecognizable chunks of the building further into the road and on the pavement opposite. A grey, weathered Ford transit van had been partially crushed by the stray bricks. He could see the O’Donnell lounge, part of the dark blue curtains still shifting in the breeze. Some of the window frame was still intact, dangling by threads of wood and fabric. The unoccupied ground floor flat’s boarded-up window was completely gone. Within the ragged hole there was only a dark mess of piled up cardboard boxes. But there was also a glimmer of yellow. A color he’d remembered so fondly and now fond so deeply disturbing.

“Running?” Carol Anne stepped out of the darkness. “You’re running away from me.”

“I just want to get some air,” MacGregor said.

“Was I not perfect enough for you?” Carol Anne moved nimbly over the debris, almost weightless. “What were you expecting me to be like?”

He thought of running again, but decided against it. His side ached from falling into Ashraf’s yard. His left arm was bloody from the numerous tiny lacerations he’d received from the thicker rose thorns. He couldn’t catch his breath enough to speak, let alone run.

“Do you prefer her?”

“Who?” MacGregor gasped. “Eilidh? I don’t even know her.”

Carol Anne approached him. Her skin seemed pale, her eyes evil. The freckles now stood out, angry and dark on her grim countenance.

“Do you like strong girls now, John? Am I not strong enough for you?”

“What are you talk…”

It all happened so quickly. Carol Anne’s hands moved. He felt an impact on his right shoulder, spinning him around. Then the flat of her right hand slapped his face.

“Is that what you want?”

He backed away from her, buttoning up his torn shirt as she stormed after him.

“Tell me? I didn’t get it right. I can get it right.”

He had two buttons fastened. He left the rest undone. He turned to run, but her hands were on his shoulders. Her strength surprised him. She was turning him around. He clenched his right hand into a fist.

“I can be strong,” she said. “Do you want me to show you?”

He tried to pull free of her grip. “For fuck’s sake, please don’t.”

Carol Anne smiled. Her eyes were suddenly warm and kind again, just the way he remembered. Just the way he wanted them to be. He stared into her eyes, wishing that this was what he wanted it to be and knowing that it was so very, very far from that now.

“It’s me.”

She was stroking the back of his neck again, just the way she’d always done when they hadn’t been at each other’s throats. In the last year of their life together, they hadn’t touched each other at all. He remembered those times, suddenly, as his squinting eyes explored the artificial youth of her features. She was at least ten years younger than she should have been. She was still an innocent girl, or was wearing the physical body of one. Inside, well he didn’t know what the hell she was. He frowned at her sad eyes and opened his mouth to say words he knew would change everything and put him in even more danger.

“Is it? Is it really you? Brought back to life? Or did you survive whatever the fuck it was. Come to think of it, Carol Anne, how the fuck can you even be here at all?”

“Survive? I’m here for you.”

“Yes, yes,” he snarled. “You’re here for me. But how can you be here? Where did you come from, Carol Anne?”

“You shouldn’t ask such things.”

He took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what the tone of her voice meant but it sounded like a warning. He glanced to his left. Victoria Road ran past Albert Road at right angles. With a quick sprint he decided that he could make it to Victoria Road and turn right back towards the city. He could lose Carol Anne in the side streets – if she came after him. But he didn’t feel like running yet.

“What are you?”

“I’m…”

“No, Carol Anne. I know you’re not her. Of fucking course I know you can’t be her! Stop fucking saying that you are!”

She stepped away from him. Her hands came up to her head. She doubled up slightly, groaning as if she was in physical pain. He stepped forward a half pace, spurred on by the sounds she was making. Then the staring dead eyes of the other Carol Anne flashed into his mind. He stayed where he was and glared coldly at the thing in front of him.

“I’m going to leave now. I just want to be alone. Whatever you are, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going back to the bridge.”

Carol Anne’s body was upright again but she still looked as if she was in pain. He snarled out loud, annoyed at the impulse inside him to go to her. Even after seeing the dead Carol Annes he still couldn’t bear to see her suffer. He bit his lower lip and kept his distance.

“Goodbye, Carol Anne.”

She reached out towards him, her eyes pleading for him to stay. He recoiled from her touch, fully resolved now in the act of leaving. He was about to look away from her for the last time but then he saw genuine fear in her eyes. She opened her mouth but there were no words. Then there was a dark stain in the middle of her dress, just above her abdomen. Moments later, he heard her splutter a word he would never understand. Droplets of blood flew out of her mouth. Then the dark stain in the middle of her dress became a bright red open wound that gushed blood like a fountain.

“Akk…”

It was the last sound Carol Anne ever made. MacGregor, horrified, stepped backwards as the girl in the yellow dress was torn apart in front of his eyes. The top half of her body disappeared to the right as the bottom half collapsed to the left. Behind the torn apart girl came a new figure. It was another Carol Anne, but this time she was wearing a salmon colored, boiler suit. Her arms were soaked in blood, it dripped to the ground, joining the massive pool left by the dead thing at her feet. The long auburn hair was slicked back over her forehead, wet with some kind of oil or liquid that glistened as she walked through the blood of her other self. This new Carol Anne marched towards MacGregor with an intensity that was terrifying in itself.

He screamed. Her right hand reached for him, bright red and dripping wet. He was trying to run, but he couldn’t get his legs to move.

“I can be strong,” Carol Anne smiled. “See? How do you like me now?”

Her hand was on his chest. Her eyes were dark. He felt her grab the shirt material together in a tight fist and then she tossed him through the air with a twist of her lithe wrist. The action happened so quickly that he didn’t know what was happening at first. He was tumbling through the air. He glimpsed the large glass window of the hairdressers shop and then the littered mess at the front of Ashraf’s store. His elbow hit the ground first, followed abruptly by his right shoulder and then his buttocks. He skidded along the road surface for six feet before rolling onto his stomach.

He coughed up blood, struggling for breath. He began to push himself to his feet, but she was coming towards him quickly. He cringed at a flash of movement, shielding his head with his hands and curling instinctively into a protective, fetal pose on the ground.

He felt incredibly strong hands grab the shirt on his back, clawing at the skin beneath. He rolled to the left but the hands stayed put. His lightweight boots scrambled on the road surface, struggling to get purchase.

“Do you like strong girls?” Carol Anne’s tone menaced. “Do you want someone strong to look after you?”

He felt himself being lifted by the shirt collar. His body was about two feet from the road surface when the shirt gave way with a loud rip. He fell to the road surface, rolling three times in rapid succession to get away from the thing that looked like Carol Anne.

“I won’t hurt you,” she said. “I can show you how strong I am.”

Her hands were on him again, impossibly quick. The hands gripped his shoulders in a steel vice. He struggled mightily, but he was pinned to the road.

“No, stop!”

He was lifted from the ground, terrified. In the next moment his stomach and chest were slammed down into the road surface. The pain was phenomenal. He felt the wind knocked out of him and he couldn’t even cry out in agony or speak to beg for mercy. It was all he could do to roll onto his back. He lay there, gasping and wide eyed, as Carol Anne approached him once more. Her face smiled thinly and she cocked her head to one side.

“Isn’t this better?” she asked.

MacGregor felt her hands on him. One grabbed the waistband of his trousers and the other took his wrist. He cried out in agony as his wrist was twisted the wrong way. Then she threw him aside once more. He shielded his face with his right hand as the wreck of the grey van rushed towards him. His back smashed into the flat metal of the van. There was a swift wave of darkness and he closed his eyes. There was a rushing sound, like a million tons of water draining away in a whirlpool all around him. He thought he would lose consciousness. Then Carol Anne was coming at him.

“How do you like me now?” she asked. “Am I strong enough for you? Is this the way you…”

The left side of her head disappeared in a cloud of red blood and grey brain matter, her eye ceasing to exist. MacGregor barely registered the sound of the gun firing, but he must have heard it as his eyes located the source. It was Hunter. She was standing at the Victoria Road junction with the sun behind her on her right side. The Sig Sauer pistol was in both her hands, aimed unwaveringly at the mortally wounded Carol Anne monster. The gun’s barrel smoked almost invisibly. Hunter herself was battered and bruised, blood staining the clothing she wore. Her hair was a mess of blood and sweat, plastered flat to one side of her head. One side of her face was bloody. But her stance with the handgun was rigid, both feet firmly rooted just over a shoulder distance apart. Her arms were steady and unmoving.

“Hi John,” she said.

Carol Anne was still upright. She took a step towards Hunter. MacGregor tried to move, but he couldn’t. Carol Anne took another step. Blood gushed from the gaping wound in her head.

Hunter had been standing still but now she briskly marched towards the dying Carol Anne. The Carol Anne monster continued to stagger. It’s red arms reached out towards the approaching, taller woman.

“I can still see you,” Carol Anne said.

The weapon in Hunter’s hands bucked, flame belching from the weapon’s barrel. Carol Anne’s head jerked back and her body twisted round. MacGregor glimpsed the face of his former sweetheart. There was nothing left of it but a dark red pulp. Then the thing’s knees buckled and it collapsed to the road surface without making a further sound.

“How do you see me now, bitch?” Hunter whispered.