Chapter Two

 

He had no idea what time it was when he woke but he knew one thing even before he'd opened his eyes – he was coming down with something. His head ached and he had that feeling at the back of the nose and throat which usually heralds the onset of a cold. Even though the cottage was cold the bedroom felt stuffy and humid.

Laying still for a couple of minutes, he struggled between trying to go back to sleep or checking to see what he had in the “medicine cupboard”. This was actually just an old travel washkit with whatever bits and pieces he's managed to accumulate over the years. He decided on the medicines, swinging his legs out of bed and standing up in one movement. Dizziness struck him immediately and he leant against a dresser to support himself until it cleared. Hoping the earlier power cut had been resolved he flicked the light-switch by the door but there was still nothing.

Moving into the bathroom, seeing by the light of the moon but running his hands along the walls for confidence he took the washkit from it's drawer and dumped the contents out on the window-sill so he could see. There wasn't much, a couple of tubes of ibuprofen gel, some prescription painkillers from a couple of years ago and some off the shelf paracetamol. Also in there were the flu sachets he was looking for, five in total, originally from a box of six. Tearing the top off the sachet he poured the contents onto his tongue as directed. After a few seconds he swallowed what was left and washed it down with a glass of water.

By now his eyes were accustomed to the dark and he was able to walk back to his room carrying the glass and remaining sachets. He placed these on the small table next to his bed and lay on top of the duvet. He considered opening the window to let in some fresh air but decided against it. It would probably be in minus figures outside and the last thing he needed was to go to sleep with a cold and wake up with hypothermia.

He dozed off quickly but it was an uneasy sleep, interrupted by the occasional coughing fit. Less than an hour after getting back into bed he was awake again. Whatever the cold remedy had done it hadn't made things better, in fact things were much worse. His head was pounding and migraine like and the earlier signs of a cold had morphed into what felt like full-blown flu. As he moved around in bed to try and find some position which would relieve the discomfort even slightly the fabric around him felt like red-hot needles piercing his skin.

As a child he'd had a really bad dose of flu which lasted about a week and almost required hospitalisation but even that didn't come close to how bad he felt now. He rolled to the side, reaching for the sachets, he doubted he was supposed to take another for two to three hours but he doubted the extra dose of decongestant, caffeine, vitamin c and aspirin would do him much harm. He doubted they'd do him much good either but it was all he had.

It was as he was leaning over the side of the bed that the nausea hit him like a brick. Before he was even aware of it coming he'd vomited down the front of the bedside table and the floor. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand he stared at the thick greasy liquid, shocked at the suddenness of the sickness. Despite his flu-like symptoms he knew he should clean up the mess but all he wanted was to roll-over and go to sleep. He hoped to wake up feeling better but at the minute he'd settle for not waking up at-all.

Sitting up was slow and painful, when he was finally sat on the side of the bed he was exhausted. He planned to just wipe up the worst with an old towel and throw it in the bin, the real clean-up could wait until he felt a bit better. Again the nausea, this time he had a fraction of a second to prepare so even as the vomit was rising in his throat he was turning towards the existing pool. At the back of his mind he thought it was better to try and keep the mess in one place.

As he coughed the last mouthfuls up onto the floor and let himself fall back onto his bed he decided he had food poisoning and considered calling an ambulance. Was this an emergency or did he just need to sleep it off? Although the migraine and all-over aches were still present maybe the worse was over? Picking up his mobile the display showed his provider had no signal, however the 999 call would be put through be any network with coverage. Despite being fairly remote there was normally good coverage in the area and he was certain he'd get through if he rang.

He felt sick again, this time it was less urgent and although he knew he was going to vomit this time he had some say about the timing. There was probably time to get to the bathroom and whilst there he could grab a towel to chuck over the mess - he'd given up on the cleaning idea but still felt he should do something. Sitting up slowly he moved carefully to his feet and was starting to think that maybe the worst was over. From two spontaneous sessions of sickness he now felt like it was under some kind of control, perhaps he'd throw up this time and that would be it.

Staggering slowly towards the bedroom door he'd made it barely halfway before the stomach cramps hit. He knew this wasn't a warning about being sick, if he didn't get to the toilet quickly he was going to shit himself. He moved as fast as he could but it was a perfect storm of sickness, the pain of moving with the migraine caused a second spell of dizziness but this time he wasn't strong enough or fast enough to support himself against the wall and he collapsed to the ground. Laying on the floor, head reeling, the smell of the vomit already congealed on the carpet triggered his third session of vomiting. This time there was less to come up but it didn't matter, bile burned the back of his throat and nose as his eyes stung and poured with water. As his bowels let go and foul smelling black faeces oozed down his legs he tried to drag himself back towards his mobile to ring for help, gradually losing consciousness until he collapsed totally.  The last thing he saw was the mobile's green LED blinking in the grey of the unlit bedroom.

Chapter One

Chas nodded at the gate guards as he drove off camp. Heading home for two weeks leave after a busy couple of months he was looking forward to having not much to do and plenty of time to do it in. He fiddled with the CD player and sorted his mobile and sat-nav whilst the bright checkpoint lights allowed him to get everything plugged in. He could do the 4 hour drive north on autopilot but liked the constant trip data provided by the device.

He'd set off later than normal to avoid the traffic and, with a large insulated mug of coffee in the cupholder, settled in for a long night behind the wheel. It was mid-November and pitch black on the country roads heading for the motorway. The recent wet spell had moved on and temperatures had plummeted. After giving it some thought he'd decided that the chance of ice on the roads was slim, at least until he'd completed most of the drive and was almost home. Still, he was in no hurry, no need to rush.

After a while he was onto the motorway. There was less traffic than normal but it was just before 2100 on a Wednesday night, hardly rush hour. He relaxed his driving position slightly, set the cruise control and unscrewed the lid of his mug. Intended to fuel his drive the coffee was like rocket fuel, five or six espressos and nearly as many sugars. The first mouthful caused him to screw his face up “bloody hell, that's good”.

Shortly after setting the cruise control for a steady 75mph a battered silver Saab blew past him like he was stood still. Despite the road being almost empty the Saab passed within inches of his car, rocking it and almost scraping wing mirrors. It must have been doing at least 110mph, maybe more. Seconds later he saw the flashing blue lights of the emergency services in his rear view mirror. However as the lights got closer he could see it wasn't the police giving chase but two ambulances being driven hard. He wondered briefly if the Saab was going to meet them at whichever hospital they were heading to. Deciding he'd never know he watched the blue lights head up the road until they disappeared from view.

He switched from the CD player to the radio as he found it helped his concentration when driving. The music often zoned him out to the extent that he could drive for half an hour and remember none of it, not ideal with speed cameras everywhere. The stations were all coming to the news, the terrorist attack on the outskirts of London two days ago was still headlining. As yet nobody really had any idea who was responsible, or if they did they weren't telling the media.

To him the attack had seemed more than a little bit underwhelming. A car bomb had exploded near a tube station in the early afternoon killing one person and wounding about six more. Most of those caught up in the attack had been able to walk away. After some of the more spectacular attacks of recent years this just felt a bit grubby. A suburban tube station, mid afternoon, killing normal people doing normal things and now nobody cared enough to claim it. Pointless. This was followed up with the ongoing stories which had been dragging on for days - global economic woes, a new swine flu variant, weather warnings and an argument about the free pneumonia vaccine for the elderly.

The remainder of the journey passed quickly enough, the quiet roads allowing him to make good time. The coffee was finished off just before he left the motorway. Winding his way through the country roads and up into the deserted fells he was starting to feel the effects of the last couple of weeks. The long days had taken their toll and he knew he'd be asleep as soon as he got into bed.

Passing the small farm at the bottom of his hill he didn't notice that the farmhouse front door was wide open, despite it being just after 0100. He pulled into the yard of his cottage, the only building other than the farm within two miles. He'd moved in a couple of months ago, attracted by the cheap rent and easy access to the excellent biking and hiking on his doorstep. Living on his own out in the wild had spooked him a bit to start with. Mates from work hadn't helped, suggesting the farmer was waiting for him to let his guard down before getting all “Deliverance”. Switching the engine off he unplugged his mobile, grabbed his holdall from the backseat and got out of the car “Feck it's cold”.

After unlocking the door, flicking the light-switch didn't have the expected result - the hallway stayed dark. Bulb or power-cut? With just the light from the full moon coming through the open doorway he dropped his holdall inside the door and moved slowly down the hall reaching for the light-switch at the bottom of the stairs. Again nothing – power-cut. Probably the third he'd experienced since moving in, normally they only lasted a couple of hours.

It was 0120, there was no power and he was tired, really he should have gone to bed. However he wanted to put his feet up for half an hour before calling it a night. Lighting a couple of small candles purchased after the second power-cut, the soft orange light lit the living room as he sat on his sofa watching the flames. On the side were several bottles containing various spirits, mostly whiskys. Selecting the one reflecting the most light, a 10yr old Glenmorangie, he poured himself a not insignificant measure and sat back. He wasn't a big drinker but having once mentioned that he liked how whisky bottles looked on bar shelves it had somehow become the default present people associated with him. Now it was a vicious circle, people knew he had quite a few bottles, assumed him to be an amateur collector and bought him more.

There was a thud outside, two months ago he'd have gone to check it out but now he hardly gave it a second thought. Sipping the spicy, vanilla flavoured liquid he kicked off his boots and checked his phone – no signal. “Right, bollocks to this then” he drained the rest of the drink and then went to rinse the glass before getting ready for bed.

As he got into bed he felt sure it would be a while before he'd drift off, the cold air outside had woken him and the lack of heating making the house too cold for comfort. He proved himself wrong in less than five minutes.

Well that's the first chapter.  Feel free to leave comments or ask questions below.  I'm hoping to do a chapter a week. For those who want their fiction hot off the press then I can be followed on this twitter feed.