Exodus 9:15
18th SEPTEMBER
THE MICROWAVE BEEPED, signalling that Kenneth Carpenter's ready meal was cooked. He reluctantly stood from his armchair and walked through to the kitchen, hesitant to tear his eyes away from the television, where the two teams were taking to the pitch, ready for the nine o'clock kick-off.
He opened the microwave door and removed the meal, not bothering with a plate. He briefly stood in the doorway as the national anthem came on the speakers. The match would be starting soon, the most important match of the season, the match that would decide whether or not England got the points they needed for the World Cup next year. He got a spoon from the cutlery drawer and a fresh can of lager from the fridge before heading back into the front room.
As he collapsed back into his armchair he felt a tightness in his chest. He took several deep breaths and it quickly passed. This had been happening more and more frequently recently, a sign of Kenneth's poor health. Kenneth was an obese man, weighing in at just over twenty-eight stone, yet even so for most of his life his health had been flawless. He had been involved in a series of medical tests when in college, designed to create the 'perfect healing solution'. Kenneth had been one of only a handful of people out of the thousand or so test subjects to respond to the treatment. As a result he had always ignored his health, as he had always felt healthy, despite his obviously unhealthy appearance. Even his GP had once remarked that he had never seen someone of Kenneth's size with such normal blood pressure or heart rate. But little did Kenneth realise that his time was running out.
Faster than he could ever have imagined.
Kenneth took a large swig of his lager, let out a tremendous belch and began to eat his ready-made curry, sauce dripping onto an already stained t-shirt. This was a daily routine for him: several tins of lager, with ready-made frozen meals cooked in a microwave as his only sustenance. It had been like this for so long. Once upon a time things may have been better, but his college sweetheart had left him for his best friend, several days before his mother died. Kenneth had left college then, and spiralled into a deep depression. He survived on the government's meagre handouts, as well as one dead-end job after another. The woman at the job centre was always saying that he needed to look for a more permanent job, but he had never found the impetus to search. Besides he liked his weekly visits with her. It was nice to have a woman be nice to him every once in a while, even if she only did so because she was getting paid for it and her smiles were slightly forced.
The referee blew the starting whistle on the television and Kenneth watched as England immediately took control of the ball and headed towards Indonesia's goal. Kenneth, excited, sat forward in his chair, watching as the new boy, up-and-coming striker Darren Jenson, gained control and launched the ball in a graceful arc over the keeper's head into the top right corner of the net. Kenneth, along with every England fan in the stands on the screen, jumped to his feet. Like most people he had been doubtful about Jenson, feeling that the boy, being already one of the youngest professional players ever, wasn't good enough yet to play internationally. He had said as much at the pub, but as his friend Ray had reminded him, the boy had made quite a name for himself in the Premiership after becoming the season's most notable new signing. Kenneth found, as he danced around his room to the chants of the crowd, that the manager had made a good choice in selecting the young Jenson for such a valuable game.
Suddenly pain shot through Kenneth. He clutched his chest frantically and collapsed into his chair. This time however the pain showed no sign of going. He needed help.
Fortunately Kenneth's next door neighbour was a heart surgeon at City General. Kenneth decided to head to his house and staggered towards his front door, the pain in his chest getting worse with every step. The left half of his body felt sluggish, his arm hanging limply by his side while his foot dragged on the floor. He tumbled head first into a table in his hallway as his leg muscles seized up. He tried to stand, the pain intensifying with every ragged gasp for air. He saw red spots dancing in front of his eyes as his vision blurred. It would be so easy to let go, a voice in his head said, the pain will just stop if you do.
'No.', he said to himself, reaching up to a shelf with his good arm and dragging his large frame to its feet. He had no intention of dying, whether he had anything to live for or not. His ears were no longer registering discernible sounds, only a distorted whining noise that he did not realise was coming from his own throat, the only sound his pain-wracked body could utter.
Blinking rapidly to focus his eyes Kenneth fiddled with the lock on his door. It came loose with a jolt and nearly returned him to the floor as it swung inwards. He ran outside as best as he could manage, struggling with his footing without the wall to support him. He stumbled into the pine fence between his garden and his neighbour's, and it easily gave under his weight. On the floor again Kenneth dragged his bulk as best as he could with his right arm, his left still useless beneath him. But the strain was finally taking its toll on Kenneth's body. As his mind ceased to feel the pain of his failing body Kenneth dreamily closed his eyes for the last time.
* * * * *
Doctor Richard Bernard was relaxing with his wife Eileen, who was curled up into him on the sofa. They were not watching the football, but had instead rented a slushy romance film (her choice, not his) and were watching it by candlelight. They rarely got to spend quality time together like this any more. Richard's job at Stoke City General kept him on erratic shifts, while Eileen's job lecturing at Keele University kept her at work during the majority of the day, what with the research she was constantly doing at the library there. And if the price for spending time like this with his wife was that he had to watch the latest Pride and Prejudice remake rather than the new Die Hard flick then it was a price he was more than willing to pay it. Besides when it finished he had the perfect horror film in mind to get her cowering into him: Tombs of the Blind Dead, the same movie they had seen all those years ago after they left the library where they had both been studying, and had decided to watch the media society's annual Halloween film festival. And if he could duplicate the results of that evening he would be a very happy man indeed.
But alas, some things are not meant to be.
'What the hell was that?', Eileen asked in reference to the sudden noise outside, 'Was that a car crash?'
'I'm not sure babe, it sounded closer to the house than that.' Richard replied, standing up and walking cautiously towards the window. He gingerly peeled back the curtain and was genuinely shocked by the sight he beheld.
Richard instantly recognised Kenneth's form, even in the dark glow of the damaged streetlamp. He could also see his fence crushed beneath Kenneth, but it seemed oddly coloured. Before he knew it he was rushing for the door.
'Richard, what is it? What's happened?', Eileen called after him as he bounded out of the door and into the hall.
'Call an ambulance!', he shouted back, flinging open the front door and bounding towards Kenneth. He was now every bit the stress-forged surgeon, immediately taking in the situation. The remains of the fence were splattered with blood but he could see no obvious wounds. Kenneth himself was face down in the ground. Richard reached down and felt for a pulse. He couldn't find one and so instinctively turned Kenneth over to begin CPR.
Once Kenneth was on his back Richard noticed that his mouth and nostrils were flecked with blood, suggesting that the blood had come from Kenneth. He couldn't think of anything from the top of his head that would cause a patient to vomit blood and collapse into unconsciousness. He put it to the back of his mind and began chest compressions.
Eileen rushed out onto the lawn. 'I rang the ambulance,' she called to him, 'they say they'll be here soon.' She inched closer, tilting her head to get a better look. 'Oh my God!' she gasped, 'Is that Kenneth?' Richard, desperately trying to keep the rhythm of the chest compressions and inhalations on Kenneth, didn't answer her question.
'Richard stop he's okay.' Eileen called suddenly.
'No, he isn't! He's not breathing!' Richard angrily, perhaps too angrily he thought, shouted back.
'But he's awake, look!'
Richard slowly stopped the compressions and turned to look at Kenneth's face. His eyes were open, suggesting that he was indeed awake, but his eyes were unfocused and lolling at odd angles. There was no movement from Kenneth's chest to suggest he was breathing, but there was a low, rasping sound coming from his mouth. He realised that it was merely a reflex, or a death rattle, and that he had failed. Kenneth Carpenter was dead.
He looked at his watch to record the time of death, but something grabbed him. He turned to see Kenneth holding his forearm and pulling himself up from his prone position. Richard didn't understand, Kenneth had had no pulse for several minutes at least and should not be able to sit up without any apparent ill effects.
'See,' said his pleased wife, 'I told you he was okay.'
With an animalistic snarl Kenneth suddenly lunged at Richard, his teeth clamping on to Richard's neck and closing with a crushing certainty, easily breaking the skin and sending a large jet of blood shooting from Richard's neck. Eileen screamed as Richard felt the flesh of his neck being torn away in Kenneth's jaws as he withdrew. Then suddenly he saw it as Kenneth's face came into view. He could see his blood smeared on Kenneth's face. He could see the ragged and torn flesh, his own flesh, hanging out of Kenneth's bulging cheeks as he chewed.
Richard fell to the side, convulsing. He caught sight of torrents of his own blood staining his clothes as he crumpled to the floor. Kenneth suddenly lurched into view, his mouth open to bite again and Richard realised that whatever this thing that was Kenneth had now become, it was eating him alive.
At that he fainted, his consciousness fading to black, the last sounds he would ever hear being sounds that would soon echo around the country: the anguished screams of a loved one, and the hungry moan of the creature as it feasted upon him.
* * * * *
Later that evening, as the police descended on the scene, alerted by a neighbour's phone call after he noticed the blood while walking his dog, a lone woman moved through the gathering crowd of bystanders. Edging her way to the police cordon, the well-dressed woman peered at what she could see of the scene. Both houses had their doors flung open, the wooden fence between the gardens was in ruins, and a large pool of blood covered the path, with bloody footprints leading down the road before fading.
The well-dressed woman immediately turned and headed back through the crowd. Moving with a purpose, she forced people aside as she moved. Once she was away from the crowd she took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching before pulling out her mobile and dialling. After ringing several times the phone was answered.
'Sir? It's about subject 861. We may have a problem.'
