Population Control

Matthew III

Weltschmertz – used to describe the melancholic feeling of being overwhelmed at the state of the world while being a part of it

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"We should decide where we're headed." Camille brought up, lightly dabbing the small cut on her neck with her sleeve and clearing the trail.

"The country?" Suggested Jason

Dylan protested, "All the crazies' live in the country!" I had to agree. We (the school team) versed a team from the country for this tournament thing and they were fucking vicious. So, so many fouls from left to fucking right. Just the memory makes rage beat at the fore-front of my heart.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Shush, you two." Came Camille's stern voice. They blushed, I almost felt sorry for them.

"I'm all up for the country." I shrugged, wanting to run around in fields. Maybe farm work would be fun, and it would mean proper meat. As in pork, bacon, beef. My mouth is watering at the thought.

Sam parked up, somewhere around an abandoned warehouse. It's been derelict for as long as I've been alive. Apparently, it was hit in World War II and just never rebuilt on. Really, what company would want to build in Birmingham? It's ram-packed with guys in heavy. Black puffer jackets and horribly fake-tanned women.

"What about London?" Jason suggested.

Dylan laughed at him, "Now I know you're joking."

"Isle of Man?" Sam suggested.

"And where are we getting a boat?" Camille questioned

Whilst they were arguing it out, I opened the gloveboxes, searching for what I know a couple like Isak and Hana would have. Aha! Found it. I flipped to the contents page, looking for something, anything, basically. Flipping through the pages, I stopped on one that showed the whole of the UK and its roads.

This could work.

"France." I said out loud, unaware that I'd stopped an argument from escalating, "We could go to," I traced my finger from France to the closest English town, "Dover. Walk the Channel?"

"Well what if France is like us?" the pessimist of the hour, Dylan, asked.

"It's a national pandemic," Said Sam; now turned to face them as well.

Jason nodded, "Meaning France will be safe." It was just Camille to agree and she did.

Jason cleared his throat, cheeks pink for what he was about to say next, "My dad owns a house in Folkestone... it's a twenty minute drive to dover."

We didn't leave right away, first of all we got out. They want to get food from somewhere in the area, I wasn't really listening. I've always wanted to explore this house, but I just never have. Shane and I had this plan to stay the night when we were fourteen, record it, and put it on YouTube to become famous. It was laughable anyway, but now it's even more hilarious.

Moss as well as Ivy clung to the building like it was its only chance at survival. Normally, I find Ivy on the side of a place magical, almost as if it's from a fairy tale, this time it was the opposite. Windows had been smashed in every direction by various things because of the different size holes. An archway of crumbling flowers intertwined with the sticks of previously flourishing bushes with a path connecting the archway to the entrance of the building.

Wallpaper flopped like a bone was missing from an arm; the colours were that of vomit. Over time, the paper had been scratched by animals such as foxes, squirrels, etcetera, meaning the wall could be seen behind- the wallpaper was a better option. And the dim moonlight from outside did nothing to help with the creepiness. It was so fucking cool.

I hopped over a broken wood plank, using my hands to hoist myself higher. A groan broke my exploration. "Jason, stop fuckin' about." I sighed. Another groan, "Dude, it's not working."

There was a shadow, a figure that was definitely Jason. He was walking at a sluggish pace, hobbling for effect. A final, long, crackling groan that sent a shock-wave of nausea to my heart. "Cut it out." I told him, throwing a stone on the ground at his head. It bounced off, and the person didn't stutter back. They moved forward, arms steadily stiff to keep balance. "Shit!" I exclaimed, fear seeping through my voice.

It was a Rabid, but not just any Rabid. It was Jacob, Jacob Meadowes. His bright blonde hair wasn't very bright or blonde anymore: it was faded, dirty, more like a washed out grey than anything else. From his right arm, a blood stain corrupted the stitching of his jacket, and it continued to grow: darker in colour and expanding over a longer surface. Then there were his eyes.; Gone were the glowing sapphires, in replacement were blotchy, matted versions of his former iris'. "What happened?" I asked, like he could respond. I didn't like him, not really, but nobody deserves this fate.

Suddenly, he lunged for me. Barely, I escaped his dirt-ridden clutches. I ran for it, barging through an exit door at the side of the building after a few attempts. Because of that, he got closer.

Outside, I lent against the cracked wall of the factory. Taking deep breath after deep breath. My heart rate slowed, and I began feeling the sweat on my palms - not even during a match have I felt my heart pick up so much speed. With my hands clutching my thighs, my eyes closed and blood pounding in my ears, I didn't realise Jacob was there.

"Matthew!" Screamed Sam, snapping me from my daze. He grabbed me by the wrist, dragging me along to the car that was around the corner. Even though I was being pulled along and my legs willingly went, my eyes couldn't leave Jacob. His face grew closer and closer, so close that I jump-started into action and pushed against Jacob as he trapped me against the car.

Jason and Dylan grabbed him by the sides, launching him off as quickly as they could. For being skinny, it took a lot of strength to push the blood-thirsty critter away. "Come on, Sam!" Demanded Camille, antsy and waiting at the boot for Sam to open it. As soon as he was off and us three inhaled, it was coming back.

We pushed him again, but he came back. We forced him further away from the car, until, "Get in!" Shouted Sam. The three of us had him pinned against the wall, him snarling close to my neck, so close that the blood pouring from his mouth splattered on my already unblemished skin.

At the same time, we let go and pelted for the car: Dylan then Jason clambering quickly to the back and me, jumping so my legs cleared the bonnet and sliding over it to reach the passenger door. Looking behind to check if everyone is okay, Jason and Dylan scream. High pitched, ear-shattering, before-puberty frequency. Jacob had his claws in Jason's leg, pulling him further out of his seat as Dylan tried with all of his strength to keep him in.

"Jason!"

"No!"
"Hold on!" The three of us said in sync. Where was Camille? What was she doing while Jason was being dragged to his grave?

There was a sound of something absolutely horrid. Imagine the sound of a knife going through a living cow or sheep's brain, and then it being pulled back out. But imagine that sound so vividly it's like the saying 'you could hear a pin drop' when the cow or sheep collapsing to its death whilst the knife is being pummelled in and taken out is the 'pin'.

Ja- the Rabid fell limp on Jason's legs, it's disfigured head rolling off his thigh. My eyes slowly drifted from Jason, staying on his frozen figure as long as I could until the strain in my eyes became too much and I found Camille, bloodied knife in hand, splatters on her cheeks and nose.

Jacob Meadowes was dead.