The Rot (Book 1): They Rot

  HAVE YOU READ THESE

  HAWK AND CLEAVER TITLES…?

  Matt Butcher’s

  DEEPER THAN THE GRAVE

  Two friends venture into the English countryside in an attempt to escape heartbreak only to encounter something far worse. What exactly is it that hides in Garahan Forest? What tragedy befell its former residents and who covered it up?

  Ben Errington’s

  TEN TALES OF THE HUMAN CONDITION

  A sociopathic New York lawyer’s unfaithful wife is conducting her affair with his best friend and colleague. Fed up with life and everybody within it, Chris crafts a twisted scheme to punish those responsible for the downfall of his once perfect existence.

  Luke Kondor’s

  THE HIPSTER FROM OUTER SPACE

  An ancient space being called Moomamu has awoken on Earth and wants nothing more than to get back to his home in the stars. Taking the advice of his cat, Gary, he makes his way up t’north to meet the Tall-One-With-Insight.

  Daniel Willcocks’

  SINS OF SMOKE

  When Cooper’s brother discovers he’s won a second chance with the girl that broke his heart, he decides to tag along to the Coyote Inn. However, the night takes a turn when a darkness that has stalked the town for ages past finds a new vessel.

  *

  BOOK 1 OF ‘THE ROT’ SERIES

  Copyright © 2017 by Hawk and Cleaver

  First published in Great Britain in 2017

  All rights reserved.

  http://www.hawkandcleaver.com/

  ISBN-13: 978-1542385862

  ISBN-10: 1542385865

  All work remains the property of the respective authors and may be used by themselves or with their express permissions in any way that they deem appropriate with no limitations.

  No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover or print other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  FOR

  NAOMI YEHEZKEL

  &

  Buddy, the greatest rot-detector there ever was. Rest in peace.

  Contents

  ~ PROLOGUE ~

  ~ 1 ~

  ~ 2 ~

  ~ 3 ~

  ~ 4 ~

  ~ 5 ~

  ~ 6 ~

  ~ 7 ~

  ~ 8 ~

  ~ i ~

  ~ 9 ~

  ~ 10 ~

  ~ 11 ~

  ~ 12 ~

  ~ 13 ~

  ~ 14 ~

  ~ ii ~

  ~ 15 ~

  ~ 16 ~

  ~ 17 ~

  ~ 18 ~

  ~ 19 ~

  ~ 20 ~

  ~ 21 ~

  ~ 22 ~

  ~ iii ~

  ~ 23 ~

  ~ 24 ~

  ~ 25 ~

  ~ 26 ~

  ~ 27 ~

  ~ 28 ~

  ~ 29 ~

  ~ 30 ~

  ~ 31 ~

  ~ 32 ~

  ~ iv ~

  ~ 33 ~

  ~ 34 ~

  ~ 35 ~

  Exclusive Bonus Story

  Author’s Note

  ~ PROLOGUE ~

  Overgrown greenery lashed at their legs as she held tightly to the boy’s arms, dragging him along as fast as his legs would allow. All around was nothing but yellow as they fled across another acre of farmland.

  “Come on, come on, come on…”

  The engines roared. They were getting closer now.

  “I can’t…” the boy protested. “I can’t…” His breaths were shallow and his eyes were wide. Those terrifying green eyes of his that could see the things that she couldn’t. The eyes that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

  “They went this way!” called a voice from across the field. An engine revved as a vehicle stomped down the neglected crops, left years ago by farmers to grow wild and reach for the sky.

  She pulled him sharply left, hoping the change in direction might throw them off their scent. Who knows? Maybe they’d be able to escape this one. Maybe God, in all his infinite wisdom, might cut them some slack and leave them to their devices.

  The roaring of the vehicle reached fever pitch as she dove to the ground, dragging the poor boy with her and waited. The vehicle now only several feet away. The tops of the yellow plants disappeared under its weight, then, a moment later, the sounds began to quiet.

  Just hold on, Joanna thought. Just wait your time, and we’ll be fine. We’ll make it through this.

  The vehicle disappeared into the distance. Joanna waited until all was quiet, then helped the boy up again. She bent low and allowed him to climb onto her back. In the sky above a V of geese flew over, honking loudly as they made their way towards the afternoon sun.

  They followed their direction in the hopes of finding the roads again and getting her bearings. It was tough enough trying to find somewhere based off a child’s directions, let alone finding yourself waylaid by bastards with working motors.

  It was a tough world out there, for sure.

  When the crops finished, and they found the road, she tentatively stepped out and felt the packed earth beneath her worn Nike trainers. She looked as far left and right as she could, studying the small gatherings of trees, the dips and rolls in the rural countryside for any sign of the vehicle. The coast was clear.

  “Come on, Sunny. We’re good—”

  She turned around and just managed to hold in her scream. A boy, not much into double figures, had Sunny’s head locked in the crook of his arm, a wide bat decorated with nails hanging from the hand on his side. There was a shuffling in the crops as an old man with a wicked grin stepped out and patted Sunny’s back.

  “Gotcha.”

  ~ 1 ~

  The morning dew was fresh on the grass and glistened all around him. With each breath, a fine mist billowed out from his mouth and separated into strings of nothing against the morning light. The sun was brimming its face over the horizon now and lighting up the trampled path leaving golden streamers of light striping the ground ahead.

  Colin clicked off the wind-up flashlight and threw it into his canvas duffle bag where it cosied up and clinked against the other tools and tat that Colin had built up over the years. No need for that now. He needed to conserve power wherever he could. Even the toys you’d buy for kids – wind-up torches for camping and the like – were like gold dust now.

  He blew into the holes in his gloves to try and warm his hands. Sure, the sun was out, but it was still icy cold. As it always seemed to be. Colin could hardly even remember summer anymore. Not a true summer like before. He’d lived through what felt like eight years of continuous autumns and winters. Rain most days and overcast on the others. As if the world itself had lost the will to smile.

  Maybe on some level, it had.

  But yet, still, the grass and the leaves and the greenery of the world grew and flowered, so maybe he just hadn’t been paying attention. Too distracted by his own thoughts to notice. After all, what exactly would he do with a summer now? A two-week trip to Ibiza was off the cards. A weekend around Europe drinking German ales was nothing but a pipe dream, and hell if he was ever going to climb Kilimanjaro. The last time he’d seen a plane he’d rubbed his cleanly shaven face and cried.

  He idly stroked his ragged beard as Wheat streaked past his legs, disappearing between the trunks of trees.

  In a flash of memory he r
emembered what it was like. Sitting on the beach, digging his toes into the warm sand, letting it fill the crevices between, as he closed his eyes and aimed his face at the sun. A cold fruity ice lolly in his hand. The sticky melting juice of it dripping down the wooden stick and onto his fingers.

  For a second he could almost taste it, his tongue teasing his dry lips. But then he opened his eyes and it was all so distant again. A world from another life. Half-remembered from some other man’s dreams. He stepped onward, off the grass, and onto an old dirt path that led up through a tunnel of trees. This was the furthest he’d ever get from the farm. The furthest point of his patrol. The last of his duties for that morning.

  Planting boot after boot, he walked through the thicket of trees. The sunlight cut into the tunnel, blinding his eyes, trapping him inside a zoetrope. He held his free hands up to block the worst of it, allowing the rifle and the duffle bag to hang loosely behind him.

  When he saw the movement ahead, he stopped. It was a little brown creature alternating its legs as it burrowed into the ground.

  Colin didn’t lift his rifle. He didn’t need to. Instead, he whipped off his glove, popped two fingers into his mouth, and whistled two quick bursts.

  The creature lifted its head and looked to Colin. Its eyes were wide and excited. Its tail flapped from left to right. The thing barked.

  “Dammit, Wheat. Shush!”

  Colin had almost been excited at the prospect of a companion when he’d begun his patrols for the LeShards. Maybe even figured that a golden retriever would make for a pretty decent working dog. But boy was he wrong. What Wheat had done for the LeShards as a family pet, he had failed to do as a guard dog. He was made for gentle companionship. Built for fetching toys and making cute faces. He was a dog that only understood the most basic of commands. And that was only when he wasn’t barking with excitement and rolling around in fox crap. But still, regardless of breed or temperament, dogs did make for great rot-detectors. Even Wheat.

  Still, Colin wondered, when was the last time they’d even seen a rotter?

  Wheat approached and brushed his snout into Colin’s calloused palm. It was cold and wet and dirtied from the hole he’d been digging. His big brown eyes looked up at him lovingly as his tail wagged left to right.

  “Come on,” Colin sighed, “we’re nearly there.”

  As they reached the end of the woods they came to a clearing on a small hillock. He looked out at the view, taking a deep breath of clean country air.

  It was for this view that Colin found the motivation to make his patrols each day. With the clearing of the woods behind he was given a perfect landscape view of the patchwork of fields, bathed in the glow of sunrise. In the distance, he could see where the hill sloped down towards the Redhill estates. The abandoned construction site that looked set to become some kind of idyllic suburban paradise.

  Colin could picture it now. Neat little tarmac roads connecting squared-off gardens and freshly constructed houses. The sun beating down as kids played and laughed, their mothers watching and shaking their heads as their dads squirted them with the hose, ruining their Sunday bests.

  Gone now. Forever abandoned.

  The property developers must have only gotten halfway through construction when the rot struck, leaving the estates to stand as nothing but excavated soil and bare inner walls of houses. The structures were there, sure, but the roads were yet to be laid, the windows yet to be fitted, and the gardens yet to be planted. It looked to Colin like a promise never kept, a dirty graveyard with blank limestone gravestones and blank epitaphs.

  He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out the binoculars as Wheat took a seat on top of his toes, panting loudly.

  Running his finger over the red lens to wipe away the build-up of dust he put them up to his eyes and looked down at the empty construction site. Though they weren’t professional by any measure, they were good enough to get him a closer view. Out of his entire patrol route, this was the area that gave him the most concern. The Redhill estates were a perfect place for a camp of nomads or scavvies to set themselves up – high walls and a place to lay their heads. That was about all they required. And with the farm so close it wouldn’t take long for potential squatters to discover the farm and come for their rations.

  Colin felt himself grow angry at the thought. The idea of another chance encounter with scavvies was enough to bring back a bubble of memories – dark ink etched onto faces, hungry looks in cold eyes, a knife to his throat.

  Wheat whined as he lay down next to Colin, propping his paw on his boot.

  Colin ignored him and continued to scout the construction site. There was no evidence of camping fires or bunks. Same as always. Same shit, different day.

  He scanned once more, when Wheat leapt to his feet and barked.

  Instinctively, Colin turned and scuffled to get his rifle up, pointing in the direction Wheat was yapping – down the long corridor of the trees, out towards the south-east of the farm. There wasn’t much to see that way but more fields and dirt roads. Keeping his gun steady with his right hand he tucked his head beneath the strap of the duffle bag and dropped it to the floor. He steadied the gun with his second hand and walked forwards, towards where Wheat’s eye-line was trained.

  Wheat barked again and a small flock of birds burst from the trees, peppering the sky with black dots. Colin huffed, lowered his gun and studied Wheat as the birds flew low over the fields, out towards the estate. Wheat’s eyes followed the flock until they were far out of sight.

  Half a smile crept onto Colin’s face.

  “When was the last time you saw birds out here, Wheat?” Colin dropped the rifle and picked up the bag. “Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps the tide is turning…”

  Suddenly something caught his eye. Movement. The smallest speck amongst the grey walls.

  “Huh?” Colin rifled through the bag and withdrew the binoculars. He peered down and, for a half a second, saw someone. A very young someone with blond hair. Without thinking, he lowered the binoculars and automatically reached for the little gold ring on the chain he wore around his neck. He wiped his eyes, looked again and the child was gone. He frantically searched for several minutes before giving up. Perhaps he was seeing things. It sure couldn’t have been who he thought it was.

  Colin threw the binoculars back into the bag and patted Wheat’s head. “Come on, mutt. Let’s get you some food.”

  Wheat raced ahead, wagging his tail excitedly.

  ~ 2 ~

  Jerry LeShard met them at the door.

  “You know what you need, kid?” Jerry asked, watching as Colin slipped off his boots and dropped them to the floor. Each one thumping the wooden walkway.

  “Beer?” Colin grunted. Wheat padded eagerly out of sight into the kitchen.

  Jerry shook his head and chuckled.

  “We all need beer, kid. What I’d give for a Newkie Brown right now. My kingdom for a goddamn Newkie Brown.” Jerry draped an arm across Colin’s shoulder and guided him inside. “No, what you really need is a triple S. You know what a triple S is?”

  “Here we go,” Kitty said as the steaming kettle whistled away on the flaming hob. The smell of the porridge filled the air and his stomach grunted with hunger.

  Colin rolled his eyes and spoke at the same time as Jerry, knowing it off by heart by now. “Shit… Shower… and a Shave.”

  They were all in fits. Jerry doubled over, Kitty wiped a tear away as she gestured for Colin’s coat, and Colin couldn’t help but chuckle through the thickness of his wiry beard.

  “Shave? That’s a luxury I’d like to afford. Are you holding out on me, Jerry? You got a beard trimmer, Gandalf?”

  “Do I look like I’ve got a beard trimmer?” Jerry said, pointing to the giant white wizard beard on his chin, crossing his eyes and doing his best impression of a goon.

  Wheat barked loudly from his bed in the corner.

  “Oh give it a rest you mangy mutt,” Jerry grinned, knocking a newspaper acro
ss Wheat’s nose.

  “Hey, less of that. He’s family,” Kitty said as she slopped the sticky white porridge into the bowls on the table.

  Colin sat at the small round table with Jerry across from him. He grabbed his spoon and dug into the steaming mush. Kitty pulled up her own chair and placed her morning tea on the table in front of her. She sniffed at the rising steam and took a deep breath as Wheat left his bed and laid down beneath the table with a hungry whine.

  They sat in silence whilst they ate. Occasionally Jerry would load a spoon, reach under the table and let Wheat lick the metal clean. Kitty rolled her eyes affectionately as he brought it back up and to his mouth. Colin shook his head with disapproval. After they were all done, Kitty jumped up and took the bowls to the sink. While she clanked away, Jerry sat back in his chair, let out a satisfied burp, and picked stubborn bits of oat from his teeth.

  “Don’t you want to know about the patrol?” Colin said as he sat back and patted his own stomach.

  “I’d have known if you’d seen something,”

  “How?”

  “You think you’d wait this long to tell me if you had? C’mon, Colin. We know you better than that.” He turned to Kitty. “Remember that first week he came to stay with us? He was breathless at the door all because he saw a rotter approaching in the distance over by the old pumpkin patches.”

  Colin felt himself blushing.

  “Oh that’s right,” Kitty said, laughing into the dishes.

  “But it wasn’t a rotter, was it, Col?”

  “No.”

  “What was it?”

  Colin lowered his head. “A scarecrow.”

  The room exploded with laughter. Wheat jumped on and off Jerry’s lap. Colin felt his cheeks flush and his spirits lift. It was true. When he’d first come to stay with the LeShards everything had seemed like a hazard. It all seemed too good to be true. A solitary farm in the middle of nowhere, offering a safe zone in the hands of two amazingly generous citizens. On some level, he almost assumed that it would be ripped out from beneath him. That someone would come and take it all away. That was the theme of Colin’s life. At least since…