by Ryan Casey
“There’s someone following us.”
Jack heard Jenny’s voice right as he saw the light twinkle in his mirror.
He glanced into it. Then looked over his shoulder for a better view.
There was no denying what it was.
A car was behind them. Lights on full beam. Accelerating very, very fast. Faster than this Honda Jazz could manage.
“They’re going quick. They’re… they’re getting closer,” Jenny said. Sam just watched, stared, still in a slightly trancelike state.
They were approaching fast. Jack moved the car over to the left. Figured he’d let this car pass.
But as he moved to the left, the lights behind followed. Got closer. Closer to ramming him.
Jack tried to move back to the right, but then he saw movement up ahead. Figures moving in the light.
“Fuck. Turn your fucking lights off.” He swerved left to right, but to no avail. Still the car sped towards them, getting closer and closer.
“They’re—they’re almost near us,” Jenny said. “Go faster!”
Sam calm, content.
Jack bit his lip. The car was getting closer. Figures were moving across the road up ahead.
The car, whatever the driver’s fucking problem was, was going to ram into them.
Jack did the only thing he could think to do.
“The second this car stops, you jump out of that left door. Okay?”
He didn’t even give his kids chance to say “okay.”
He swerved the car to the left. Whacked on the handbrake. Opened his door and dived out into the road, into the dark.
He didn’t see what happened to Sam and Jenny.
He only heard the crunching of metal as the Range Rover plummeted into the back of the Honda Jazz.
NINETEEN
Jack looked on as the Range Rover that crashed into the back of the Honda Jazz came to a screeching halt.
His heart pounded. It was dark, and his vision was blurred, so he couldn’t tell if Sam and Jenny had made it out. He’d told them to get out. Told them to jump out as soon as he spun the car.
But had he given them enough time? Enough time to get away?
Or had he signed his own kids’ death sentences?
He stumbled to his feet. Head spun and fuzzed after hitting the ground. Tasted sweat and blood, strong in his mouth, knocking him sick. The smell of burning rubber—the tires hot on the concrete—filled his lungs and made him even sicker.
The Range Rover’s engine was still running. Its headlights were still on, shining into the crushed back of the Honda Jazz that Jack and the kids had been travelling in.
Jack stepped over to it. Stepped slowly. Kept listening beyond the rumbling of the Range Rover’s engine for footsteps, coughs, any sign that his kids were alive.
And beyond that, too. He listened for the scratching noise the runners made. The noise like chalk against a blackboard.
The noise that made his legs even weaker than they already were.
He walked across the concrete. Kept his eyes on the Range Rover at all times.
“Hello? Is… Kids? Anyone?”
No response.
He got closer. He couldn’t see if anyone was in the front seat of the Range Rover, not from here. The contrast of the car’s lights against the darkness of everything behind it was too strong.
He stepped up to the side of the Range Rover. Tensed his fists, even though they stung from hitting the tarmac after jumping out of the car. He took a few breaths. Readied himself.
He squinted inside the Range Rover.
There was a man in the driver’s seat, that he could tell now. Couldn’t make out his features in the darkness, but he was still. And judging by the unmistakable stench of body fluids, which Jack remembered well from his student medical days of cutting up a body, this guy couldn’t be alive.
He looked around. Looked at the Honda Jazz.
He didn’t want to see inside that car. He didn’t want to look on the back seat. To see his kids in any state.
He opened the Range Rover door.
The light inside flickered on, and Jack’s stomach dropped some more.
The guy in the front seat was only in his late teens. Maybe even younger than that. He had dark, longish hair. Pale face. Beaming blue eyes.
His guts were splayed out of his belly and draped all down his knees.
Jack looked away. Didn’t want to look at the kid any longer. Didn’t want to look too closely at the sharp metal that killed him in the collision. He didn’t want to because he didn’t want to imagine his own kids in that state. After all, this guy was someone’s son. Maybe he’d nicked his dad’s car so he could get away in the night. Lost control of the vehicle, got spooked, so rammed into the Honda Jazz.
Everyone had a story.
Jack examined the back seat. Saw a few tins of stuff scattered over onto the floor. Beans. Bottled water, too. Stuff that wouldn’t go off. Supplies that would keep, and supplies that would be in demand.
And then a nervousness whacked him full shot and reminded him that he needed to check on his kids.
He closed the door of the Range Rover. Let the light inside go out. Took a few deep breaths and moved his rigid feet past the car, towards the battered wreckage of the Honda Jazz in front.
He tried not to picture Sam in the same condition as that driver, sharp metal cutting through his little belly.
He tried not to imagine Jenny’s head, cracked as it made contact with the windscreen.
He stuck his nails into his hands. Tried to breathe normally, but he couldn’t, no matter what he’d been told in group therapy in prison about living in the moment.
Because this was the fucking moment. And the present moment was terrible.
He stepped around the side of the Range Rover. Braced himself.
Sam and Jenny were motionless at the side of the Honda Jazz.
They were holding each other tightly. Looking back at Jack with curiosity in their eyes. Even dirtier—scruffier—than before.
“Are we safe now?” Sam asked.
Jen squeezed her brother tighter. Nodded.
Jack couldn’t help but go up to them. Couldn’t help but wrap his arms around both of them, give them a kiss on their greasy heads. He felt like melting within. Felt a relief bigger than he’d felt when he stepped out of prison and breathed proper fresh air for the first time in two years.
True relief.
“Thought I’d lost you,” Jack said. He ruffled Sam’s hair.
“Do you like us now?” Sam asked.
Jack held his hands. Rubbed a thumb over the plaster over his cut. Nodded. “Yeah. We’re friends, right?”
He waited for Jenny to make a little wisecrack.
She didn’t, so that was something.
They stepped up. Walked back over to the Range Rover. The air was cool, so cool that Sam was shivering, rubbing his arms.
“So what do we do now we’ve no car?” Jenny asked.
Jack walked back over to the Range Rover. Opened the back door. “Grab a few bottles and cans between you. Gonna need to pull our weight here.”
Sam and Jenny winced when they saw the man in the front seat.
“Just don’t look at him,” Jack said. “Not if… not if you don’t want to get nightmares anyway.”
“Bit late for that,” Jenny said.
The kids reached inside. Sam grabbed two bottles of water and a tin of Heinz beans and mini sausages. Bundled them closely to his chest. Jenny picked up three tins, stuffing one in the little pocket on the front of her elephant pyjamas, probably just to get one up on her brother.
“So what are we gonna do now?” Sam asked. Shit, he was becoming almost as inquisitive as his sister. “Are we nearly at Morecambe yet? Nearly at the park?”
Jack scratched the back of his neck and stared up into the darkness beyond the headlights. He wanted to lie to his kids to protect them, but he had to be honest. “It’s about four hours’ walk to Morecambe. And that’s non-stop. So
probably nearer to five. It’ll… The sun’ll have risen before we get there.”
“So we’re fucked?” Jenny said.
“Hey. Watch your language.”
Jenny shrugged. Muttered a smart-arse comment under her breath. Something about Simon using that language. In her defence, she did look tired. Bags under her eyes. Paling skin.
Not as tired and weathered as her brother though.
“We’re fortunate we’re in the middle of nowhere right now,” Jack said. “Halfway between Garstang and Lancaster, so not much in the way of life around here. We need to make sure we stay off the main road if we’re walking. Go through the fields and the side roads. Hopefully we’ll find a car along the way. But I… I can’t promise anything.”
There was a silence between them for a short while. A moment of understanding, or hesitation. A moment to catch their breath.
“You okay with that?” Jack asked.
He leaned in to the car. Leaned in and flicked off the headlights, to surround them in darkness again but for the car’s inside light.
Before Jenny could speak, he heard a gasp and felt tugging against his arm.
He swung around. Yanked his arm away. Jenny and Sam leaped back.
The guy in the front of the Range Rover wasn’t dead.
He dribbled blood. Looked at Jack with bloodshot, pitiful eyes. “P-please. Don’t leave… don’t leave me. Please.”
Jack wanted to speak to the guy. He wanted to tell him it was over for him. He wanted the guy to look at his lap and see his guts splayed out down his front.
But he couldn’t because he heard the footsteps coming from behind.
Heard them getting faster.
“The bad people,” Sam muttered. “They… Jack, they’re coming.”
“Please. Please don’t leave me.” More spluttering. Tears streaming down this teenager’s cheeks. “P-please.”
As the footsteps got closer, the gasping got louder, Jack wanted so much to stay here, reassure this guy, tell him everything was going to be okay. Give him a dignified death, at least.
But he had to do the only thing he could do.
The only thing he could do to survive.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lip quivering.
He ran from the side of the car. Left the side door open, so the inside light stayed on. Grabbed his kids’ hands, and ran off the side of the A6 and over into the surrounding fields, the surrounding darkness.
He heard the driver begging. Heard him whimpering, as the footsteps got closer, the scratching and the shrieking got louder.
And then he heard him scream in agony, heard the struggling and tearing in the Range Rover, and he kept on running into the field holding both his kids’ hands as tight as he could.
TWENTY
Jack and his kids walked for the best part of an hour without saying a word.
Jack led the way. Waded through the field, the grass damp in the cold of night. He listened to the perfect silence. Stayed aware of movement in the darkness around him. He saw things. Saw movement, concluded it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.
But he didn’t want to come to too many conclusions. Not anymore.
His stomach, which had been rumbling for food not long ago, felt heavy and overfed. It’d felt that way since he’d left the kid behind in the car. Since he’d run away with Sam and Jenny to the sound of that guy’s flesh being torn from his body.
To the sounds of his agonising final moments.
His kids hadn’t asked him about running away from that guy, but he could tell it was on their minds. He could tell that Jenny was looking at him, judgementally. That Sam was struggling to wrap his head around why they’d leave an innocent man behind.
But Jack was fast learning the rules of this new world. Learning what it took to survive.
A will to act fast.
He waded through more of the grass. Up ahead, he noticed the sky growing a lighter shade of dark blue. Figured it had to be around 4 a.m. His legs were nackered, and Sam and Jenny were lingering behind. No chance they were getting to Lancaster before sunrise, let alone Morecambe.
Another day to face, head-on.
He thought about the things he’d seen. The things he’d seen in the darkness, in the light, and he wondered for a moment whether this was all worth it. Whether this world was a world he wanted to live in after all. It didn’t look like it was going to fix itself any time soon. The government message on the BBC network had said as much.
What kind of a world was this for Sam and Jenny to live in?
What kind of a world was this for anyone other than borrowed time? A wander to the end?
“We had to leave the man behind,” Jenny said.
Jack stopped. Turned and looked at Jenny. Squinted at her in the darkness.
She shuffled her feet together. Sam stopped beside her. Put his hands on his knees, panted.
“The man. The boy in the car with the… the guts.” Jenny whispered the last bit. “If we hadn’t left him, the bad people would’ve got us too, right?”
Jack gulped. Made him feel a little cold inside hearing his daughter come to terms with the harsh reality of necessary manslaughter.
He crouched opposite her. Took her hands. They were freezing.
“I’m doing everything I can to keep you two safe. But what I did… running away from that car. It wasn’t the right thing to do. It’s never the right thing to do. And that’s why I’m taking you to Morecambe. Somewhere where better people can look after you—”
“But I like you looking after us!” Sam said.
Another lump in Jack’s throat. A sigh, and a nod. “Me too. I like it too.”
They walked a little further. Jack could barely keep his eyes open. He wasn’t sure how they were going to make it to Morecambe through the night. Or even if they would—the sun would be rising in a couple of hours. He wondered whether it might be such a good idea going ahead to Morecambe just yet. They could be in the middle of Lancaster when the daylight came in full force.
The last place he wanted to be in the daylight was a city, especially after Preston.
They reached a farm a short while later. Saw there was a little farmhouse just ahead, but Jack didn’t want to take any risks by searching it. Didn’t want to attract any attention, human or runner.
He stepped up to the barn opening. Looked inside. The closer he got, the more he smelled something. Started as cow shit initially, but then it got stronger. More putrid.
“Are they dead?” Sam asked.
He must’ve had better eyes than Jack because it took him a few seconds to realise what they were looking at.
The barn was filled with cows. All of them were lying on their sides. All of them were still. Completely still.
He heard the buzzing of flies and he knew there was no chance they were staying here for some rest.
“Keep your mouths covered,” he said, ushering his kids along and towards the next barn. “Don’t want you breathing in any nasty germs.”
They moved on to the next barn. This one was empty, but for a couple of dead cows that were nowhere near as smelly or fly-ridden as their friends next door. Jack led his kids to the cow pen near the back. Closed the door. Sat down on the damp floor, letting out a sigh of relief as he did.
“We should be good here for an hour or so. Then we wake up and we carry on through the countryside.”
“But won’t the bad people get us in the sunlight?” Jenny asked.
Sam sniggered. Shook his head. “They don’t just need sunlight, silly,” he said.
It was unusual to hear Sam speaking in the dismissive manner which his sister usually spoke to him in.
It was even more unusual hearing Sam talk about things he couldn’t possibly understand.
They lay down. Jack looked at Sam. Squinted at him in the dark.
“Do you feel different?” he asked.
“How?” Sam asked.
Jack shuffled around. Tried to get comfy on the hard floor
, then realised he’d sleep damn well anywhere. “Since the… since what happened back in the car on the road. Your seizure. Do you feel different?”
Sam took a moment to umm and ahh. Took a moment to think.
Then, he took in a deep breath and let out a tired sigh.
“Just calmer,” he said.
He was asleep before Jack had a chance to follow that up.
TWENTY-ONE
Although it felt like he’d slept forever, Jack woke just before the sun rose.
He leaned over. Heart raced as he lay on the hard, damp floor. The smell of decaying cows from the next barn wafted through in the breeze.
His heart eased a little when he saw Sam and Jenny still beside him, eyes closed.
He sat up. Stretched out. He’d had horrible dreams about waking up and them being gone. He couldn’t have slept for long. The sun hadn’t risen, after all.
But they had to move. They had to head through the countryside, avoid Lancaster on the way to Morecambe. If they did that, they could be there today.
This could end, today.
Jack woke Sam and Jenny up. They yawned, stretched, protested.
“I know you’re tired,” Jack whispered. “But we need to move. Sun’s rising soon. I want to be as far into the countryside as possible when that happens.”
“When will we get to sleep again?” Sam asked, yawning. “And breakfast. What about breakfast? I get dizzy if I don’t have breakfast.”
Jack patted his son on the shoulder. “We’ll be in Morecambe soon. There’ll be breakfast there.”
They left the barn shortly after. Jack kept a listen out for anything lurking outside as they passed the rest of the farm, walked past the farmhouse. He peeked through the window as he passed, the first signs of daylight settling in a dark blue hue. It looked empty inside. Quiet.
But he didn’t want to take any chances. They were close enough to Morecambe. Better to just get there now.
“When we get to Happy Mount Park,” Sam said, kicking stones along the pathway. “What do we do there?”
Jenny tutted. “Thought you knew it all now.”
Jack glared at his daughter. She was still visibly freaked out by Sam’s behaviour last night. The seizure. And all the weird words. You are ours you are ours you are ours. Like he was victim of a demonic possession of some kind.