by Ryan Casey
Jack clicked the door shut and locked it, and the three of them crouched on the floor and waited for the noise to go away.
He heard a few things. Struggling. Swooshing. It was getting pretty dark in this caravan, so he knew the sun would set soon. And that’s exactly what he wanted—what he needed. A break from the daylight. Because today had been a long day. A very long day.
The whooshing and the grunting went on for another minute or two, and then it stopped.
So too did the rumbling.
They waited for a few seconds, the three of them. Waited, completely still, listening for any indication that someone, something, might still be outside.
Nothing. Not even the sound of the wind.
They waited until the sun set, until the curtained room they were in was completely enshrouded in darkness.
It was Jenny who broke the silence.
“They gone?”
Jack waited another couple of seconds. Listened as hard as he could.
Then he nodded his head. “Gone.”
They stood up. Let their eyes adjust to the darkness of the caravan. The curtains were all up, but they couldn’t risk putting a light on. They couldn’t be the only source of light in this caravan site. Didn’t want to attract runners like moths around a flame.
Sam was quiet. Wasn’t saying much at all. Just sat there staring at the pink-carpeted caravan floor.
Jack put a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry about Thomas,” he said.
Sam nodded. “I just… he was okay today. He was… he was just like me.”
The words made Jack’s stomach tingle with the very thing he’d been worried about. Because Thomas had been just like Sam earlier that day. He’d had dreams. He’d got on with Sam like he was just an old friend.
But something had turned Thomas into a runner. Something, within the space of a day, had happened to Thomas.
From the way Jenny was looking at her brother, distant detachment, clearly she was feeling the same fears too.
“Better have a look around this place,” Jack said. There was no blood on the carpets, not that he could see, but for a little stain on the matted brown rug in front of the main door. The interior of the caravan was pretty well kept. A rounded table with white plates set out, not a scrap of food on them. Glasses, unfilled. It was like a model home. Somewhere unlived-in.
Jack’s head pulsated. He felt a yawn building up in his chest. Still hadn’t adjusted to sleeping at day and being awake at night. That was something he was going to have to get used to very fast. Something they were all going to have to get used to.
He walked through to the little kitchen area. Opened the mini fridge.
Tins of minestrone soup. Cans of Coca-Cola. Hell, even some chocolate bars. And in the stainless steel bread bin above the counter, a fresh loaf. Well, not completely fresh, but the freshest bread they were going to get. The blue bits, they could pull those off.
They sat around the table. Ate a bit of soup each in the darkness, dipped the bread into it. Sipped on Coca-Cola. The kids didn’t seem to mind that the bread was going off. They wolfed it down, in fact. It was good for them. Jack swore Sam’s cheekbones were drawing in even though they’d only been in this mess a few days. All that walking, and that lack of food to go with it… it couldn’t be good for anyone.
“We should pray and say thanks,” Sam said.
Jenny tutted. Groaned. “Like God’s gonna listen to us when all this bad stuff has happened.”
Sam ignored his sister. Closed his eyes. Placed his hands together. “Thank you to Jeff and… and to Thomas and Elissa for leaving this food with us. It’s very yummy. Amen.”
Jack tore a blue bit off the bread crust. “Wow. Got a poet in our ranks.”
Sam chuckled. It was nice seeing him smile. Hell, if Jack were a kid, no way he’d have been smiling through all this.
He stared into his son’s eyes. Squinted at them in the darkness. Saw a light of life in there. There was nothing glassy about them. He was okay.
He wasn’t like Thomas.
Jack so, so wanted to believe that.
Jack was about to have another spoonful of soup when he heard the thump from the back of the caravan.
They all went still. Stopped in their tracks, looked at one another to check they were all sane.
The thump came again. Jack saw it this time, too—the thin wall shaking at the back of the caravan, down beyond the kitchen.
His heart pounded as the thump came again. As he stood up, stepped away from the table.
“We didn’t see what happened to Elissa,” Jenny said.
As the wall thumped again, Jack held a bread knife in hand and figured he was about to find out.
TWENTY-NINE
Jack gripped the bread knife in his right hand and stepped towards the wooden door.
There were another few bangs. The entire frame of the card-thin, flower-patterned caravan wall rattled with the pressure. Pressure that could only be from one thing: a human.
Or a runner.
And with Jeff and Thomas lying dead on the road outside, it didn’t take a genius to figure out which of the trio this was.
Jack felt a hand brush against his side. He flinched, looked and saw Sam beside him.
“You go sit down with your sister,” Jack said, heart thumping, throat tight.
“But Dad, I—”
“Sit down with her. Now.”
Sam slumped his shoulders. Walked back through the kitchen area, over to the table in the poorly lit lounge area.
Jack waited until Sam sat down before he turned round, looked at the door again.
He stared at the wooden door. One of the bedrooms, by the looks of things, and from his prior caravan experience. He rubbed his tongue against his teeth. Tasted the remnants of minestrone soup in his mouth. It’d tasted so nice at the time. But since he’d heard the banging—since he’d faced up to what might be in the caravan—it didn’t taste so good.
The sour bread tasted even sourer.
He stopped right outside the door. Lifted the bread knife. Smelled his own sweat radiating from his body as he placed a hand on the circular metal handle. A push door. Pop it open and he’d be in the bedroom.
In to act. In to do whatever it was he had to do.
He let a sequence of events play out in his mind. A montage of possible outcomes.
Elissa could be behind this door. She could be alive.
But if she were alive, why would she be banging on the wall?
A knotting in his stomach. Tightened his grip around the handle. Held his breath.
Elissa could be a runner. He didn’t know how it worked. How people suddenly switched from being people to runners. Just that it did. He’d seen Thomas. Thomas was fine earlier today.
But on the road, gutting his dad, he wasn’t fine.
Maybe it happened to everyone. Maybe everyone turned.
He applied some gentle pressure to the door. Prepared himself for Elissa to jump out.
Maybe everyone turned. But he didn’t have time to contemplate the maybes now.
Another bang. Jack jumped. Looked over at his kids. Still around the table. Still watching, waiting, in the darkness.
He pressed even more on the door. His racing pulse clattered around his head, made him feel dizzy. He wanted this to be a dream. Some sort of imaginary scenario, some cock-up in his mind.
No. Face reality. Accept it. He’d been told that by some therapist in prison. Better to accept the truth than to deny it. Denial caused problems. Bigger, more integral problems.
He had to accept this.
He had to act.
He pressed on the door. Felt his belly spin completely as the door popped open.
He lifted the bread knife. Prepared to strike.
To Jack’s surprise, there was a light on in the bedroom. Over at the other side, a light above the bed attached to the wall.
Jack stumbled inside the room. Allowed his eyes to adjust.
The first
thing he registered was the blood.
Dark red blood all over the bed. He thought maybe it was a pattern on the sheets at first, but the bottom of the bed was white so it couldn’t be.
And the smell. The smell of urine. Of shit.
Something was wrong in this room.
He lowered the bread knife when he saw her on the floor. Saw her on her side, covered head to toe in blood, hand raised and ready to bang on the wall again.
He saw her and he never felt so much pity for someone in his life.
Elissa had been stabbed, there was no doubt about that. Loads of little piercing wounds in her white dress. Blood all over the floor, so much that Jack’s feet were starting to squelch in it.
Her face had been cut. Big scars making her mouth floppy and wide. Hair covered with sweat. Piss stains on her white underwear showing between her legs.
But the worst part was that she was alive. Alive, and shaking. Alive, shaking, and holding her bloodied hand up against the wall, banging on it like she was calling for help.
She stared at Jack. Stared at him, lips quivering, tears and blood dripping down her cheeks. She looked at him with a fear. A fear, and a recognition. Opened her mouth to talk, but it was too much pain as she let out a moan from the pit of her throat, spat out a blob of stringy, thick blood.
Jack felt a tear run down his cheek. For this right here was a true realisation. A true realisation of the world they were really living in now.
Thomas had done this. Little Thomas, who had been his mother’s pride and joy, had done this to her.
Thomas, who had been fine this morning.
Thomas, who loved his mum.
Jack turned around. Looked at his kids as they craned their necks, tried to see into the bedroom.
He shook his head at them. Pulled the door to, so it was just him and Elissa alone.
He walked towards her, chest getting tighter as he did, lump in the throat growing. He walked through the squelching blood, grabbed her floppy, shaking hand, crouched down beside her.
“I’m… I’m sorry this had to happen to you,” he said. He tasted salt. Salt from his tears. “I… I’m so sorry, Elissa.”
Elissa didn’t respond. Just sniffed. Kept her hand rigid.
“Your… your boy. Thomas. And Jeff. They’re… they’re at peace now.”
Elissa stared blankly, fearfully at Jack again.
And then she tightened her grip with her shaking hand. Tightened it, and even though her face was messed up, her mouth obliterated, her bottom lip shook like she was trying for a smile.
Jack tightened his grip on her hand. Nodded.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She nodded back at him.
“I’ll make it easy for you now. You know what I have to do, don’t you?”
Another tightening of Jack’s hand. Another sniff. Another shaking of the bottom lip.
Jack nodded again. Looked away. Closed his eyes. Held his breath.
He brought the knife down into Elissa’s temple. Brought it down again, and again, and again.
She tightened her hand around Jack’s. Tightened it, let out a little whimper, but no more pained than before.
And then her grip loosened. Her arm went weak. The whimpers were replaced by a rattling of the throat. A gargling of blood.
When Jack looked again, it rocked him to the core. Rocked him to the core to see his hands covered in blood, to see him crouching over a lovely woman with a knife in her temple.
But she was gone. She wasn’t suffering anymore.
He wiped his eyes with his non-bloody hand. Sniffed up. Reached down, closed Elissa’s eyes.
And then he wiped the bread knife on the bedsheets, flicked the little bedside light off and stepped out of the bedroom.
Sam and Jenny were standing in the middle of the kitchen. Both of them looked at Jack with fear and curiosity on their faces. Looked at him, but didn’t say a word. Looked at his bloody hands. The bloody bread knife.
He put the knife in his back pocket and nodded his head.
He knew his kids understood.
THIRTY
Jack lay back against the hardened carpet of the caravan and stared up at the ceiling.
His eyelids fluttered as he lay there in the darkness. His kids were beside him. He spent his time listening outside. Listening for scratches. Listening to footsteps.
No scratches. No footsteps. Nothing.
He heard Sam snoring a few times. Wanted to wake him up, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Besides, he was starting to have second thoughts about staying awake at night and sleeping in the day after all. Better to sleep when it was safe, now they’d found somewhere to rest. Better to be alert during the day. Better to stay low.
The world was too dangerous in the day to sleep through.
He looked over at the door. Squinted over at where he’d pushed a wooden cabinet up against it, blocking any route in. Somewhere in the distance, way away in the night, he heard a howling. A dog in pain, like a dog next door used to howl when it was in season, begging for company.
He thought about the outside world he once knew. Thought about all the animals. All the beautiful things. The birds he’d seen all along the ground, everywhere he went. The rodents. All dead, very few of them left.
He wondered what had caused all this. What one movement had caused everyone to go crazy, caused all the creatures to give up. Something to do with light, that’s all he knew. The sunlight, perhaps? It always did seem so warm in the day now. So warm, even though September was progressing. Warm even for a typical British late summer bloom.
If only he’d had the chance to enjoy a proper summer with his kids. If only he’d been the dad he never thought he could be when the world hadn’t gone to shit.
“She won’t be in pain anymore. Will she?”
Sam’s voice made him jump. He turned. Looked over at him as he lay there in the middle of the caravan floor, snuggled up to his sister. “Who?”
Sam looked over at the bedroom door. The door Jack had been behind, that he’d closed and vowed never to return to. “Elissa. She won’t be in pain anymore, will she?”
Jack gulped. Felt the hairs on his arms stand up. Although he’d washed the mass of blood from his hands, cleaned the knife he’d stabbed Elissa with, he could still feel it crusting between his palms. “She’s not in pain anymore. Jeff, Thomas… none of them are.”
Sam simply nodded. Nodded, just the once, like he was accepting what his dad was saying.
“I’m scared, Dad.”
Jenny’s voice took Jack even more by surprise. Surprise, because it sounded quivery, and he swore he could hear her sniffing.
Jack moved towards her. Placed a cautious hand on her hair, which was smoother now she’d taken a cold shower. She’d changed out of her filthy pyjamas too, and into a baggy white t-shirt and some blue jeans that were in one of the cupboards of the back bedroom—the one that Elissa wasn’t inside. “You… I know, honey. We… we’re all scared. It’s… it’s not nice out there.”
She sniffed again. “I just want… I never liked school. Never liked the people I hung around with. They were so mean to other people. But I… I just want to go back now. I just want to go back to maths and do sums and—and… I just want to be normal again.”
Jack leaned closer to his daughter. Brushed her hair some more. Her tough little exterior, it was parting. Revealing her softer inside. If anything, it was Sam who seemed the tougher of the kids now. Sam, who wasn’t crying. Sam, who was moving closer to his twin sister, telling her everything was going to be okay.
“We’re safe as long as we’re together. Okay?” Jack said. “We’re safe as long as we stay together. And we stay together no matter what, us three. No matter what’s ahead, we stay together. We stay strong. This Ticklemonster is always here for you from now on. I promise you that.”
He kissed his daughter’s head and felt the tears building up in his eyes.
He wrapped his arms around Jenny. Let Sam tuck hims
elf under his arms too.
And then he closed his eyes and he lay there with his children, together in the silence of the caravan, as the dog continued to howl in the distance.
***
Jack didn’t realise he’d been sleeping until he heard the scratching.
His eyes jolted open. He looked around. Jenny was on her feet, standing over by the window. Sam was peeping through the curtains.
“Kids,” Jack said. His voice felt groggy, his head spinning with lack of sleep and a screwed-up body clock. “What… get away from the window—”
“There’s a man outside,” Jenny said.
Jack’s stomach dropped. His knees went weak. He walked over to the curtains. Walked over to them, blinked a few times to try and get his vision working better. It was still dark, so he couldn’t have slept for long.
“Away from the window. Both of you.”
“He looks lost,” Sam said.
Jack pushed his kids away from the sofa. Climbed onto it, kneeled on it, peeped through the curtains.
There was a man outside the caravan, the kids were right about that.
He was right outside it. Right outside, staring in through the window. He had a light. A little luminous blue torch. He was bald. Quite muscular, but very skinny. Wearing a long black coat. Shoes worn down to nothing.
He lifted his hand. It was shaking. He waved right at Jack. Stared at him with his terrified, grey eyes and he waved.
Jack didn’t wave back. Just felt more and more tightness inside.
“Who is it, Dad? Why’s he in the road?”
“Help me out. Please.”
Jack could hear this man through the glass. And that’s what just made the whole situation all the more creepy, all the more real. This man, stood in the middle of the road with a light pointing at his face.
A light that would attract runners.
A light that would bring the runners right to this caravan doorstep if Jack didn’t do something fast.
Jack started to close the curtain. Started to close it, this tearful bald man shaking and begging, climbing up the driveway stones. “Please,” he said.