by Ryan Casey
He grabbed another two knives and placed them in his children’s shaking hands, and he knew they had to go down fighting too.
There was no other way. Not anymore.
The wait for the runner to make a move felt like forever, but when it did, it came at them fast.
Jack raised the knife. His shaking kids did the same.
He waited for the contact. Waited for it to fly at him, for it to tumble to the floor, then for the others to flood into the bus and end it.
It was going to end here. Everything was going to end.
He got ready to thump the knife into the runner’s chest.
And then there was a blast and the runner fell to the floor in front of them.
Jack stood still. Cold blood splattered on his face, it took him a moment to figure out what was going on. Figure out who the figures stepping on the bus were, what the blast had been.
And then he saw someone opposite him. Kept his knife raised as a few more figures entered the darkness of the bus. “Must’ve missed one of ‘um,” a deep voice said.
They started to turn away. Started to walk off the bus.
And then one of them stopped. Stopped and stared at Jack.
They flicked a light on—just a little torchlight. Shone it right at Jack and the kids. Didn’t speak, and neither did Jack or the kids. Complete stasis. Complete silence.
And then: “Holy shit. Holy motherfucking shit.”
He leaned around the entrance to the bus, almost tumbling in the excitement. Grabbed the other figure by its shoulder.
“Survivors, Jim. Actual survivors.”
FORTY-THREE
“We didn’t think anyone was out here. Thought it was just us.”
Jack and the kids walked down the dark road beyond the bus with Stuart, and two other people called Jim and Mandy. Jack’s heart was still pounding as he listened to Stuart’s words. Listened to the words of another human being— a human being who had saved them from near-certain death.
“Been walking for days. Came from over Manchester way. Then we heard the siren. Saw the message. Guessing that’s why you’re here?”
Jack nodded. He held Sam’s and Jenny’s hands. It was hard to get a proper idea what Stuart looked like in the dark. Looked quite bulky, and he had lengthy grey hair. Jim was much more slight, quite tall and lanky. Mandy was short and even thinner than Jim.
Every time something made a sound in the surrounding shops, Stuart swung round and pointed his pistol at it. The gun—Jack wondered where he’d got it. Now he’d established that these three weren’t anything to do with the safe place or with the message, he became a little more wary of them around his children.
They seemed decent enough people. Decent enough people just trying to survive, like Jack.
But Rodrigo had seemed decent enough. There was no room for complacency anymore.
“What’s Manchester like now?” Jack asked.
Mandy shrugged. “Didn’t stick around long enough to see. But if you’ve seen any city, you get the picture.”
“Wrecked,” Jim said.
Jack caught Stuart looking at his kids as they carried on down the road, underneath the railway bridge. Tightened his grip on their hands.
“Sorry,” Stuart said. He looked away as soon as he saw Jack watching him. “Just… the things. The things we’ve seen on the road. It’s just good to see two kids all alive and well.”
Jack figured best not to mention Sam’s seizures. He was alive: he’d take that.
“Where’d you get the gun?” Jack asked.
Stuart shrugged like he didn’t know what Jack was talking about, then nodded as if realising. “Oh, this little thing. Paul, old friend of mine, he ran a shooting range. Kept a few live ones on the side. He’s gone now.”
Good enough answer. No flaws to dig in it. “Sorry to hear that.”
“You aren’t. If you’re anything like us, you’ve seen so much death and loss that it’s hard to keep on feeling sad for other people anymore.”
“So where’d you come from?” Mandy asked.
Jack looked up the road and into the darkness ahead. “Came up from Preston.”
“Ah, Preston,” Jim said. “I had a cousin who lived there. Shelley Watson. I… I don’t suppose you know if…”
“It’s a big place,” Jack said. “I don’t. But Preston’s not in a good way either. Sorry.”
That quietened Jim right off.
“It’s a sorry world now,” Stuart said, as they followed a turn in the road, away from the abandoned shops, away from the centre of Arnside. “Some of the things we’ve seen—”
“Don’t barrage the man with doom and gloom,” Mandy said. “Sure he’s seen enough of it himself to forge his own stories.”
Stuart shook his head. “My bad. I have a mouth on me, so I’m told.”
Jack shook his head. “Fine. Nice to hear someone speak.”
“Your kids are quiet. Rough time for kids.”
Jack looked at Sam and Jenny. They both had their heads down, neither of them looking at any of the newcomers. “They’ve seen a lot. Been through a lot. Just looking for the next place to rest for a few days.”
“Because that’s all it is now, hmm?” Stuart said. “Finding the next place to rest. No such thing as home anymore. Just the next place, and the next, and the next.”
“Hopefully—hopefully this place will be different,” Jim butted in with his nervy voice.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Stuart said.
Jack felt the pain in his side growing as they went further down this endless road. He started to worry. Worry that maybe this place had already fallen. Maybe this safe place was the bus—and he knew something had happened on the bus. Something terrible.
The bullet wounds in their heads. Same as those at Happy Mount Park.
“Jim here reckons it’s the terrorists that did it. Some kind of nuclear hookey-pookey bullshit.”
“Like to hear your theory,” Jim snapped.
Mandy tutted. “Alright, boys. Play nicely. This is what I have to put up with.”
Jack smiled out of politeness, but Stuart didn’t seem finished with the conversation. “Definitely no nuclear shit. Something natural. Have you felt the sun? Smelled your skin when you’ve been out in it? Burning. Burning smell, always the same. And then there’s the animals, the children, the flames out of nowhere—”
“The children?” Jack said. “What about the children?”
Although he couldn’t properly make out Stuart’s face, he could sense him looking at Sam and Jenny again. He cleared his throat. Mandy and Jim lowered their heads.
“He doesn’t know,” Mandy said.
“Know what?”
“Erm, maybe now’s not the time.”
Jack stopped. Stopped walking completely. “You don’t tell me that now’s not the time. What do you mean, ‘the children’? What are you talking about?”
Stuart looked at Jim and Mandy then he sighed. “Well, we don’t know nothin’ official. Nothin’ real, this is just what we seen. But the… the kids. They don’t last as long as us. They ain’t as strong.”
Jack felt a tingling in his throat. Jenny leaned in closer to him.
“What’s he mean?” she asked. “What’s he mean we don’t last?”
Stuart scratched his beard. “See, I knew this wasn’t a good idea right now—”
“What do you mean they don’t last as long?” Jack asked.
He stepped close to Stuart. Looked him right in his eyes, even though they were enshrouded in darkness.
He heard Stuart let out a sigh. Saw him shake his head a little.
“They… they become the monsters,” Stuart said. “All of them. They turn.”
The news hit Jack like a bullet to the chest. “No. That’s not possible. My children aren’t gonna—”
“My four kids turned,” Mandy said. “I found my two eldest sons tearing the guts out of my husband.”
“And my little—my lit
tle sister changed later than the rest,” Jim said. “One minute she’s fine, the next… almost killed me.”
They stood there in silence. Stood there in the darkness, Jack soaking the news up.
He felt the warmth of his children’s hands in his. Looked at them. Looked at Sam, who’d had all his seizures, who’d fought so hard to get to this point.
And then at Jenny. Jenny, who had stayed so tough. Who’d shown a maturity way beyond her years.
“You have to do what you have to do,” Stuart said. “When they have the first dream. The one about the dancing stars.”
Jack frowned. The dream about the dancing stars. The dream Sam had days ago. “The… What do you—”
Something whooshed past Jack’s head. Sent a searing sting across it.
And then a warm fluid splashed over his face and Stuart’s head exploded and he fell to the ground.
Jack turned around. Turned around and tried to understand. Understand what had happened, what the noise was, what the—
Another whoosh.
A shout—choking. Mandy was clutching her neck. Clutching her neck as blood pooled out of it, as it filled up her airways.
Gunshots.
Someone was shooting at them.
Jim stood frozen over the dying bodies of his companions. Shook, whimpered, as the whooshing of bullets continued to fire in their direction.
“Quick!” Jack shouted.
He wanted to wait for Jim. Wanted to wait for this new companion, but he was frozen like an animal in the crosshairs.
Jack ran with his children as fast as he could as the gunshots continued to fire.
There was nothing he could do for Jim.
Only for himself.
Only for his children.
FORTY-FOUR
Jack held his kids’ hands and he ran as fast as he could away from the gunshots.
He felt them whoosh over his head. Heard the blasts hit the windows of houses, the concrete of the road around them. He heard shouting behind, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from Jim or whether it was from the gunmen or someone else entirely.
All he knew was that he had to keep on running. Running away from the gunmen. Running into the darkness.
Running to keep his children safe.
The entire right side of his body throbbed with pain and he could feel himself slowing down, but he knew he just had to keep on going. He looked to the right. Squinted at the abandoned buildings beside him. Looked for some kind of opening as footsteps sounded behind them. He didn’t care if there were runners inside the buildings, or what might happen. All he cared about was his children.
And if he didn’t find somewhere to hide, he’d fail his children. He’d fail himself.
He’d fail as a father.
The gunshots stopped. Not suddenly—they just petered out, slowed down. Jack couldn’t hear any footsteps either. But he didn’t want to take any chances. Still had to find a place of safety. Still had to find somewhere to hide, even if just for a few minutes.
Even if just to prolong their lives a few seconds longer.
He saw it on the right. A car with its front door partly open. Nobody inside it, not that he could see.
“Quick,” he whispered.
His children followed him. They didn’t cry. Didn’t whimper. Just ran with him. They were brave. So, so brave.
He was so proud of them.
Jack went into the car first. Checked it—definitely empty.
He lifted Sam. Placed him on the back seat. Did the same with Jenny, kissed her on her cheek as he did.
“Lie down. Don’t move a muscle.”
And then he ran around to the front of the car and crouched down as well as he could in the passenger seat.
He listened for the footsteps, for the gunshots, but he couldn’t hear a thing for his racing heart. He took a few shaky breaths in. Smelled sweat, the dull hint of a raspberry air freshener lingering in the car.
Just calm yourself. Be calm, like you were on that first night in prison. Be calm, like you were when you were moving house all those times as a kid.
Be brave for your children.
He opened his eyes even though it didn’t do him much good. About 6 a.m now, so still no sign of sun.
But it would be here soon. It always showed up. Never failed to attend.
He listened as well as he could. Squinted, as if that would help with his hearing somehow.
Still couldn’t hear a thing.
Maybe they’d outrun the gunmen. Maybe they’d got away. It was dark, after all.
The bullet holes in the heads of those on the bus. And the bullet holes on Happy Mount Park. And Stuart’s head. Stuart’s exploding head that he’d still not quite come to terms with.
These people. It had to be these people, whoever they were.
He turned to look at his kids. They were both lying flat across the back seat of the car.
“You okay?” he asked.
Both of them took a few seconds before they replied. It was Sam who broke the silence. “They… they shot us. Why would they shoot us?”
Jack reached through to the back seat. Put a hand on his son’s. “Better not to think why, son. They’re… they’re gone now. They’ve gone away.”
“I don’t like the world anymore,” Sam said. “I… I’m scared of it.”
Welling up in Jack’s throat. Gripped Sam’s hand a little tighter. “We’ll battle through it, you and me. All three of us, we’ve got this far. We’ll keep on going.”
Sam tightened his hand back.
Jack felt tears building in his eyes. Because as much as he wanted to believe his own words, he wasn’t sure he could anymore. This world—it was just day after day of constant struggle. A day itself felt like forever, what with all the hoops they had to jump through just to stay alive.
And then the food would run out. Shelter would deplete some more.
Was it a world worth living in?
As Jack rolled around, adjusting himself, he thought back to Stuart’s words. The words about the children—about how they all turn.
The dreams about the dancing stars. Where it all starts.
Sam had dreamed of the dancing stars days ago. He’d got progressively worse from there.
“I’ll be here for you no matter what,” Jack said. He got a flash in his mind. A flash of ending it all for all of them right here. Ending their pain. Ending the inevitable suffering that lay ahead for them.
But that thought scared him. Terrified him. He felt guilty for even thinking about it.
“We’ll fight on,” he said.
They waited in the car a little longer. Waited until they were absolutely sure it had gone quiet outside. When Jack was confident, he sat up. Scanned outside, which was gradually and gradually getting lighter. No sign of anyone. They must’ve gone. Must’ve moved on.
He opened the car door carefully. Didn’t want to make any noise. He stepped out. Opened the back door. Helped Jenny out, then Sam.
“Where now?” Jenny asked.
Jack examined his surroundings. Examined the lack of any kind of safe zone, any kind of life. Maybe it was a set-up. A set-up by the people with the guns. They were clearly well equipped, and they had some kind of mission—who knew what lengths they might go to to lure in more people to execute? Jack couldn’t contemplate their motives. Couldn’t contemplate anyone’s motives in this new world.
Rules had changed, he knew that. The people behind the guns, they might have their reasons.
He just had to make sure his children and he didn’t cross that reason.
“I guess we just… we just loop around Arnside. See if there’s anywhere decent to stay before sunrise. Then just… well. Stay there until…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. The way his kids nodded, he knew they understood now. Knew this wasn’t just one big novelty adventure anymore.
It was living day to day. Hour to hour. Minute to minute.
Jack wondered about Jim. Wondered w
hether he’d got away. The way he was frozen as he stood over Stuart and Mandy’s gun-shot bodies, he couldn’t have survived much longer.
He was about to ask Sam if he was okay to walk when he heard the footsteps in front of the car.
He turned. Turned slowly, his stomach sinking, his grip on his children getting tighter.
From the building to the right, a man stepped out. Wearing a black bulletproof vest. Carrying an assault rifle. Sunglasses—or likely night vision—wrapped around his forehead.
And then another man followed. Less well equipped, but this time with a riot shield, wearing a checkered shirt. Also armed.
One more man stepped out from the building at the side of the car. Jack tried to step back, but there was another behind them—two of them blocking their way out. They surrounded them. Blocked any escape route.
All carrying guns.
When Jack looked back at the men in front, he saw another man being dragged along. His hands were bound behind his back, and he looked badly bruised and beaten in the rising dawn.
Jim.
The man who had stepped out first pulled off his sunglasses. Big, bearded face. Yellowing teeth. Hardly looked like a stereotypical guard or member of authority.
“Glad you stuck around for the party,” he said.
He looked at Sam and Jenny. Grinned at them with his rotting teeth. Jack could smell his putrid breath from a metre away.
“Back off,” Jack said. “We don’t want any trouble. Just let us leave.”
“Let you leave?” he said. He turned around to his friends. Chuckled. They all grinned and chuckled too. The one behind Jim tightened his grip on Jim’s hair, his mouth gagged with duct tape to stop his screams. “Why would you want to leave company like us, my friend? You came here for the message, didn’t you?”
A weight sunk to the bottom of Jack’s stomach as his kids moved in closer to him. The message. It was this guy. This guy and his gang of thugs. He’d screwed up, again. He’d brought his kids here. It was his fault.
“Please,” Jack said. Heart pounded. Didn’t know what else to say. “I… My children. Please.”
“You just keep on goin’ on about your children,” the bulky leader said. He got closer to Jack. “And truth is, they look healthy. Healthy by kids’ standards in these days, anyway. Ain’t that right, lads?”