by Ryan Casey
He necked a couple. Swallowed them without water.
And he looked down at that wound on his side, and the bloodied stitches and a sense of dread crept through his body.
He stepped out of the bathroom, and he saw Rex sitting there, staring at him, ears raised.
Like he was worried.
“Come on, lad,” Max said, walking past him, back to his room.
He’d be okay.
Just needed to get the antibiotics in his system and keep the wound clean.
He’d be fine.
But as he got back in bed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in trouble.
Big trouble.
CHAPTER THREE
Aoife saw Seth kneeling before her.
She saw him staring into her eyes.
Saw that smirk on his face.
And she saw the rifle in her hands.
She wanted to stop herself.
She wanted to tell herself not to fire.
She wanted to hold back and resist and let him go.
Because he wasn’t going to haunt her.
He wasn’t going to torture her anymore.
He wasn’t—
And then she pulled the trigger.
A blast.
The side of his head bursting, right before her.
Blood splattering everywhere.
One eye staring back at her, vacant but focused.
She saw it all happening again, and then suddenly she was back in the bus.
The burning bus.
Harry pressing down on top of her.
And she was trying to get out.
She was trying to get out, but it wasn’t just Harry holding her down. It was the girl, too.
The girl she’d held the hand of as she’d tried to flee the oncoming falling plane.
The girl whose body had been torn away.
And Kayleigh, her friend, was there too.
Kayleigh, whose fate she hadn’t known.
Pinning her down.
She was trying to fight through all these bodies, all this weight.
But above, she could see the burning light getting closer.
She could see it hurtling towards her.
She could see the flames getting nearer and nearer and nearer…
She could feel the air getting hotter.
She could barely breathe because the smoke was so thick, filling her lungs, making her want to hurl.
And she could hear Seth’s laughter.
She could hear her brother’s cackling.
And she could see his one eye staring back at her, watching her.
You’ll never live this down, sis. You’ll never forget. I’ll make sure of it.
She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the fireball to slam into her when she felt a sudden burning pain and heard a scream.
She jolted upright, gasping. Her heart was racing, faster than it’d ever raced before. She was covered in sweat. Shaking.
But she was okay.
It was a dream.
Just a damned dream.
She put her head in her hands and sighed. Tried to get her breath back, to calm herself. Just a dream. No need to lose her shit about it. She’d had nightmares before, plenty of times. No need to let them get to her.
But that nightmare. It’d felt so real. So claustrophobic.
And she felt like it wasn’t going to be the last time she had that dream, either.
She moved her hands from her face. It was light, which meant it was morning. And the room she was in, a little unfamiliar at first, a little dusty, which caught on her chest. It was cold. So cold her teeth were chattering together. She could hear birdsong outside the window. It looked nice out there. Sunny.
But when she looked outside, out at the sun peeking past the trees, she felt her stomach sink.
The blackout. A part of her hoped the power was back. That it was just a one-day thing. That everything was under control now, and order was being restored already. That this wasn’t as bad as she feared it might be.
But then she looked across at the little black clock sitting on the bedside table in the spare room at Max’s place, and she sighed.
Dead.
Dead, bang on midnight.
She stood up. Still achy, still stiff, which was understandable after everything she’d been through. It was ambitious to assume the power might be back, anyway. Why was she even kidding herself? She’d seen planes fall from the skies. She’d seen buildings burning. She’d seen cars abandoned and chaos in the streets.
And she’d killed a man.
Killed her brother…
No.
She pushed that thought away immediately and walked towards the bedroom door. She didn’t want to think about what happened with Seth. Better to just push it to the back of her mind. She was good at compartmentalising things. Part of why she’d been so good as a solicitor for so long. Detach herself from the actions and the moral implications of her clients and the things they’d done.
But then… she’d had to leave that career. Because it all got too much for her.
So was she really so good at compartmentalising after all?
She looked out the window, out at the trees, out towards the sun. It was quiet here. Peaceful. Lots of birds, just going about their lives, oblivious to the human disaster that had just unfolded.
And it struck her, in a flash. The fragility of it all. The idea of a career change, which she’d been pursuing for so long, and how irrelevant it suddenly seemed.
Goals. Ambitions. Dreams.
All of them suddenly wiped out by this blackout.
She stood there and wondered just how long this was going to last. Whether it would be days, weeks, months, years.
And a strange part deep inside couldn’t help feeling… well, strangely drawn to surviving in the wilderness. To starting again—really, truly starting again. A great reset.
At least Dad had taught her how to survive back when she’d been a kid.
She thought of Dad, and a bitter taste filled her mouth.
What Seth said.
About how he’d pushed him down the stairs, killed him.
And how Dad used to be unkind to him…
She pushed those thoughts away, too.
Because that wasn’t the dad Aoife wanted to remember.
She heard movement outside the room. Turned around. Footsteps.
And she felt mixed emotions, once again.
A little fear. And a little relief, too.
Max. He was a bit of a pig. Rude as fuck. Miserable as it got.
But there was something about him she couldn’t help liking.
Something that drew her to him.
She wasn’t sure if it was just the guilt of what her brother had done to his family. She didn’t think so. She thought it was more than that.
But deep down, she found herself hoping she could stay here, with him.
Hoping she could live here and help out.
Because she knew about hunting. She knew about practical ways of surviving.
She wasn’t going to just hold him back.
She took a deep breath and stepped towards the bedroom door, opening it.
That’s when she saw him standing there.
He looked pale. Drenched in sweat. And Rex, the Rottweiler she’d rescued from a bunch of thugs, sat by his side, tongue out, looking concerned.
“You okay?” Aoife asked.
Max opened his mouth to respond.
He looked like he was going to nod.
And then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the hallway floor.
CHAPTER FOUR
Max opened his eyes.
He was lying on the floor. His head ached. He could taste blood at the back of his dry throat. He felt shaky. Weak. And this room he was in was bright, so bright.
For a moment, as he lay there, he wondered where he was. He felt a little lost. A little confused. Was he at home? Or was he at work? Had he blacked out on the job?
And then he saw the two faces above him, peering down at him.
Aoife.
Rex.
“Max?” Aoife said. “Are you okay?”
Max lifted himself up. He felt like shit, but he wasn’t one to mope. “I’m fine.”
“Fine?” Aoife said. “You just passed out. You reek of sweat. You’re burning up. You don’t look fine to me.”
He stood up. Felt a little dizzy. A little weak. Needed some food in him. Some energy. That was all.
Nothing to do with the stab wound on his right side.
As much as he knew that would be problematic. As much as he knew it was going to cause trouble.
Serious trouble.
“I’m fine,” he said.
He walked past her, a little unsteady on his feet. Rex stayed behind with her, staring at him like even he knew something was wrong.
“It’s the stab wound, isn’t it?” she said.
Max stopped. Sighed. “I’m taking antibiotics. It’ll be okay.”
“You were stabbed, Max. You were stabbed, and you look like you’ve got some sort of infection.”
“You a doctor now or something?”
“No. But I’m not an idiot. I know what infection looks like.”
Max wanted to argue, but he figured there was no point. He knew it was pretty fucking obvious he wasn’t well. But he didn’t need Aoife lecturing him about it, either. She was here because he’d asked her to stay. She had no right to start dictating and lecturing him about how he should be living his life. He was taking antibiotics, so he was going to be fine.
But deep down, he knew he was in trouble. Passing out with an infection wasn’t normal. Wasn’t ordinary.
“I don’t have much choice,” Max said. “I’m taking antibiotics. I’ve kept the wound clean. All I can do now is hope for the best. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some breakfast to…”
He lost his footing. Stumbled forward. He was dizzy. Shaking. Hot.
But before he could hit the wooden floor of his home, he felt the hands behind his back stop him, propping him up.
“What you need,” Aoife said. “Is to sit down. You’re burning up. You’re really sick. Whether you like it or not, the last thing you want to be doing right now is rushing around on your feet.”
“I don’t have much choice,” he repeated.
“No,” Aoife said. “That’s not true. You do have a choice. Because I’m here. Let me sort breakfast.”
“I’m very specific about how I like my porridge oats,” Max said as he stumbled over to the sofa.
“Well, Mr Fussy,” Aoife said. “You’re gonna have to just trust me on that one, just this once. Sit. I won’t be long. Although I can’t exactly microwave the oats, so it might be a bit longer than usual.”
“Thank the Lord for that,” Max said. “Who the fuck microwaves their oats anyway?”
Aoife shook her head, rolled her eyes. “Let me at least try to make you some food you won’t hate.”
Max wanted to stand his ground, wanted to protest. But in the end, he slumped back into that sofa. And he felt relieved to be off his feet. He didn’t like accepting any kind of weakness. Partly because it scared him. He was on his own, whether he liked it or not. And if he did get sick—when he got sick—he was going to have to handle it alone.
But now, having Aoife here, smelling the porridge oats, which she was cooking over a fire outside… it felt a relief. It wasn’t permanent. It wasn’t going to be forever. But for now, he was grateful for it. Thankful for it.
He wasn’t sure how long Aoife was gone before she returned inside with three bowls of porridge.
“Invited someone else?” Max asked.
Aoife put the bowl on the floor, which Rex dashed over to and demolished in an instant.
“Hey,” Max said. “Those aren’t for the dog.”
“There’s plenty.”
“There might be plenty now. But there won’t be if you keep on giving the greedy sod portions like that.”
“Shut up,” Aoife said. “It’ll be okay. Eat.”
Max looked at the bowl of porridge in front of him. Saw the steam rising from it. He didn’t feel very hungry and didn’t have much of an appetite. But he knew he needed to eat.
“You sure they’re cooked enough?”
“They’re cooked perfectly,” Aoife said.
“It’s just—”
“You’re very specific about your oats. Yeah. You said. And if you keep gabbing on, it’ll be cold. So get it eaten.”
Max shook his head. Sighed. Grabbed the bowl from her.
“You’re welcome.”
“Huh.”
He tucked into the oats. And as ghastly as the first few mouthfuls were, as much as it felt like he was eating cement mix, he started to get into it. To enjoy it. And he started to wonder if maybe the stab wound on his side might be okay. If the infection might be waning already. It’d be a miracle, but stranger things had happened in the world of medical science.
He glanced up over his bowl and saw Aoife staring at him.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing.”
She returned to her porridge bowl, eating it a lot slower than he was.
“Fine,” Max said. “Happy not to talk, if that’s how you want it—”
“I was just thinking… well, what next?”
Max frowned. “What next?”
“The power’s still out. And even though you’ve got a lot of stuff here… it isn’t going to last us forever.”
“‘Us’?” Max said.
Aoife blushed, just for a second. “I… I’m sorry. I just thought—”
“I told you how it was,” Max said. “There is no ‘us’.”
“I just thought after… after yesterday. And with you being ill…”
“Yesterday changes nothing. I appreciate your help. But… but it’s exactly as I said. You can stay. For a while. But only until you find your feet. But this… this is my home. And I don’t want anybody else around. I don’t need anybody else around. You’re tough. And you’ll make it just fine on your own in this world. But put aside any ideas you’ve got about ‘us,’ because that’s not how it’s gonna be.”
She sat there and stared at him. And he felt bad, saying those words. Because deep down, he wanted her to stay. Deep down, he liked having someone else around.
Deep down, he liked Aoife.
And that’s what scared him.
“And what about your fever?” she asked.
“What? I told you. I’m—”
“You might feel a bit better now. But what about when you don’t feel good? What about when you need more antibiotics? Or better medication? Because you’re going to need it. Don’t patronise me, Max. I know this is serious. And so do you.”
Max felt a flicker of irritation. He shrugged. “That’s my problem to figure out anyway.”
Aoife shook her head. Put her porridge bowl down, half-eaten, for Rex. Which irked Max even more. “You know what? I don’t even think you want to survive, do you?”
Max narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I think—I think you gave up when your wife and your son died. And I think you’ve… I think you’ve been looking for a chance to join them ever since.”
When she said those words, the second she said them, the hairs on the back of Max’s neck stood on end.
Because they resonated with him.
As much as he tried to deny it, he heard truth in them.
Terrifying truth.
But at the same time, he felt anger.
Total anger.
Aoife’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Tonight,” he said.
She frowned. “What?”
“I want you gone. By tonight. Take whatever you need for the road, as long as you check with me first. But you leave tonight. End of story.”
He put his porridge down on the side, just out of Rex’s reach.
&nbs
p; He stood up. Still a little shaky. Still a little sore.
And he glared into Aoife’s eyes.
“If you’d stopped your brother murdering my family, I wouldn’t be in this mess. None of us would.”
And then, before Aoife could respond, Max turned around.
He walked away.
But as he did, he couldn’t escape Aoife’s words, echoing around his mind.
“I think you gave up when your wife and your son died. And I think you’ve been looking for a chance to join them ever since.”
And the hardest thing of all?
He couldn’t hide from the fact that those words were true.
CHAPTER FIVE
Aoife stood at the door to Max’s house, and she knew what she had to do.
It was morning. A really bright morning at that. She’d woken up, seen to Max, made sure he was okay, even despite his collapsing and protestations.
And how had he thanked her?
He’d turned around and told her he didn’t want her help. That he wanted her to take whatever she needed and leave.
She looked out at the trees. At the sun beaming down from the bright blue winter skies. She could hear birdsong and the sound of the wind. There was a smell of smoke in the air from the fire she’d lit to cook the porridge in a pan over. She’d felt weirdly proud of herself, setting up that fire, remembering the variety of methods Dad taught her so many years ago.
The porridge wasn’t the best, sure. But she’d tried. She wanted to help Max.
And he’d just gone and thrown it back in her face and told her to leave.
She tasted a bitterness in her throat. She felt tired, groggy, which was probably why she felt so grouchy, too. But mostly, she felt strangely upset. Rejected.
And sure, she knew she probably shouldn’t have brought his family into it. But the way she saw it, what she’d said was true. He was giving up on life. He’d given up on life a long time ago.
And she didn’t want him to give up on life. She wanted him to see there was more to live for.
But then she took a deep breath, sighed. No point helping him if he didn’t want helping. There was only so much you could do for certain people. She couldn’t exactly go out of her way for him if he wanted to be alone.
She’d got caught up in this weird idea that he was somehow like her father. Something reminded her of him. Or maybe there was something deeper than that. Maybe she’d felt a strange… well. Connection with him. A similar, shared sense of loneliness.