by Ryan Casey
“What the hell is his problem?”
“He just shot a child, Aoife. He just killed that kid. And… Well. It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“Just leave it, okay?” Nathan said. “We get what we need, and we go back, and we bury the kid. It’s how it has to be.”
She wanted to ask him more. But she could see the pain in his eyes. Something alluring to his gaze. In his sadness, she found herself drawn to him. Weirdly attracted to him.
They reached the cabin, opened the door.
Immediately, Aoife knew something wasn’t right.
Moira was beside the sofa.
Tears streaming down her face.
“Moira?” Aoife said. “Everything okay?”
“It’s your friend,” she said. “It’s Max. He’s not good. He’s not good at all.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Harold stood by the kid’s body and tried to block the memories of the car accident out of his mind.
But looking at the boy’s dead eyes, at his empty stare, and at that deep red blood, it all came flooding back to him, unstoppable.
It was 1985. He was twenty-five at the time. He was driving Kevin, his son, back from taking him swimming. Kevin was shouting at the top of his voice. Screaming out that he wanted to stop for an ice cream.
“Mummy always stops!” Kevin wailed. “Mummy always stops after swimming!”
And Harold always kept his cool with Kevin. Never lost his temper. At least not in a bad way anyway. No hitting, no whipping with a belt, anything like that. Maybe shouted at him every now and then but didn’t like to. Wanted Kevin to respect and fear him enough that he wouldn’t even try pulling any shit with him, just like Harold’s father always used to be. Commanding authority and respect, that’s how he always used to operate.
But right now, Kevin was out of control.
And Harold had just got back from a long day working in the packaging factory. Long, monotonous, boring as hell.
He was just so happy to get home. Forgot he was taking Kevin swimming. And that was hard enough in itself, with all the out-of-control kids splashing around, not sticking to their lanes.
But now this performance about ice cream… he could do without it after the day he’d had, that was for sure.
“I told you, Kevin. The ice cream place is closed. You can try again next week when Mum takes you.”
But Kevin wasn’t having any of it.
“Then we should go to another one!”
“We aren’t going to another one,” Harold said. Keeping his cool. Keeping his eyes on the road. Even though, slowly but surely, he was losing his temper even more.
And Kevin just started wailing like mad. So loud that when they were at the traffic lights, people from passing cars and pedestrians on the street were looking around, peering in through the windows to check everything was okay.
And Harold didn’t like that. Never liked being judged by people.
He wanted Kevin to stop this performance.
He wanted an end to this wailing and screaming, right this second.
But it wasn’t stopping.
No matter how much he tried to stay calm, tried to keep his composure, there was just no stopping it.
He heard the scream pierce his eardrum, and that’s when he’d had enough.
That’s when he flipped.
“Kevin, can you just shut the hell up?”
He turned around.
Looked into his son’s wide eyes.
Saw him open his mouth as tears streamed down his cute little face.
“I’m sorry D—”
And then there was the screeching.
The car filling with light.
The sound of a blaring horn.
And then…
Harold shook his head. Pushed that memory away. He didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to ever go there.
But as he stood there in the cold, shivering, looking down at the boy beneath him, it brought it all back.
Because as much as this kid was one of the thugs who’d smashed a window… he didn’t deserve this.
And he’d been responsible for this.
He’d have this on his conscience forever. Live with the guilt, forever.
Just like he’d lived with the guilt over Kevin.
He looked up, away from the kid. He knew Nathan, his son, was right. Moira was, too. Couldn’t just leave the boy out here.
But this Aoife girl. The one who knew Max. She was right, too. They had to deal with the kid themselves. The rules had changed in this world. And he didn’t fancy scrapping with any of the thugs from down in the estate at the bottom of the fell.
He stood there, shivering. Rubbed his hands together. He could hear birds above. Crows cawing. Branches rustling. He felt like he’d been standing here for quite some time. A hell of a lot longer than he expected, anyway. What the hell were they bringing down here? They were only meant to be grabbing a shovel.
He glanced down at the kid again.
Saw a woodlouse crawling across his face towards his lips.
And then he flashed back to the car.
The heat of the flames.
The sharp metal pressing into his face.
“Please, Daddy. Please…”
No.
He couldn’t think of that.
Couldn’t let his mind go back to that.
He looked away from the boy when he saw movement up ahead.
The first thing he felt was relief. Because they were here. They were back. And that meant they could finally get to work on getting this boy buried. And then they could get back home and focus on the next step, whatever that entailed.
But then something weird struck him.
The direction they were coming from.
Nathan and Aoife wouldn’t come from below.
And then he saw the figures step out of the trees, and his heart skipped a beat.
It wasn’t Nathan.
It wasn’t Aoife.
But when he realised who it was, he really wished he had his rifle with him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Aoife saw Max lying there on the sofa, vomit trickling down his pale face, shaking violently, and immediately she knew this was serious.
Very fucking serious.
The house reeked of sick. Max was white as a sheet, shaking like mad, dripping sweat. His eyes were rolled back into his skull. He was a shadow of the strong man she’d seen yesterday. He was weak now. Vulnerable and weak.
And he needed help. He couldn’t even argue against that fact anymore. He was desperately ill.
Aoife walked inside the house, making a beeline for Max. Moira sat by his side, tearful, clearly haunted by the events of the day so far.
“When did this start?” Aoife asked.
“Just—just now. But he passed out not long after you left. I tried to wake him. I wasn’t sure what to do. I—”
“Mum,” Nathan said, stepping in. Putting a hand on her arm gently. Speaking in that calm, composed manner in which doctors always seemed to. “You’ve done what you can here. It’s okay.”
Moira shook her head. “It’s bad karma, Nathan. For what—for what happened to the boy. It’s bad karma.”
“I’ve got this. Okay? I’ve got this.”
He looked around at Aoife, then. Gave her that look that spoke a thousand words. He didn’t need to ask her to stay away from him while he saw to Max. To look out for Moira for a little while. The look in his eyes said it all.
“I’ll see to your mum,” Aoife said. “But just… just look after him, okay? Look after him. Please.”
Nathan nodded. Staring right into Aoife’s eyes. “I’ll do everything I can.”
She looked at Max as he lay there, bubbly saliva spewing down his face, and then she looked away.
She had a horrible feeling she wasn’t even going to see him alive again.
Moira sat on the chair at the other side of the room. As much as Aoife wanted t
o be stubborn, wanted to stand her ground and stay by Max’s side while he suffered, she knew Nathan was a doctor, and he needed quiet right now, so she should leave him to it. Accept his help.
“Hey,” Aoife said, approaching Moira slowly.
Moira looked up at her, like she was miles away and only just realising Aoife was actually there. “Oh. Hi, love.”
Aoife sat down right beside her. She knew it was rough for her. After all, she was feeling it, too. The crash. Watching Harry die. What she’d done to her brother yesterday. And what she’d witnessed today. All of it was creeping up on her, and it felt like she was on the brink of exploding at any moment.
“I know it’s not easy,” Aoife said. “What happened. I can’t… I can’t unsee it either.”
Moira sighed. “It’s just… He’s a good man, Aoife. I know he comes across stubborn and arrogant, and quite frankly, he hasn’t put across the best account of himself. But Harold is a good man. And he’s… he’s suffering. Suffering for something he did a long, long time ago. And now this. It just feels like everything is catching up. Like everything is spiralling out of control.”
Aoife nodded. She could hear Nathan speaking lightly to Max, who seemed to be easing now. Could see Rex lying at the foot of the sofa, ears down, whining a little.
She turned away. Focused her attention back on Moira. And then she reached over. Took her hand. “I know what it’s like to feel like everything in your life is spiralling out of control. It’s… it’s a feeling we’re all going to get used to. Because no matter what happens next, if the power comes back or not… things have changed. There’s going to be so much pain and trauma. But we’re going to have to find a way to process it. To manage it. And we can’t lose our grip. We can’t lose focus. We’ve… we’ve got to keep on going. No matter what.”
Moira looked up at Aoife. Half-smiled. “You’re sweet. A nice girl. I… wish we’d met in better times. But then I suppose the only way we’d be meeting in better times is if Nathan brought you home, hmm?”
Aoife felt herself blushing a little. “I…”
“He’s a good lad,” Moira interrupted. “Kind. Thoughtful. Always has been. He puts people before himself in a way that amazes me every day. But he’s been through some stuff. We all have, I suppose. It’s what makes us stronger. Right?”
Aoife tightened her grip on Moira’s arm. She thought about Nathan and what Moira said about him—about his kindness. And she realised she felt something, too. Entirely the wrong time to be feeling something, but it was there. No doubt about it.
But she pushed that to one side. There was no time for any of that. Not now.
“We’re going to get Max back to health,” Aoife said. “And if it doesn’t quite go to plan… then we’ll find a way. All of us will find a way. We have to.”
Moira looked back into Aoife’s eyes.
She half-smiled.
And for the first time in this entire exchange, she actually looked somewhat content again.
More at ease than before.
Aoife wasn’t sure how long she was sitting there when she heard shuffling behind.
She looked around. Saw Nathan standing there. Wide-eyed. Forlorn.
“How is he?” Aoife asked.
“He’s not good. I’m sorry.”
Aoife’s stomach sank.
“The truth is, he needs the kind of medication we don’t have here. Metronidazole and cephalosporin. A real cocktail of antibiotics. But that might not be enough. He might need intensive care. And as you know…”
“There isn’t such thing as intensive care anymore.”
Nathan brushed his hands through his hair in that way he always seemed to when he was stressed. “Only way there’s an ICU unit is if any of the hospital generators are still working. But they won’t have long left. And even so, ICU will be crowded.”
“So what do we do?”
“There’s only one hope,” Nathan said. “Get him the antibiotics he needs. Get him hooked up to an intravenous drip. And hope for the best. Pray, if that’s what you do. But doing that… it’s not going to be easy at all.”
Aoife sighed. “We have to try.”
“Are you sure this is a road you want to go down—”
“We have to try,” Aoife insisted.
Nathan looked like he was going to argue. Then he nodded. Sighed. “Then I’ll come with you.”
“Nathan?” Moira said.
“Mum,” Nathan said. “You were a nurse once. You know how to look after a patient.”
Moira shook her head. “But—but it’s different now. That was a long time ago. I—”
Nathan put a hand on his mother’s shoulders. “I have faith in you. You looked after me when I was ill, so many times. Looked after Dad, too. You know how to look after a patient.”
Moira lowered her head. “I can’t… I can’t lose you too.”
“And you won’t,” Nathan said. “You wait here. I’ll get Dad to bury the boy, and then I’ll get him back to you. And the pair of you are going to look after Max here while Aoife and I gather what we need. I can’t say how long we’ll be. But it’ll need to be fast because I don’t… I don’t think he’s going to last the night if we don’t get him some treatment, fast. So it needs to be now, Mum. It needs to be now. We can’t wait around. Not anymore.”
Moira shook her head. Wiped her eyes. And then she looked at Aoife, and then at Nathan, and she shook her head. “Come back to me, my boy. Please come back to me. Both of you come back to me.’
Nathan put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. Squeezed it, just a little. “I will. We both will. But now we have to leave.”
He kissed his mum’s forehead.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too.”
And then he turned away from her, walked over to the front door, Aoife following closely behind.
Rex looked up at her. Tilted his head. But he didn’t leave Max’s side.
She looked back at Rex. At Max. At Moira. And she hoped she’d look after him. Prayed he’d pull through.
“I’ll be taking this, too,” Nathan said.
Aoife looked around. Saw the hunting rifle in hand.
“I don’t want to have to use it. But we have to be prepared. For anything.”
Moira didn’t say anything. She just nodded like she was accepting the inevitability of everything.
And then Aoife looked over at Max. Lying there, so weak, so vulnerable, so defenceless.
“Look after him,” Aoife said. “Please.”
Moira took a deep breath. Nodded. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll…”
That’s when she stopped.
Because outside, there was a scream.
A man’s scream.
“Dad?” Nathan muttered.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Aoife heard the scream in the woods, and right away, she knew it was Harold.
“Dad,” Nathan muttered. His eyes were wide. He looked lost.
And he had that rifle in his hands.
And there was something about the whole situation that just felt dangerous.
“Nathan,” Aoife said. “We have to—”
“Dad,” Nathan said.
And then he took off. Ran. Ran into the woods, into the trees, right in the direction of his dad, in the direction they’d heard the scream coming from.
And Aoife didn’t want to go chasing after him. She didn’t want to go plunging towards danger. It sounded bad. And she dreaded to think what might have happened.
But on the other hand, Nathan had pledged to join her on her journey to get Max’s medication. So she couldn’t leave him to run towards danger on his own. She couldn’t just wait while he put his life at risk.
“Nathan!” she called.
She ran after him. Ran as quickly as her exhausted body allowed her. Her leg still hurt like mad from the glass being wedged into it yesterday. She still couldn’t quite believe that was only yesterday. How much had happened since then. Ho
w much shit had transpired.
“Nathan!” she called.
She ran into the trees. Deep into the woods. Behind, she could hear Moira shouting somewhere, calling her name, calling Nathan’s name. And as she ran, trying to keep her footing, she focused on the movement in the trees. The movement of Nathan. While all the time, trying to stay focused on her own steps. Trying not to tumble to the ground. Trying not to fall.
But struggling to keep her footing and keep her focus on Nathan.
She had to catch up with him.
She had to stop him running into trouble.
Because that scream, presumably from Harold… it wasn’t good.
She kept on running and running when suddenly she became aware of more movement around her, right behind her.
Like someone was chasing her.
She looked around, over her shoulder, the hairs on her arms standing on end.
“Rex?”
Rex ran after her. Something she was relieved to see. At least it wasn’t someone else. At least it wasn’t whoever had made Harold scream.
She turned back around and saw a tree right before her.
Before she could stop herself, she slammed into it. Fell back, hit the ground. The taste of blood in her mouth. Ringing in her ears. Her head spinning.
She sat there, a little shaken up, a little shocked, and she watched Rex run right past.
“No. Rex!”
She stood up, wiping a stream of blood away from her nose, which felt broken. She clambered dizzily to her feet then kept on running. She’d lost sight of Nathan now, but she could see Rex. He was chasing. Chasing Nathan.
And he was going to put himself in danger, too.
She couldn’t lose Rex, too.
She ran a little more gingerly forward through the trees. She could barely even see Rex anymore. But she kept on running anyway. Aching. Sore. Head spinning. Feeling sick as hell.
At least she hadn’t heard another scream.
At least she hadn’t—
A gunshot.
She froze.
Stopped, right on the spot.
And then she heard another gunshot.
And then shouting. Shouting she couldn’t make out.
She moved a little slower down the slope. She could see figures up ahead. She wasn’t sure she wanted to keep going. Wasn’t sure she wanted to see what was ahead.