by Brady, Eoin
“I refuse to listen to that from a person who wants to take away fundamental American rights from the people. You’d flood a country unaccustomed to guns with weapons that cannot be traced? There’s no rule of law over there currently. You would only add to their troubles and ours. Don’t forget, they know our warships are patrolling their coasts to keep us safe. You would risk American lives by arming a potential enemy?”
“An enemy? This country was built in part by the Irish. These are unprecedented times, historic events.”
“I’ll not see America come to harm because of those people.”
Fin walked away from the television when he read the headline at the bottom of the screen: ‘Christmas Day Death Toll’. George and Rebecca were wrapped up in the debate, giving out to the television as if they were watching a football match. They only looked away when Fin placed two durable shopping bags on the table. “Happy Christmas,” he said.
“Ah, you big softy.” George shook his. “Is it a pistol? You shouldn’t have. Eh – I’m not into giving material things as presents.”
“I bet you only ever tell people that after they’ve given you yours. If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.”
“I said I wasn’t into giving them, but I’m all up for receiving them.”
Inside each bag was a walkie talkie, with a little bow of tinsel stolen from the Christmas tree tied around the aerial, a selection box that Solene had gifted him and a nice bottle of merlot that the restaurant manager had left out.
“Not sure what the range is like on those radios,” Fin said. “I know I’d feel more comfortable if we had them. George, if you want to stay…”
He stopped with a mouthful of chocolate. “Was there talk of me having to leave?”
“No, I’m just thinking, if there are three of us then we should start a watch. What if one of those things does get in, or people become desperate? Better to keep a lookout and be ready than not.”
“What’s going to happen when this is all over?” Rebecca asked.
“Let's stay around to find out,” George said.
They raised their glasses in a toast to each other and to ‘seeing this out.’
Dinner was a sombre affair as they used up the last of the perishable vegetables. The eggs were gone too. Afterwards they lapsed into silence, only speaking to squabble over what movie to watch. In the end they chose one that they did not all agree on, but could not disagree too strongly against. They were comfortably drunk and happily full.
“We’ve worked together for over two years you and I,” Rebecca said to George. “And coming on a year for us,” she raised her glass to Fin. “But I know hardly anything about either of you.”
“Well, I’ve just been sitting here thinking over the different choices I made that got me here,” Fin said. “Like, if I chose to study a bit harder for a semester in college, or if I found something that interested me enough to follow as a passion, where would I be now?”
“Dead. You could have stayed in and studied a bit longer and then got hit by a bus crossing the road because you were there at the wrong time. The world ends and you get weepy over not finishing college?” George said. “Let me guess, once the last zombie falls you’re going to dedicate a few evenings a week to a night course, get that degree to hang proudly on your shelter wall. Lad, I don’t see this ending the way you think it will. Say they were all magically struck down as some Christmas miracle, how many people have already died? Nobody with access to a newspaper, radio or television across the world has not been affected by this. Sure there are tribes in Africa sending what aid they can to us. At any moment, a loved one could turn into something you can no longer reason with. Feelings, memories – all mean nothing to the undead. They have one goal and we are it. The world has changed. Hanging on to old ways is only going to make it harder to change with it.”
“Here’s a thing to think about,” Rebecca said. “Christmas decorations are now going to be up in towns and houses across the country for months, if not longer. Imagine this plague did wipe us out –”
“Is it a plague or an epidemic, or is it a pandemic?” Fin interrupted.
“I think pandemic means its traveling around the world. Can you imagine what the economy will look like after this? Nobody’s working, no taxes generated,” George said.
“There’s probably some poor soul in the arse end of Connemara, at work right now,” Rebecca said.
George snickered. “Yeah, news will get out to sub-Saharan Africa long before it reaches deepest Connemara.”
“Anyway, what I was getting at was,” Rebecca continued, “imagine our collected knowledge is dissolved. Society fractures and a few generations pass. What will those people make of us? Us building shrines to trees that never need watering, never grow old or shed. Who was that fat man in the red suit they worshiped? Was he a benevolent God? I mean how freaky would that be? Imagine a religion starts up around it.”
“Consumerism?” George said pointedly.
“Ah, it’s just the whiskey wanderings of the mind,” Rebecca said.
Fin tried not to imagine a world so far gone. People always come back after disaster. The Irish could.
“A lot of things will change,” George said. “Priorities mostly. There are a lot of hungry people in hiding right now, with dwindling supplies. I can tell you, there will be a lot of money made by people writing gardening books.”
“Somebody is profiteering,” Rebecca put her drink aside and went onto water. “This seems too quick to be natural.”
Fin ignored that. “I think that’s what I want to do after all of this. Learn how to be self-sufficient, live off the land and teach others how to, too. Right now, I think I’d be dead by next week if I did not have a can opener.”
After George’s arrival they divided the food supply again. With an extra person, they watched solemnly as their time in safety was fractioned. They spent the night coming up with outlandish plans on how they would make the hotel safer. There was talk of having rappel ropes tied to wardrobes beside upstairs windows. That idea was scrapped when nobody offered to tie the lines and everybody agreed no matter who did, none of them would trust it.
George suggested a redoubt on the roof, should the zombies get inside the building, but considering the effort it would take, it was vetoed. “We’d be stuck on a four-storey building in the middle of winter, on the west coast of Ireland and you’re after saying you wouldn’t use ropes to climb down from the second floor,” Rebecca said.
“Well what are we supposed to do then?” George’s frustration was mounting.
“We make no noise and wait for this to end.”
Before they could get into an argument, Fin called them over to the restaurant window. On the mountain, a lantern light shone in the darkness, the person living in the church was making the climb. They stood in reverent silence as the light rose slowly. George opened the window to let in the frigid night. He shook his head and returned to their table, unable to watch the man on the mountain. He held no magic for him.
By the end of the night, they had agreed that the best plan was to ensure the zombies never made it inside the building. Fin fell asleep listening to the snores of George and Rebecca. It was a comfort he thought could replace his growing dependence on alcohol.
He was woken by a loud squawk from his walkie talkie. “Are ye up yet lads?” George asked over the radio. “I’ve finished a walk around the hotel, no windows are broken. I’m in the kitchen making breakfast, if yous care to join. Feel free to take your time, means more rashers for me. We’ve plenty of orange juice if yous want to mimosa up this fry.”
“Can we kick him out?” Rebecca asked, as she sat up with a groan. All of them slept fully dressed with their shoes on. “We’re coming down now,” she said.
Fin noticed a thick book beside his pillow, ‘Grow Through Your Garden’. He opened the front cover and written inside was ‘It’s mostly flowers, not much you can eat in it, but the principle has to be the same
for vegetables. Happy Christmas – George.’
“I bet he forgot to write my name on it too,” Rebecca said. “He get that from the library in the lobby?”
Fin smiled. “Yeah, if we’re here long enough, we’re going to have to start regifting some of the things we steal from the hotel.”
15
The Fall
George lay back in a comfy recliner that he had brought from the lobby into the bar. His breathing was laboured after a second helping of breakfast. Rebecca had mentioned rationing a few times during the meal, but they all agreed that they had to celebrate Christmas, if only a little.
She moved melting ice-cream across her plate. “I’ve had a look over the records again and the security cameras. I’m sure that we’re alone. No more surprises.”
“I still think we should sweep the hotel room by room,” George said. “Each floor has a storeroom for the housekeeping staff, they keep everything there from tea bags and coffee to the little chocolates they put on the pillows. The suites have mini fridges, vacuum packed blocks of cheese, fancy meats and chocolate.”
“If either of you suggest that we split up, then I’m out,” Fin said.
“Have you been watching horror movies?” Rebecca passed her plate across to George, who had been eyeing up her dessert.
“Yeah, wonderful escapism.”
George burped and put his hands behind his head. “You know, if we ignored the news and just forgot about the rest of the world, this wouldn’t be half bad.”
“What about survivor's guilt when this ends? We’re just going to walk out of here when the all-clear sounds as if we were on holiday?” Rebecca pushed her chair away from the table, ready to get back to work. She seldom stayed still for long.
“None of us are getting out of this unscathed,” George said. “We’ve all lost somebody, or some essential part of ourselves. You look back a few hundred years into history and think how brutal life was for them. We think we’re far removed, but we’re not. Take away our modern conveniences and add a new predator to the food chain and see how quickly we fall.”
Before they started emptying the rooms of anything useful, they walked the ground floor with a clipboard and pen, making notes of all the potential weaknesses and problems. The glaring one was the rope that George had used to get into the car park.
“We can’t just leave it there, it’s too much of a temptation for others,” Fin said.
George tugged on it and the line went taut. “I watched a video on how to tie one of those knots that you pull on and it comes loose, but I wasn’t going to actually do it. I’m not stupid, I tied that thing so tight you’d need a knife to get it loose.”
“If I was desperate and I saw the rope and the window you broke to get into the lobby, I’d try it. Somebody else already did the hard part and went first,” Fin said.
“I’ll go up and cut it free, just not today.” George walked to the end of the car park where the smoking area, bins and generator were. “How long do you think it will last if the power goes?”
It hummed merrily, ignorant to the changes in the world. Metal railings protected the generator, it was as large as a small truck and cost more than the three of them would make in a lifetime on their current wages. “Honestly, I’ve never had to use it, power has never gone out here in my time,” Fin said.
“Say we disconnected it from whole hotel, just used it for a few small things, that could last us a fair amount of time.”
“George, they had to bring the engineers that designed it to install it and it wasn’t done in a day,” Fin said.
“We have nothing but time.”
“Yeah, but not to get an education in engineering. Oh, and a bit of physics on the side for good measure. But you’re not factoring in the time it would take me or Rebecca to learn how to resuscitate somebody that channeled a lightning storm through their body.”
George exhaled and took a picture of the company brand on the side of the generator. “I’ll check their website later.”
David’s body was still propped up by the gate. Ciara looked restless where she lay. Given what was going on with the dead in the country, it unsettled Fin to leave her there. Risk of contamination kept them from getting close enough to cover her body, though they all knew that – to cover her – would insinuate that there were others inside, living comfortably enough to respect the dead. Fin could not help but think that the natural rot of her corpse was far slower than the decay taking root in the minds of survivors. How far will I go to live? How far will I have to go?
The basement held the real prize. The deep, dark warren was the last place they wanted to be, so they decided to get it over with before starting the easier tasks. Fin stopped on the stairwell. He knew Ciara was not down there but the fear he felt with her chasing him came rushing back. Rebecca put a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” George asked. He already had the fire door into the basement open.
Fin took a few breaths to settle himself. “It just hits me sometimes that this is real. It’s like a panic attack, except with dread. She was down here for days, sick and dying.”
“I’ve been down already, Fin. It’s empty,” Rebecca said. “The storeroom was locked, she couldn’t have gotten into the fridges or workshop. If you don’t want to come…”
He walked in, ahead of George, and turned on the flickering lights. Warm, exposed heating pipes kept the chill out of the naked concrete. Old broken furniture and empty crates lined the walls. The walk-in fridge that stored the kegs and drinks for the bar hummed and clicked. George opened the door and light flooded out. It was full of kegs, boxes of cider, racks of wine and boxes of craft beer. He laughed and mumbled something about how they were going to be fine.
Fin unlocked the dry storeroom. Four pallets of bottled water filled a corner, half sparkling and half still. Extra stock for the vending machine was kept here too, nothing of nutritional benefit, but food all the same. Fin checked the expiration date on a large box of chocolate bars. Two years. Will this go on for that long?
“That’s one problem we won’t have.” George slapped a bale of toilet paper.
“I wasn’t even thinking about that,” Rebecca said.
“It’s what we have to do now isn’t it? Think about things we never had to,” George said. “Take, for instance, the water in this room. It looks like we’re never going to run out, but how much should we be drinking a day? Multiply that by three. Should we use this drinking water for cooking? Every room in this hotel has a kettle and most have bathtubs. I think we should fill them all. We don’t know how the water system works. If it stops flowing, we’re in trouble.”
“That’s a lot of work, filling these things and changing the water regularly.” Rebecca said.
“Exactly. Right now, staying active is as necessary to our wellbeing as food.”
They sprayed disinfectant on all the handles and light fixtures they passed. George scrubbed the clock-in machine before putting in his employee number. The machine beeped. “If we’re going to be here looking after the hotel, we may as well get paid for it.”
Rebecca clocked in after him. “This might offset all the drinks we’re taking.”
They emptied the laundry room of fresh bed sheets and staff uniforms. There were enough outfits that fit them so they would only have to do one wash a week. The windowless florist’s room was carpeted with wilted petals and full of the remains of dessicated flowers, the ones that adorned the lobby before services ended.
The handyman never threw anything away. His workshop was full of tools: hammers, crowbars, shovels, tape and nails. An arsenal. It held the contents of a small hardware store. George used a crowbar to pry open the lockers in the men's changing room. He found a little bag of white powder in the one belonging to the pastry chef. “He takes his work seriously, has a stash of baking powder at the ready.”
“I always thought he was far too energetic in the morning,” Fin said.
They found little of u
se. Rebecca knew the code into the women's room – Ciara's final resting place – but they refused to enter. George scrawled ‘DANGER’ on the door with a marker. Then he placed a fistful of dead flowers in front of the changing room. They stayed there for a while in silence. They did not know what to say, except to comment on the unfairness of the situation, but that did not seem fitting.
It took them several hours to clear the basement, a daunting, but fruitful, task. Now he never needed to go down there again. After a quick lunch, they used a housekeeping cart to empty rooms on the first floor. Closets in the accommodation supply offices were stocked with shampoos, chocolates, bedsheets, toiletries and towels. There was enough sugar, coffee and tea to last them months. Fin flicked open a small bottle of conditioner and breathed in the strong smell of strawberries. I wonder if it tastes like strawberries. Are there people out there already that desperate?
Before they entered the first floor corridor, George shouted to draw attention. They kept their weapons drawn. There was no response. He shouted a few more times, just to be sure. They walked into the expectant silence, knocking on each door as they passed. Fin printed a master keycard for each of them. He slid his into the lock on the first room. The light went green. Inside, the bed was made, everything was clean and ready for guests in the new year. It took them less than five minutes to sweep the room and move on to the next one.
George disappeared long enough for Fin and Rebecca to start giving out that he was shirking work. When he returned to them, he had a fistful of printer ink cartridges. The palm of his gloved hand was magenta. Grinning, he held it against the window and dragged it down to make it look like a blood stain. “It might deter people from coming in.”
“If they’re colour blind. Or you’ll have trick-or-treaters knocking at the front door,” Rebecca said.