by Brady, Eoin
Fin left his chain of keys on the office desk and brought only two keys for the front door. He gave one to Rebecca. She put it in her pocket and clutched it through the fabric, not trusting the zip. George looked out first before stepping onto the street, hugging the side of the building. Fin had to steel himself before leaving, but it was the fear of being out in the open longer than necessary that got him moving. He locked the door quietly.
The morning air was sharp and cold, a nice contrast to the constant warmth of the lobby. A light fog hid the silhouettes of infected off towards Westport House. A few reassuring lights shone from its windows. They smelled woodfire and for a moment, Fin wondered if they might be better off heading in that direction. Hammer in hand, he followed George. There was barely a sound beyond the wind and the water. The bodies of infected that the soldiers had shot were glazed with winter frost.
They crouched along the sides of buildings as they followed the road. Apartment blocks gave way to houses, B&Bs and bars. No sign of life came from the buildings; if people were still inside, they hid behind closed curtains. How many were drawn out by the march of the refugees, too afraid to be left behind? Only one building had boards haphazardly covering its windows. So little time.
The tide was high. Sea spray salted the air. They avoided the light from street lamps as much as possible. They stopped beyond the houses. Fin had a clear view of Croagh Patrick; snow speckled the peak. He could not not imagine the hardship those that lived up there faced. If they can climb that every day, then I can’t complain about this stroll.
They jumped at the slightest sound, thinking it the first note of an infected’s weep. Fin expected them to lurch out of every alley they passed. He imagined them behind bins and beneath cars. Living on the mountain is a small price to pay for peace of mind.
George stopped outside a bus yard. He walked around the rising arm barrier and snuck up to an old coach. Fin’s skin crawled as he watched George pull the emergency door release. His face was scrunched up as if he expected an alarm to sound. When it did not, he looked to Fin and Rebecca, but hid his grin when he saw their angry faces. He came out moments later with a small, red-handled hammer, with a metal spike for shattering windows.
“You couldn’t have gotten that when we weren’t all carrying bags?” Rebecca said.
“Well, I didn’t want to do it by myself. What if there were infected around?”
Beyond the town limits, old, rusted gates protected empty fields. After too long in the open, George turned right, down a small country lane. “This is a little peninsula, mostly houses and farms. If we combined our annual earnings, we might be able to afford the deposit of one of the houses along here.”
A verge of brambles, hawthorn trees and blackberry bushes pressed them close together. George gave his opinion on buildings he thought were still occupied as they passed them; those were few. The ones with open doors he avoided entirely, taking care to walk swiftly past them.
They stopped outside a large black, wooden gate. Overgrown bushes hid the entrance enough that Fin nearly walked past it in the gloom. “Welcome home,” he whispered.
“How did you get in?” Fin asked.
“Hopped the fence.” George climbed onto it and dropped his bags over. He took theirs and lowered them over the other side as quietly as possible. Noise in a nearby field made them stop, but it was moving away from them. Fox or rabbit? Unlikely.
Fin gave Rebecca a boost up and he took a running jump at it, making it on his second attempt. He felt a moment of self-loathing at his poor fitness. Before the epidemic, he could just suck in his gut until the bar closed and he was alone on the night shift. Now it endangered his life. Hiding indoors for the duration of the epidemic was not going to do anything to help things.
The property did seem ideal: a high wall and thick gate covered the front and a wooden fence and bushes separated them from the adjacent field on the left. The infected could crawl beneath that. To the right was a high bush with pathways worn through the base by passing animals. Brittle grass crunched as they walked across the manicured lawn. A few old autumn leaves littered the fringes of the gravel drive.
“Watch out for the pond,” George said. “I’ve never heard of people eating koi fish, but if there are any in there, then we can give it a try.”
Fin could hear the water in the bay behind the house. “Are you sure this place is empty?” he asked.
George nodded and took a key from his pocket.
“Where did you find that?”
“Under the flowerpot. It’s getting too light out to risk another trip back to the hotel. We’ll set up here. Come in and get settled. Wipe your feet.”
Fin’s breath caught when he saw the alarm box on the hall wall, but it was off. The blinds were all down and most of the doors were shut. It felt odd intruding on somebody's home without their knowing. They listened to the tick of a large clock. When will that run out? They dropped their bags and checked every room in the house, using the light of Rebecca's phone to shoo the shadows.
“This is the real prize,” George said. He opened a door, revealing towels and bedsheets stacked on wooden shelves.
Fin thought it was a linen cupboard until George pulled the folded towels and sheets off the shelves. They were stairs. The space was so tight that the stairway doubled on itself and rose steeply. Fin looked into the dark hatch above that swallowed George. “You went up there by yourself?”
“I stuck my head up. When I banged on the wall and heard no movement or weeping, I was happy enough that the house was clear. Come up, this is brilliant.”
They climbed the rickety stairs into the converted attic. Fin hit his head on the low roof. It slanted off either side. There was a bathroom with a cramped shower, two single beds, a futon and two roof windows for light and an office at the far end of the attic.
“This is perfect,” Fin said.
Rebecca left without a word, taking the smiles off Fin and George’s faces. Fin realised how disturbing it must look for them to revel in the misfortune of others. He wondered if the previous owners of the house were aimlessly wandering the streets now.
“Coffee, anyone?” Rebecca said up to them and they followed her down to the kitchen.
The light came on when she opened the fridge. “How is the power still on?”
“Saw on the news, the government has put every effort into ensuring we have light to die by,” George said.
Rebecca started emptying the cupboards. The bubbling noise of the boiling kettle was sweet and foreign, like memories of a distant holiday. Were kettles always so loud? Fin rinsed three mugs, filled them with instant coffee granules and sugar. George dug out little packets of milk stolen from the hotel rooms.
“When do you think the next fresh milk will be?” Fin emptied a packet of milk into each coffee.
George sat on the counter and took a mug. “A few cows might survive, but just enjoy this, it’s only going to get rarer.”
Rebecca took a seat at the table, shifting the opened envelopes and stale newspapers out of the way. “I can’t believe they attacked the airports.”
George chewed his lip, tears formed and fell. He looked away out the window.
“That coffee’s hot,” Fin said.
George smiled, appreciating the weak joke. “I wanted to be a pilot once. Too expensive to learn, though.” He wiped his eyes. “The outbreak was one thing, but to attack us, cripple our means of escape? I’m worried that if they think that’s okay, what else will they do, to keep themselves safe? I understand the reason, stop the spread, contain it. I just don’t like the feeling of dread that comes with thinking that they are more focused on mopping up the aftermath, than stepping in before we’re all gone.”
“If they send more people in, it’s more fodder for the disease.” Fin let out a sigh and held the scalding mug tight. Rebecca left the cupboards open and the aroma of spices that spilled out made him hungry. A shelf above the sink was full of cookbooks, from baking to vegan, s
avoury to sweet. There was a calendar stuck to the fridge with magnets collected from countries around the world. Fin lifted a few months up to see what the people that lived here had planned; dentist appointments, bills, weight loss goals. The feeling of unfairness was steadily becoming a numbing rage.
Festive fake snow frosted the edge of the window. George rummaged through the presses and found the can. With what remained inside, he sprayed ‘Infected’ on all the windows. The kitchen opened into the sitting room. He took the presents from beneath the Christmas tree and threw them onto the sofa. He started tearing open the wrapping. Fin and Rebecca watched the small desecration in silence.
“You wouldn’t believe the amount of useless things people get as presents.” George shook a large box. “In the handful of houses that I’ve broken into – after the infection – I’ve found mostly handbags, makeup sets and bath salts. The best ones for passing the time were computer games, Legos and books.”
“Maybe we can camouflage ourselves from the infected,” Rebecca said.
“Not with blusher and primer.” George threw the makeup set towards the tree. “Where are all the mountaineers, cyclists and outdoor enthusiasts? I could do with some fishing gear or survival equipment. All the time we wasted in school, I can tell you about plant reproductive organs, but not how to use a map or do taxes, not that I’ll have to worry about those for a while.”
He emptied his backpack onto the table. Rebecca picked up her coffee as a compass rolled towards it. “Actually, I passed through a place not far away, with a great pair of women’s hillwalking boots. Could be an idea for you, Rebecca.”
“I don’t want to wear the shoes of a dead woman, at least not until mine start letting in water.”
George threw each of them a short flint and striker. “In case the power goes out.”
Fin struck it a few times, but he did not produce sparks. “Let’s hope the power stays on. You know lighters and matches still work, right?”
George ignored him and unfolded an ordnance survey map of the area onto the table. “We’re here,” he pointed to a peninsula, outside of town. Small cluttered islands hugged the coast up to Newport.
George poked Clare Island. “That right there looks ideal. Far from major towns, big enough community already.”
“You’re forgetting all the water between us and the island,” Fin said. “The bay looks rough, can you imagine what it’s like in the Atlantic? I don’t know how to operate a boat in calm conditions. It’s stormy out there.”
“You’re the very man that mentioned learning from books, we just need to find one on sailing.”
“I still think Achill Island.” Rebecca turned the map around to face her. “Fin and I tried to follow the Greenway, but the infected were on the road. There’s one bridge onto the island, easily defensible. We have highland too, should the bridge fail.”
George quickly looked to Fin. “The infected were on the road between you and Achill?”
“That does not mean they made it to the island,” Rebecca said.
“What have your family said about conditions there?” It was a low shot, but it stalled Rebecca's enthusiasm for home.
“Say we managed to make it out to Clare Island, Achill wouldn’t take much more effort. Or if we were able to get on the water, then we could stay close to the coast and sail to Achill. Scout out the islands in the bay along the way,” Fin said.
“I still think we need a thorough plan,” Rebecca said. “George, you mentioned you wanted high ground. The island provides that. I grew up there, I know every secret there is to know outside of closed doors. We need to be focused, have one destination and goal. I do think we need to consider it.”
“I know you want to see your family,” George said. “Maybe the infected haven’t gotten there. Would the locals have thought to guard the bridge when this started? I certainly wouldn’t have. Would they turn away strangers? Even if they thought they brought the infection with them, they would have no right to do so. We’d have difficulty doing that now without reprisal, let alone back then, when there was little information about the disease. I agree with you, we should go there. There’s a lower population density, but I think we should go by water. It’s the safest way.”
“If the infection is there then it would be easier to avoid the weepers. The island is mostly fields and sparse homes. Keem Bay can only be reached by a long, windy road along cliffs.”
“We need to prepare first,” George said.
Fin put the kettle on again and made a second round of coffee for them. By the time they put the empty mugs in the sink, there was light enough to work by. Fin was jittery from the caffeine. He kept thinking of the train, he had heard it when the weepers were calm. If I could get a lift to Dublin, I could walk along the coast to Drogheda. “So the camp on the grounds of Westport House is out?”
“I think it would be madness to join them,” George said. “We can’t stay here because we’re too close to town. That’s not the army anymore. They’re just people now, their uniform means less by the day. You want to try for home?”
“I want to be at home, I can’t think of another way. Walking would be suicide.”
“Well, lad, I’d be sorry to see you leave, mostly because I reckon you’ll die not long after. It’s your choice. As for joining the camp at Westport House, not a chance. Imagine the infection got inside their walls. All those people…” George was pale at the thought.
“Surely you agree we’re better off knowing a bit more about what’s happening. No harm can come from it.”
George was silent for a moment. “Don’t bring them back here, or let on that you have food. If you get a lift to Dublin, we might never meet again. That’s mad. Are you sure you won’t stay with us? Wait until the infected die off? For the moment, we have plenty of food. What we should do is stockpile more and look for a better place to hide. This is grand for now but I’d like a bit more security. Maybe a bigger telly.”
Fin slumped into a chair and played with the spilled sugar on the table. “I’m just worried about my family. If I’m there, I could do something.”
George ran a hand through his greasy hair. “The worst case scenario is not you dying. It’s you becoming infected and living long enough to make it back to them. They won’t turn you away and you’ll kill them all. They’ve been around longer than you have. Stay where you are. Find them after.”
An awkward silence followed. “Everybody will have thought of the islands,” Rebecca said to diffuse it.
“Not at first,” George said. “Nobody was expecting this. If you had the money, maybe you tried to leave the country. Otherwise you stayed put, listened to the government. There aren’t enough boats to get many people to the islands. Besides, there’s not enough shelter or food out there to support many. They won’t share their supplies with us and if we brought enough to be self-sufficient, what’s stopping them from taking that from us?”
“How did you become so cynical?” Fin asked, while secretly wishing that he could be as pragmatic.
“Working in a bar after two A.M. usually does it. I’m being a wet blanket, sorry. What I’m trying to say is, nowhere is safe. The more people that are around us, the less likely we are to survive.”
“Right, enough talking, let’s bring our stuff upstairs and see what they have of use in the house,” Rebecca said.
They cleaned up after themselves and started carrying their gear to the attic. No matter what George said, it would not deter Fin’s thoughts of home and family. Walking out of the hotel and making it to the house made him wonder if he could not make it home. I made it this far and survived, the only difference between here and home is distance. And a country full of weepers. Rebecca and George’s conversation became pleasant background noise. The clock in the hall sounded faster.
17
Hot Water Bottles Are Life Savers
Once they brought everything of use upstairs, they had a quick breakfast of baked beans on hard, stale bread befo
re checking the grounds. So long as they were quiet, they would be safe. The fields either side of the property were difficult to get into and the gate and wall at the front would act as a breakwater against infected stumbling down the road. At the back of the house, water from the bay lapped against boulders and a slim pebble beach.
It took them under an hour to empty the shed, bringing the spoils to the renovated attic. The stairs were too steep for uncoordinated zombies. It was difficult enough for them to climb. “We put the blankets and towels back and something heavy on the trap door and you’d never know we were here,” George said.
“When you told us about this place on the radio, I was expecting spiders, rafters and cobwebs, thick as insulation,” Fin said.
George put his bags on top of the hatch. “Feel that? Safety. I have not felt this calm in a while.”
The bathroom had a shower and a toilet, though you had to duck with the slant of the roof to use either. The press beneath the sink was full of toilet paper and wet wipes. Aside from the office and the bathroom, the loft was one long room. World keeps shrinking. A futon faced a large flatscreen television. Shelves were full of computer games, films and books.
George dove on one of the single beds. “Yous can fight over the other one.”
“I’ll take the futon,” Fin said.
“Chivalry?”
“Oh, you know the word, George.” Fin walked through to the office, it had the only wall-mounted window. Already the afternoon light was dimming. A lamp hung over a worn and battered armchair. A glass of wine and a book half-finished rested on a little table.
“This is a little slice of heaven,” Rebecca said.
George plugged in extension cords and connected wires to four different brands of portable battery packs that he had salvaged. When did it become salvage and not steal? He charged multiple phones, torches and a laptop.
“I don’t envy their electricity bill, if they’re alive to see it,” Rebecca said.