Weep (Book 1): The Irish Epidemic

by Brady, Eoin

  Cold air burned his throat and lungs. Ireland’s holy mountain, priests say mass in the church up here for Christ’s sake. Fin tightened the shoulder straps of the bag and stopped looking up. You’ll get there when you get there. The hotel was a popular destination for stag and hen parties. There was usually always one member in each group that would stumble out of the bar and declare they would be climbing the mountain come morning. If they got up while he was still on duty, he would get great entertainment, watching as the first signs of a hangover on the horizon stripped away the paint and polish off their enthusiasm.

  Not born to Westport, Fin assumed from all the stags and hens that the modern pilgrimage seemed to require climbers to attempt the summit while suffering from mild alcohol poisoning. “Pints put the pain in pilgrimage. Sure even Saint Patrick had his own personal brewer.” They always enjoyed that fact. Had he known how bitter the walk was when not in top form, he would have advised them to have a lie-on instead.

  A quarter of the way up he had to stop to catch his breath, he slipped on rock and overstretched his leg to keep balance. “Does it get easier?”

  “The climb? No. After doing it regularly? No. On the plus side, I’m steadily losing my gut. Just focus on your footing. We need to move, Fin. I’m sorry to rush you.”

  Malachy looked behind them at their progress and cursed. A great curtain of rain was closing over the land, encroaching on the mountain. The island and Rebecca were already buried beneath it. Malachy went ahead and set a quicker pace. Already the stones of the path were slick and slippery. The temperature was plummeting. Water would freeze during the night, and he would be their guest until it was safe to descend.

  To his right was a steep drop off; he could see nothing but rocks, briars and a few sheep in the distance. It did not do to dwell on what would happen if he injured himself here. Malachy might help him, but if doing so put his own life in jeopardy and the lives of his family, he would forgive the man for leaving him – in theory. The thought of being a permanent feature on the walk up the mountain, his body the halfway marker, made him hunker lower to the stones, so the wind could not get a better purchase on him. Using both hands, he climbed.

  “Malachy, do you know at what point above sea level the death zone on Mount Everest starts at?”

  He laughed. “Are you that unfit? This mountain is not nearly so bad, it’s the baby toe of Everest, if even.”

  “I’ve let the fitness go without even noticing. This holy hill is battering me, but that wasn’t why I mentioned the death zone. I just thought that it has lowered considerably. When you’re in it, people can only care for themselves. To tend to others just adds another to the body count.”

  Malachy stopped at that. “Due to oxygen deprivation, not zombies. I get what you’re getting at, though. I reckon it’s at sea-level now then so. The death zone – I’m surprised they haven’t started calling Ireland that on the news. You should try and steer your thoughts away from such dark places. Don’t let the horror seep in too deep, it’ll rot right through you. All there is to living now is switching off and letting your body get on with surviving. I’ve come across plenty of people that fed their dark thoughts. Most of them are swinging in their attics now.”

  “How do you do it? Not let them in?” Fin asked.

  “I run from them, up and down the mountain every day. Just about keep ahead of them.”

  They followed the path set by thousands of pilgrims. The cold penetrated Fin’s resolve to climb higher, but below him, the dead roamed and the guilt over murdering Dara washed against the base of the mountain, tidal, creeping. He did not know if he could ever rise high enough above it. I’ve killed a man. His hands shook. Malachy passed him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Not long now.”

  What if Rebecca’s blow was not fatal? What if he was just stunned and I murdered a prone man? No. Too much blood. Dara, if that was his name, had to die. He did away with the previous occupants. Tried to stab me in the gut. That man could well have been normal before the epidemic. He was unwell. A month ago he could have found help. Pop a pill and there wouldn’t be a bother on him after that.

  What am I doing? He turned around and looked at the land. Westport was a small patch on the Mayo quilt. It never would have occurred to him before to wonder about the lives of so many others. The cluster of houses that were home to communities, where so many hopes were sown and healthy doses of failings experienced innumerable times. Now they would be barren, scavenged by hungry survivors and dressed in bones once the weepers were through. Before this, there was always time. His life had only been about time, he never experienced the slow awareness that comes with age, that each day brings you closer to your last. It was all he felt lately.

  “You want to help, but all you end up doing is running,” Fin said. The wind kept it from Malachy’s ears.

  “What are you saying, lad?”

  They were granted a brief reprieve from the wind by a rocky outcrop. “Just that it does not make sense. A disease that turns the host into something so close to a zombie, that there’s no point in arguing over the difference. It seems an impossibility, and on the west coast of Ireland, of all places. There has to be a decent chunk of the rural population that are unaffected by what’s happening.”

  “A few, yes. They won’t know until their milk spoils and they head into town for more. Out here, people in farms and small villages, they will endure. Scavenge enough food to see them through until planting season.”

  “Planting season! It won’t come to that. Surely.” The wind passed through him. Leaving their brief shelter, they were exposed to strong gusts that nearly tore them from the rock. Above them, the summit was soaked in impenetrable cloud.

  The ground eventually levelled out, which was all the break Malachy’s pace would allow. He was always conscious of the ever-dimming light. With a grimace, he made for a bare stone building, bathrooms for tourists.

  “We’ll leave the bags here and collect them in the morning, we need to hurry up,” Malachy said.

  The urinal was a trough in the ground. The fresh air had not removed the smell. Fin longed to hide behind those walls, let the wind howl harmlessly through the night. Malachy started to jog. Without the weight of the pack, Fin thought he would be blown from the side of the mountain. The barrenness of the land on the other side of Croagh Patrick was an inviting prospect. We could ignore the islands and just go where people aren’t. A dip in the hillside had stones arranged to spell out names. Harmless graffiti before the epidemic, now he took his hat off while passing the mausoleum of memory. He remembered his hike in summer, beautiful picturesque clouds, smiling people and cameras everywhere. In winter, it was more primal.

  Before rising into the clouds, he took one last look at the land. Mostly fields and empty space. I can make it home, I can get through all of that. It’s just one foot at a time. On the other side of the mountain there was bogland and the loneliest homes he had ever seen. Ravens flew beneath him. Cultivated forests and fields stretched out to the distant mountains that he could not name. Wrecked ships and islands in the bay were completely hidden by a fresh wave of rain. They would not outpace it.

  Malachy became a silhouette, his features lost in the darkness. Fin scrambled up the loose stone, chasing the light, its edges muffled in the cloud. Every step and breath took him away from the pain below. He had heard that every face in your dreams is supposed to be somebody you’ve seen before. Where are they now? Am I one of those inconsequential glances? He felt like a stray comma in the story of another.

  Fin climbed beyond his capacity, the wound in his stomach caused him pain, his arms were still weak from paddling to and from the island.

  The ground levelled. There was little light to cut through the oppressive cloud cover. “Malachy!” It was a hard thing to not notice a church on top of a mountain, but fear of missing it and falling off, kept him from moving fast. Piercing cold made his arms retract into his core, like a dead spider.

 
“Fin!” Malachy’s voice was barely audible, but his lantern guided him.

  Fin crawled towards it. He hid in the shade of a low wall, while Malachy unlocked the door. There were no lights shining through the windows.

  “I wouldn’t wish that climb on the dead,” Fin said. He followed Malachy in.

  “Coming here wasn’t my finest idea, but we’re alive and a lot of people I knew are not. Some nights, it gets so cold you would wonder why they never made an icy version of hell. That would scare me. More than once it was too cold to sleep, so I waited for the windows to shatter and my blood to freeze. Never happened and sleep always came in the end. Once I’ve enough supplies up here, I might look into catching one of the sheep on the mountain. I have no clue how to butcher the carcass and treat the meat though. Stocking up gives me time to learn.”

  “Has it come to that yet?” Fin asked.

  “Did it bother you when you bought the well-designed packets of meat in the supermarket?”

  “Not really.” Fin blew into his cupped hands. “My girlfriend could work more magic with vegetables than I could with meat. That said, I’d do terrible things for a cheeseburger right now. Few slices of tomato, onions and throw on a bit of coleslaw for good measure.”

  “None of that. Any mention of burgers, pizza or steak and I’ll ask you to leave.” Malachy turned more lanterns on inside the church. There was no movement or welcoming call from his wife. Bags full of clothes, food and tins lined the walls. A tower of neatly stacked, folded blankets was wedged between packs of bottled water.

  “You collected all of this?”

  “Yep, my back has paid the price for it.”

  “What did you do before all of this, Malachy?”

  “Wife owns a café in town. I helped out there during weekends. The rest of the time, I make and fit blinds. I have this lovely little workshop out the back garden where I made them. Coffee machine, radio and the smell from the flower beds in spring and summer. I don’t reckon blinds will be the first thing on people’s minds after this is fixed. One of the unforeseen benefits is knowing what houses have the best pantries. What about yourself?”

  “Nightporter in the hotel by the quay.”

  Malachy inhaled appreciatively. “That’s not a bad spot to hold up, I bet. I’d thought about it, people would be too afraid to go there, but I saw lights on at night. You, obviously.”

  “Ha, I spent my nights there looking at your light and thinking you were better off than me. Infected were inside. We came across two. The military in Westport House have their eye on it now.”

  Malachy took off his sweaty clothes and told Fin to pick something dry and warm from his collection. “Not such a bad climb right?”

  “Let’s just say, I never want to meet one of the people that did it barefoot, if they’re infected. They’re a different breed entirely.”

  Malachy zipped up a padded jacket over his fleece. “That’s exactly what they are. I’ve two of them trapped in houses down below. I’m studying them.” He said the last part with a hint of embarrassment.

  Fin pulled a hoodie that was too large over his head. He struggled with the zip around the neck. When his head came through the top, Malachy was laughing. “Do you hear her? Making fun of me for thinking I’m a scientist,” he said loudly, towards the room behind the altar. “Didn’t you put me through my study, making me watch all those daft medical shows?” He shook his head. There was no answer back. He made a face as if to say he was in trouble.

  “How are you studying them?”

  “Just watch and learn from their behaviour. The more you know about them, the less terror they exert on your imagination. One of their best weapons is our own fear, makes us as stupid as them. I’ve a fella down there that was infected recently. Didn’t take him long to turn. Wasn’t quick enough for him though. I stayed with him through the change. He talked me through what it felt like. Until he lost the use of his words. I don’t think there’s anything left of them in the manic phase. I’m sure they’re gone by the time they come back. He was my best friend.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Malachy cleared his throat and put on a smile. “We’re not taking flower offerings for him, but if you wanted to do away with one of the infected, that’ll do nicely. Every one you kill, is a life saved. Those people you save will never know to thank you.”

  “How do you kill something that has no fear?”

  “With great pleasure. Now get comfortable, make yourself at home. I’ll do us up some food. After dinner, I want to ask you a few things about the infected you’ve come across, see if it supports my notes.”

  Fin stuffed his hands in his armpits and looked around. The humble structure did not keep out the cold. Night had fully set outside. The windows were single panes of glass.“I can see the appeal of living up here, calm and quiet. If only you could get your groceries delivered.”

  In a break in the clouds, stars were already out, appearing like the first specks of frost on a winter window. “I wonder how many satellites they have tasked above Ireland right now?” Fin said.

  “There’s probably a few. The world is watching the historic modern fall of a nation.”

  Despite being safe for the night and knowing that a flood of zombies could not break upon them, Fin still felt uneasy.

  Malachy gently knocked on the door behind the altar. “Just me, love. I’ve found a helper, don’t get up.” Malachy lit a few candles on the altar and turned the lamps off. The light cast shadows on the statue of Saint Patrick. If this plague wipes us out, those that come after will have some time trying to understand our idols.

  “It’s bitter cold out there, love, and I’ll not send him down in the dark.”

  Fin’s anxiety spiked.

  “We have to get the bags from the bathroom in the morning. What? No, no, not a bite or scratch on him.” Malachy threw him a box of pills and spoke in a low voice so his wife would not hear. “Antibiotics. I think they’re general, but if your cut starts acting up then try them. There are no more hospitals now, buddy. Try to avoid the sharp end of knives. Right, I think a drink is in order.”

  Malachy set up a stove on the altar. Fin took a glass of whiskey and wandered through the other rooms in the church. The room to the right of the entrance was the confessional. It was in the middle of a renovation, most of the tools were still there. Malachy had barricaded the windows with wood and nailed blankets around the corners, in an attempt to conserve heat. Fin was amazed at the amount of supplies Malachy managed to squirrel away. There was more here than they had in the hotel.

  Malachy carefully measured out water and poured a bag of pasta into a pot over a gas flame. “One thing I’ll have to bring up is a rain barrel. Good clean water is too precious to waste like this.” He tossed Fin a tin opener. “I bring one back with me with every trip. Nothing is as annoying as being hungry while you’ve a tin you can’t open.”

  Fin was starting to feel awkward that he had not introduced himself to Malachy’s wife. When Malachy topped up his whiskey, Fin asked, “Will I bring one in for your missus? What’s her name?”

  “Liz. She wouldn’t be mad on drink at the minute, with the baby. I swear I’ve read more books in the last nine months than I have in ten years, all about babies.” He fished a bar of chocolate from his jacket pocket. “This now, will put you in her good books. Don’t be shy, she won’t bite… I reckon that turn of phrase won’t transfer well to the new world.”

  Malachy drank his glass down in one gulp. Fin did too; anything for a bit of heat.

  The back room would have been where the priests prepared to say mass. All the walls were painted white, but the one separating the room from the rest of the church was only a panel that did not reach up to the roof. Fin brought a candle with him, and walked slowly to keep it from going out. The windows here were barricaded too. The thick colourful fabrics gave it a cozy feeling. He was greeted by a ripe and pungent smell.

  Liz was huddled beneath a mound of blankets in the
corner, leaning against the wall. The baby swaddled in a jacket, rested in her lap.

  “Hi Liz, I’m Fin. I come bearing chocolate.”

  As he approached, the candlelight illuminated their features. For a second he thought they were statues, a modern Pieta, but they were just dead. Her skin was pale and waxen, gaunt and black beneath the eyes. Her empty stare fixed on the bundle.

  He pulled his jumper up over his mouth and nose. There’s no way Malachy does not know. It was too dark and dangerous to make the climb down the mountain. Even with the torch, he was not sure Malachy would let him go. He left the chocolate bar on the ground before the bodies as an offering.

  One of Fin’s first thoughts was to find a weapon, but he knew Malachy would have a knife at the ready. He was bigger, stronger and possibly mad. He said his back was giving out, I could use that. Unless he said that to make me think he was less of a threat. Unable to remain in the room much longer without raising suspicion, Fin returned to the main chamber.

  Malachy was in the middle of setting up blankets for his guest, and he had topped up their glasses with more whiskey. Fin kept to the shadows when he returned, not wanting to give away his fear and revulsion. Unused nappies and boxes of baby formula were stacked by the door of the refectory.

  “Tea?”

  Fin nodded in the dark. Malachy stopped what he was doing to look at him. “A bit more whiskey if you have it. If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I used to think it was the one pleasure I allowed myself in my pack, but it’s more of a necessity.” Malachy spoke as he made dinner, talking about the houses he had cleared and the horrible things he witnessed.