by Casey, Ryan
But she kept on going. She had to. Because this wasn’t about her. This was about the body. This was about someone less fortunate than her. This was about the fallen.
She stopped when she saw the first of the wooden crosses in the ground before her.
She looked up.
Saw the mass of wooden crosses.
All scattered across this dirty landscape.
A reminder of what had happened here. Of what they’d lost here.
She looked at these crosses, and she didn’t just see crosses. She saw people. The people who’d run the industrial estate. The people who she’d befriended. Rosa. Kevin. Mitchell. All these people. All with lives of their own. All doing everything they could to get by with optimism, with positivity, with hope.
All of their lives snuffed out in an instant.
She felt a lump in her throat. She’d always seen herself as strong. Always thought of herself as tough.
But this was breaking her down.
All of it.
And the worst thing?
There was nothing to do. There was no way to react.
It was just a case of waiting now.
There was nowhere to go.
She grabbed her shovel. Dug into the ground. Dug through the rain. Kept on digging, no idea how long she was at it, only she felt exhausted, and it felt like hours had passed.
She stopped. Moved Amir’s body over to the edge. Dragged it over.
She saw his eyes had opened. Staring softly, dragged apart by the movement.
She looked into them, and she felt an ever-larger lump in her throat.
Put a hand on his chest.
“You rest, buddy. Rest.”
And then she dragged his body over towards the ground.
Watched it tumble down there.
Fall down, contorted. A broken mess.
She looked down at Amir’s body, and her heart raced. One of his eyes was closed now. His wrist was broken, twisted. His final resting place and this was the dignity she’d left him with. This was the grace she’d given to him.
She closed her burning eye and stepped away.
And exhausted as she was, she dug.
She buried.
She didn’t stop until every inch of that soil was in the ground again.
And when she did, she finally dropped to her knees amidst the field of crosses, and she cried.
Chapter Four
It was on the first day of snowfall that everything changed.
Noah waded through the snow. It’d put a shitload down last night. Gone to sleep with a few sprinkles of ice. Woken up to a winter wonderland. Teeth chattering. Sleep sweat icy against his nose. Cold to the bone. An old saying, that. Overused, absolutely. Because nobody really understood what it was to be truly cold to the bone. Not until they actually experienced it.
Noah had experienced his fair share.
He held on to his pistol and marched through the thick snow. It was about a foot high. A whole foot overnight. He’d heard heavy wind. So heavy it sounded like it might bring the roof of the industrial building he was in down at some point.
But a whole damned foot of snow overnight. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t even technically winter yet.
Maybe the seasons being out of whack was another quirky feature of this messed up new world.
He tucked his chin into his thick parka. The wind howled against him, making him even colder than before, something he didn’t think was possible. Every step was like walking in cement mix, getting thicker and more solid by the second. He knew he was mad being out here, so far away from home. But then why worry anyway? The infected were gone. The bulk of the living were gone.
This was an empty world, and it was Noah’s hellish playground.
He looked back over his shoulder. Couldn’t see the industrial estate in the distance anymore, not just for distance but because of the thick snow still falling. He listened to the howling wind, the only sound for miles. They’d been here for a month after the fall, now. A month since that day. The day of the helicopters. The day they passed over. The day they slaughtered everyone.
Sometimes, it felt like another lifetime. Like those crazy few weeks belonged to someone else. Iqrah. The connection they’d had. That void they’d sunk into.
And then Iqrah’s death and everything changing, all over again…
It felt like it happened to someone else. Not to Noah. Not to him.
He swallowed a lump in his throat.
A pain welled in his chest when Iqrah came to mind.
He didn’t want to think too much about her. Because thinking about her reminded him of his failures. Of his losses.
So many losses.
He turned around and walked on. He figured he’d come out and see if he could catch something for dinner. The deer were in abundance around here lately. But the snow might have something to say about that.
Didn’t matter, really. There were always foxes. Badgers. Wild dogs and cats, if necessary.
Whatever it took to keep on living.
He waded through the snow. Almost tumbled down, using his handless arm to steady his balance. He hadn’t told Kelly or Shel he was coming out. Hadn’t even brought Bruno along with him. Sometimes, he just preferred the solitude. The peace and space. The chance to walk out here with nobody on his back. With no responsibilities. With nothing.
And sometimes, he felt a strange allure. The thought of just walking away from here. Of disappearing—forever. He knew Kelly would miss him. And he knew Bruno would miss him, too, for a time.
But they’d move on. Both would move on. People always did.
But fuck it. What was the point of it anyway?
What exactly was he going to do? People were dead. Even the Society, probably the good guys in the grand scheme of things now, were gone.
There was no No Man’s Land and no Districts anymore. No borders, no walls.
There was just this dead world.
And it was waiting for the newcomers to scoop up the living, once and for all.
Living in limbo. Holding its breath.
Waiting.
He went to clamber on when he saw movement up ahead.
He froze. Squinted ahead. Swore he saw something through the trees. A deer? Maybe.
He lifted his pistol. Not the best gun, but he’d figured he wasn’t best cut out for wielding rifles with the state of his arm. He’d got pretty good with it, anyhow. You kind of did when you relied on it for your survival.
He walked further through the snow. Further through the trees. Got closer to that movement, which he’d definitely seen. He strained, tried to see if he could hear anything, but nothing.
Maybe it was in his head. Wouldn’t be the first time. Had him questioning his own sanity sometimes.
And then he saw it again.
Movement.
Only…
It didn’t look like a deer at all.
It looked like it was on two legs.
It looked taller.
It looked, dare he say it, like a person.
He stopped. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he’d run into a person out here. After all, there were other survivors of the great cull four weeks ago.
But he hadn’t come across anyone else yet. Hadn’t encountered anyone in the wild. So there was an air of caution about it. A nervousness.
He stood still. Held on to his pistol. Thought about shouting something out. Saying something. Just anything to break the silence.
But in the end, he just stayed there. Still. Waiting.
He peered over to the thicker trees where the figure had disappeared. And a part of him wanted to fire his pistol over there. Send a few warning shots to prove he was armed, just so they wouldn’t mess around. Prove he was out here after all.
But then that other side. That curiosity. That sense that someone else was out here. Which meant they could… maybe go back to the industrial estate. Maybe join their community. Maybe rebuild something. Somethin
g good. Something better than before.
He took a few deep breaths, then he lowered his pistol and stepped forward.
That’s when he heard shuffling and a snap.
He frowned. He couldn’t work out what he was looking at from this distance. Only he swore he’d seen movement in the trees.
He stepped around the side of the tree, pistol raised again now, when he saw it.
A man.
Hanging from this tree.
Rope around his neck.
Eyes bulging.
Noah rushed over to him. Tried to hold him up. Then hacked at the rope, desperate to bring him down.
He fell eventually, thumped to the snowy ground by Noah’s side.
Noah checked his vitals. No pulse. No breathing.
Did mouth to mouth. Tried CPR.
Tried and tried again to bring him back, to awaken him.
But the more he tried, the more he realised it was already too late.
This man had opted out.
He’d trialled the new world, and he’d failed.
He knelt there in the snow. Stared down at this man. Saw the glassy look in his bloodshot eyes. The fear. The terror. A tortured soul.
He went to stand. To drag him along if he could. Back to the graves. Plenty of room for more.
That’s when the man coughed.
Chapter Five
Jaan stared at the mass of bodies before him and wondered how he’d ever sleep again knowing what he was responsible for; what he was capable of.
It was late afternoon. Cold. Cloudy. Rainy. Depressing. There was no happiness here. There was no smiling, no laughter. Only the job.
Distribute the compound, the “antidote,” as some of their superiors called it.
Spread it as far and as wide as possible.
Two weeks since Phase Two had started, and only two weeks left before it ended.
But another part of the job? The worst of all, in his eyes?
Get out of the helicopter. Check all was going to plan while waiting for a refuel. And informing the survivors of where they were to head—if they wanted to remain alive.
And if they didn’t? If they resisted?
Or if the physical tests showed any slightest trace of the virus still running through their system?
Eliminate them. One by one.
He saw Viktor walking along, just up ahead of him. Cigarette in his mouth. Smile on his face as he kicked at a dead woman lying there all grey and bloated. He let out a little chuckle. And as Jaan watched, he felt so far away from Viktor. So far away from these people he worked for. So far away from the lot of them.
Because this was wrong.
This wasn’t the way forward. This wasn’t something he wanted to be involved in.
But the depressing part?
It was too late to do anything about it.
And it was too late to change his mind.
He was just a worker ant in a colony of ants. And there wasn’t a thing he could do to change things. Not in the grand scheme of things.
But maybe there was something he could do. Maybe he could play his part. Play his role.
Viktor turned around. Looked at Jaan, disgust on his face. “Jaan? What you gawking at again? Better get a move on here. We’ve got some fuckers to round up.”
A bitter taste in Jaan’s mouth as he watched Viktor turn around, walk on.
He tightened his grip on his rifle. Wondered if he could gun Viktor down. Just get it done with. Put this sick psychopath down and end his miserable existence.
The others would surely chase him down. Execute him.
But maybe it was worth it.
Maybe it was worth it just to play his part. Just to show his discontent. Just to show this wasn’t him.
“Jaan!” Viktor barked. “Come on!”
Jaan stood there. Totally still. Heart racing. Hands sweaty around the rifle.
“You got a problem or something?”
“I can’t do this.”
Viktor frowned. “What?”
“This. I… I can’t do this. Not anymore.”
He lowered his head. Looked at the ground. Felt so ashamed. Because he knew what they were doing was for the greater good. He knew it was for the advancement of humanity. For a new world. A better world.
But this wasn’t the world he wanted to be a part of.
People like Viktor weren’t the people he wanted to serve.
Viktor walked over to him. Stood right before him. His breath sour. His eyes piercing.
“Look at me,” Viktor said.
Jaan stared down.
“Hey,” Viktor said, slapping his face. “I said look at me, okay?”
Jaan lifted his head.
Looked right into Viktor’s eyes.
“I’ve seen this before, man. Seen it a thousand times. Cold feet. It’s understandable. I fucking get it, okay?”
“I’m not sure you do.”
“No. Don’t give me that crap. I get it. Believe me. It’s nasty. The shit we have to deal with, it’s nasty. You think I enjoy it? Really?”
“I get that impression sometimes.”
“You not think maybe that’s me trying my best to run away from the horrors of what I have to do? You think I don’t have nightmares too? Every single night?”
Jaan had wondered that. Wondered if it was all just a defence mechanism.
But then another part of him wasn’t sure. It certainly felt like Viktor was just a psycho at this point. And that he really did get a kick out of this shit.
“Hey,” Viktor said. Squeezed his shoulder. “We’re in this together, dude. We’re in this together, and we…”
A scream.
A shout, somewhere ahead.
Jaan looked over Viktor’s shoulder.
A woman. Pretty. Young. Tears streaming down her cheeks. Dead baby in her arms.
“Please,” she begged. “Help me. Please.”
Jaan saw it then.
The shift across Viktor’s face.
The way his eyes lit up. Predatory.
The way he licked his lips.
And he thought of all the things Viktor said about women. About the “survivors”.
Fresh meat. Can’t beat fresh meat.
Jaan saw that shift across Viktor’s face.
He saw that predatory possession to his eyes.
And then he lowered his rifle, reached into his pocket for his blade, and rammed it into Viktor’s neck.
Viktor’s eyes widened.
He looked around. Confused. Spluttering. Blood pooling out. Clutched his neck, like he didn’t get it. Like he didn’t understand.
“What…” he said. “Fucking… what…”
Jaan saw the rest of the guards walking on.
He saw the three of them up ahead.
Backed away from Viktor as he stumbled to the ground, spluttering, choking.
And then he lifted his rifle and pointed them at these three companions.
And as much as he didn’t mind them, as much as they were better people than Viktor, he shot every one of them.
One bullet each.
All he needed to take them out.
The woman stared on. Looked back at him. Terrified. Like he was the enemy.
He looked at her in the silence, and he nodded.
“Stay away from people like me,” he said. “Find a place far, far away from us. Only that way will you ever be safe.”
And then he turned around and walked, off into the wilderness, off into the trees.
It was two weeks later that he climbed up onto that tree.
That he wrapped the rope around his neck.
That he jumped.
And it was moments after that he saw someone hovering over him. A man. Bright blue eyes. Dark hair. One hand.
An aura of light around him.
Chapter Six
The man coughed.
Noah jumped back. Took him by surprise as he lay there in the icy snow. He’d been dead a moment ago. Heart sto
pped. No breathing. No signs of life at all.
But he was awake. He was alive.
And that wasn’t the only thing Noah noticed about this guy now he’d had the time to truly register.
He was wearing a uniform. Not the Society black. No sign of the red mark of the Reds, either. A grey outfit. Shiny. Looked kind of advanced. High tech. Impossibly clean, even though the man inside it looked like he wasn’t in the best condition.
He had a long, straggly beard. A gaunt face. Thick black bags under his eyes, which although were pretty commonplace, contrasted this man’s gear a lot.
Noah pointed the pistol at him. Mostly because he didn’t want to take any chances. He didn’t know who this guy was. Didn’t know where he was from.
Only he was a person. He was fucking alive. He hadn’t fallen in the great cull four weeks ago, which meant he was different. He was special in some way.
Besides. Any extra humanity—any extra company—Noah kind of longed for that, now. Never thought he’d admit it, but he did. Didn’t really care where it came from, what form it came in. Maybe there was a bit of nihilism about it; a sense that now Iqrah was gone, there wasn’t much left in the world of value worth protecting.
But this man. Lying there in the snow. Coughing. Gasping. Clutching his neck.
“Come on,” Noah said, doing his best to ease him upright, flakes of snow falling onto him. “If you’re gonna hang yourself, you’d better do a better job than that.”
The man coughed. Spat out blood into the snow. For a moment, Noah wondered if it could be a sign of the infection. But then he looked up at Noah with bloodshot eyes, tears welling in them.
“Please…” he said. “No hope. No…”
And then he passed out and hit the snow again.
“Shit.”
Noah checked his vitals. Heart still beating this time, at least. Wheezy breath, but breathing at least, which was something.
He was a big bloke, though. And Noah was really gonna struggle carrying him back to the camp.
He looked back. Over towards the industrial estate. Wondered if he could make it back there and get Kelly or Shel to help him.
But then this man. He didn’t want to lose him. Something about him made him want to keep him around. Worried something might happen to him. Couldn’t explain it really, just an instinct.