All Roads End Here

by David Moody

  What happened in that house?

  Were there Haters here?

  Were some of my neighbors Haters?

  Stupid question: he didn’t even know his neighbors. Anyway, he’ll have all the answers in a minute, because he can finally see home now. The initial outward signs are positive. There are signs of life, with flickering lamplight visible in one of the windows. His car’s still on the drive where he left it. Feels like a lifetime ago since that morning when his now deceased colleague Gavin picked him up and drove him to the station to meet up with the rest of the office team and catch the train north to the port to take the ferry to Skek. Hard to believe he’s the only one who made it back …

  He instinctively checks his pockets for his door key but it’s long gone. He rings the bell but there’s no power and no noise so he knocks instead, rapping his knuckles hard on the wood.

  Nothing.

  He knocks again. And again. And once more for luck.

  Still nothing.

  He steps back, looking for signs of movement; twitching curtains … anything.

  Then something.

  There’s definitely someone inside. He can see them moving behind the frosted glass, leaning forward and looking through the spyhole. Jesus, he can’t wait to see her. He runs his fingers through his unkempt hair, trying to comb his long, greasy locks into some semblance of order.

  The door opens on the security chain. A face appears, but it’s not one he recognizes. Younger than him. Male. Mixed-race. Clean-shaved. Dark, piercing eyes. The two of them regard each other in silence for a few dragging seconds; a mutual who the fuck are you? moment. Then the lad in his house speaks. “What?”

  Matt’s answer is simple and to the point. He resists the temptation to lose his temper. Whatever happens, he knows that wouldn’t end well. “I live here.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Not bullshit. My name’s Matthew Dunne. I live here with Jen. Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

  The door slams shut in Matt’s face. He goes to knock again but stops himself because he can hear voices on the other side. What’s going on? Has this kid moved his mates in here, and are they hatching a plan to sort Matt out? There are at least three people in the hallway now, taking turns at the spyhole. His mind starts racing, trying to work out what they’ve done to Jen and what he’s going to do about it.

  He looks for another way in. He checks for the spare key they always kept under the plant pot out front, but it’s gone. He thinks he could climb over the side gate and try and get in through the back, or maybe just put a brick through the bay windows and break in that way? He discounts that idea immediately, figuring that to attract attention like that would be the absolute worst thing he could do. He’s risked so much for so long to get here and he can’t afford to throw it all away now. The movement and the muttering inside continue. Then, after what feels like an eternity, the chain slides across and the door opens inward.

  There she is.

  “Hi, Jen.”

  “Matt? Matt, is that really you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  6

  “Where have you been?” she asks once she’s sure it’s really him.

  “Trying to get home.”

  “But it’s been months.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  They’re at opposite ends of the hallway. So much distance covered, but he can’t take the final few steps. Matt’s aware of other people in the house, but he’s not interested in them because he’s completely focused on Jen. He’s struggling to believe he’s made it and she’s still here and still human. He’s half-expecting this to be some fucked-up, fear-fueled hallucination. Any minute now he’ll wake up lying in the mud outside a camp full of Haters. Or worse.

  The bloke who answered the door forces his way into the conversation, literally positioning himself between the two of them, watching Matt like a hawk. “You okay, Jen?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  Matt sees there are more faces watching from the door into the lounge. A middle-aged woman with two kids; a painfully thin girl, and a younger lad. She tries to surreptitiously herd them back into the shadows as they crowd forward, inquisitive.

  It’s an uncomfortable standoff which Jen ends when she moves past the man in the middle of the hall. “It’s okay, Jason,” she says quietly.

  Now it’s just the two of them facing each other again.

  “Sorry I took so long.”

  “I didn’t think you were ever coming home. I thought…” She’s in floods of tears before she gets anywhere near the end of her sentence. Matt reaches out for her and the two of them melt into each other’s arms.

  * * *

  The kitchen is filled with clutter and shadows. Matt and Jen sit at the table, a dull, battery-powered lamp lighting the space between them. The conversation is sporadic. Matt looks around the room for reassurance, some familiarity to cling on to, but it all looks so different to how he remembers. There are piles of other people’s belongings where his things used to be. Dirty clothes and used crockery. Even though they rented, Jen was always so house-proud. It doesn’t feel right to be sitting here in the squalor and gloom. A flash of light from a passing CDF patrol lumbering down the street outside illuminates both of their faces momentarily. Jen’s staring at him. Won’t take her eyes off him.

  “I missed you,” he says, taking her hand in his.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” she replies.

  “You’re kidding. It’d take a lot more than the end of the world to split us up.”

  She smiles, but it doesn’t last long. “I should have so much to say to you, but I don’t know where to start.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to say anything.”

  The house feels different because there are other people here. Matt has a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue, but he figures Jen has thousands more so he keeps quiet and waits for her to speak. He’s not left waiting long. “Why did it take you so long to get back?”

  “You’ve seen what it’s like out there, haven’t you?”

  She shrugs. “Heard more than seen. There’s no TV and I—”

  “Take everything you’ve heard and multiply it by a thousand,” he says, cutting across her. “I’m not sure how I managed to do it. I did it all on foot. I swear, a lot of the time I was covering less than a mile a day. First sign of trouble and I had to hide and wait for the Haters to disappear.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. “I’d have got a message to you if I could. The phones are dead, email’s dead, there’s no post … there was nothing I could do.”

  “You were only supposed to be going away for the weekend…”

  He shuffles his chair closer and puts his arm around her, a little uncertain at first. “Missed you,” he whispers, his mouth close to her ear. This moment is all Matt’s thought about since he left for Skek that morning. Getting back to this place and this woman means everything. He revels in her warmth, her touch … even her smell. “The whole bloody world has gone to hell. Everything’s changed. You’re the only thing that’s stayed the same.”

  She rests her head on his shoulder. “Are things really that bad?”

  How much does he tell her? He could go into detail about the things he’s witnessed and the things he’s done, but what would it achieve? He wants to protect her, not terrify her. “Yeah,” he says, unconvincing, “things are pretty shit.” Understatement of the century, he thinks. A quick change of subject is called for. “So who are our houseguests?”

  “I didn’t have any choice,” she says, pushing away, immediately defensive. “The soldiers came looking for spare rooms. There was nothing I could do. They made me take them in. They did it to everyone. There’s about twenty people in that big house on the corner.”

  “It’s okay. I understand. It’s good that you’ve had company. I’m g
lad you weren’t on your own.”

  “I told the army you were coming back, but they weren’t having any of it.”

  “I get it, Jen, it’s fine. So who are they?”

  “Mrs. Walker and her kids are living in the lounge. She’s really nice. She helps me out loads. Her husband was … one of them. She only just got out of her house in one piece. They come from right over on the other side of town. Her father-in-law was in hospital at the Royal Midlands. He died a month or so back. Cancer. Couldn’t get the drugs anymore.”

  Matt thinks it’s strange to think people can still die of relatively natural causes these days. “Sad to hear,” he says, instinctively.

  “Yeah, they couldn’t finish his chemo. Really sad, it was. And Sophie, one of her kids, she’s diabetic. It’s been a real struggle getting insulin for her.”

  “What about the other guy? The flash-looking bugger who let me in. What’s his story?”

  “That’s Jason. He’s been really lovely, too.”

  “And he’s on his own?”

  “There was another lad with him for a while, but he went out to get food one day and didn’t come back. Don’t know what happened to him. Jason had a really nice place. Lovely flat. He showed me pictures on his phone.”

  “And you’ve been okay with all these people in the house? You never used to like it when we had people to stay.”

  “I didn’t have any choice, I told you. The army said they had to come here and you weren’t around so I just had to deal with it. I’m just lucky I didn’t get anyone difficult. Don’t know what I would have done without Jason. He’s the one who goes out and gets food for us, and little Sophie’s medicine. Me and Mrs. Walker share the cooking.”

  Right on cue, Mrs. Walker enters the kitchen. She stops in the doorway but Matt acknowledges and gestures for her to come in. The poor light doesn’t do anyone any favors, but he thinks she looks particularly haggard and he’s struggling to work out her age. She’s probably in her thirties judging by the age of her children, but she looks much older. Her straw-colored hair is scraped back from her tired-looking face. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, sounding uncertain. “Just need to get some water for the kids.”

  “You’re not interrupting,” Matt says, and he gets up to move out of the way when she tries to squeeze past him. The kitchen feels like it’s shrunken in size. The whole house does, actually. Mrs. Walker reaches for a half-full water carrier. He picks it up and helps her fill a jug. “Nice to meet you, by the way. Thanks for everything you’ve done for Jen.”

  She acknowledges him and she’s polite enough, but there’s no warmth there. She rests a hand on Jen’s shoulder, then nods and slips past to get back to what’s left of her family.

  When she’s gone, the conversation doesn’t immediately restart. Matt craves all the old nothings they used to talk about: Did you have a good day? What’s on TV tonight? What are we having for dinner?

  Jen’s equally uncertain. “So what happens now?” she asks, and she wipes away an unexpected tear.

  “I don’t know. To be honest, I’d only planned things this far. Didn’t dare think about anything else.”

  “Do we just pick up where we left off? Pretend the last three months didn’t happen?”

  “Yes, please.” His answer comes quickly, instinctively. He’s not sure where this is going. One thing he does know is that her ominous questions are making him feel more nervous than at any point when he was out alone in the wilderness. “Is that okay?” he adds hopefully. “I haven’t changed, Jen,” he says, though that’s just for her benefit. Truth is, the meek accountant who disappeared off to Skek that morning is long gone.

  “You have. Look at you. Your hair, your beard … It’s not a good look.”

  “I’ll shave. Give myself a buzz cut.”

  “You smell different.”

  “I know. I’m not kidding, Jen, what I’ve seen in the city since I’ve been back is luxury compared to what’s going on outside.”

  “You sound different. You talk different.”

  “What am I supposed to say to that? I’ve hardly spoken a word for months. I couldn’t say anything to anyone out there. Did my best to stay away from everyone, actually. You’ve got to believe me, Jen, I’m still me.”

  “I still don’t understand why it took you so long. It’s been months.”

  Matt struggles to think of a way he can fully convey the scale of what he’s been through without terrifying Jen completely. His head’s filled with an endless procession of grotesque images he’s been doing his best to block out. He can’t tell her about the death camp he stumbled across, or the family who died while he survived, or the scores of refugees he watched being killed earlier today as he hitched a ride on the roof of the bus into town. “Not yet,” he says instead. “I need time to get my head together.”

  Now she’s crying freely. “And all I’ve had is time. You don’t know what it’s been like sitting here waiting for you day after day. I thought you were dead. I thought you were never coming home.”

  “Everything all right in here?”

  It’s Jason.

  “We’re fine,” Matt tells him.

  “I’m really tired, I’m going to bed,” Jen says and she picks up a lamp and goes to leave.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Jason asks as she passes him.

  “I’m okay,” she says as she goes upstairs.

  Jason waits until she’s out of earshot. “Must be a lot for her to take in, you turning up like this.”

  “Were you listening to our conversation just now?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  “But I was sitting at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to be sure Jen was all right.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  Jason holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Absolutely nothing, but she’s been good enough to give me a roof over my head, and I don’t know where I’d be without her. A lot of folks would give everything they have to trade places with me.”

  “Most folks don’t have anything left to trade.”

  “I know that, too. Look, I’ve clearly not seen anywhere near as much of the fighting as you have, but I get it.”

  “Good.”

  Matt goes to follow Jen, but Jason blocks his way. “She talked about you all the time,” he says. “She’s really struggled with all of this.”

  “I think I know my girlfriend pretty well, thanks very much. I don’t need you to tell me how she’s feeling.”

  “I’m just saying…”

  “What?”

  “I’m just saying you might need to give her some space. Go easy on her. Don’t force it. Let her get used to the idea of having you around again.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Matt says, and he follows Jen up, leaving Jason on his own in the kitchen.

  * * *

  He uses a lamp and two mirrors to fill the small bathroom with light, then starts hacking at his hair with a pair of scissors he finds in the cabinet. When he’s finished, he trims as much of his beard away as he can. The bin’s full by the time he’s finished. Enough hair to stuff a pillow.

  He tries cleaning his teeth, but the toothpaste tastes too strong. He fills the basin with tepid water from a jug and uses a flannel to wipe away the remaining grime that the soldiers’ hose didn’t blast off. A little deodorant—a long-forgotten scent—then he’s done.

  When he looks in the mirror he sees himself for the first time in what feels like forever.

  He gently opens the bedroom door, wincing when the hinges creak. He can just about make out Jen’s shape lying in bed in the dark, facing the wall. She’s already asleep, and he doesn’t want to disturb her. He curls up on the floor under the window and covers himself with a spare duvet. The boards are hard and he’ll ache in the morning, but despite the discomfort and the constant noise coming from the streets and skies outside, he knows he’ll sleep better tonight than he has in
weeks.

  7

  His sleep is fitful and uneven, but long and overdue. Several times during the night and morning he wakes with a start, sweat-soaked and breathing hard, disoriented and filled with a vile, nauseous fear that he’s vulnerable because he’s dropped his guard. Instinctively he reaches for his rucksack and the hilt of the ice axe, then panics when he can’t find either. He fights with the covers like he’s trapped in a captor’s net, kicking and flinching.

  Then he remembers. There are no Haters here.

  But even though he’s physically exhausted, his conscience conspires to keep him awake. He’s still on alert, refusing to let go. This doesn’t yet feel right. When the world is so fucked-up and dangerous outside, how can it now be that he’s lying in his bedroom at home in relative comfort?

  An entire day disappears with barely any interaction with Jen or any of the other people in the house. They keep away—she keeps away—and he wonders what she’s thinking. He’s worried she’s frightened of him, of what he’s become. And she doesn’t even know the half of it. He can’t tell her anything. Not yet.

  It’s late again now. The hours have evaporated. There’s some semblance of a basic routine left here, that much is clear, but he’s way out of sync with the rest of the household. Jet-lagged without having been abroad.

  The door creaks open, startling him. Jen brings him some water and a little food, which he devours hungrily. She stands and watches.

  “Your hair looks worse,” she says.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll sort it out for you later.”

  “Just cut it all off.”

  “I’ll cut it properly. You’ve left enough for me to style.”

  “Just cut it all off,” he says again, sounding more aggressive than he intends. “No one has their hair done nice these days. It’ll make me stand out.”

  “I cut Jason’s hair for him.”

  “Lucky Jason.”

  “Why did you sleep on the floor?”

  “I didn’t want to keep you awake.”