by Stevens, GJ
Zoe lay beside her, stroking her hand. There was nothing left to do but keep watch. I had to stay close.
“You can leave now,” Zoe said, as I leant against the door frame. She kept her gaze on Naomi, didn't turn my way. “You can leave,” she repeated. “I know why you're waiting.”
I kept quiet and held my ground, a deep sadness gripping my insides. Zoe was one of my best friends and there was nothing I could do to stop her pain.
“Go away,” she shouted, tears falling.
Shadow thudded upstairs, his nose in the air and his bright brown eyes between me and the bed. I slipped away and he took my place.
Cassie was in the kid's room, tidying up the mess, some of which I'd made in my search for the pens. The two young girls were asleep in the bed; it had been a boy's room, the Spiderman bed cover one of many tells. A Superman sleeping bag was rolled out on the floor.
“Where's Jack?” I said.
She turned my way, a smile rising and for the first time I saw a dimple just below each of her high cheek bones.
“Lane's looking at his hand downstairs. The girls are whacked,” she said.
I felt a yawn fill my face.
“We all are,” I replied, matching her expression, then turned away. Sleep was a long way off for me. I knew I would have to break Zoe's heart when the time came.
I peered out of each of the windows, looking down through the cold air.
Out the back, three or four of those things were roaming around, each looking like they had no care in the world.
From the front, Zoe opened her eyes as I arrived and I patted Shadow, still in the same place.
Zoe closed her eyes as I went to the window, not watching as I looked down at the devastation and the bodies lain across the road. The farmer who'd smashed the window was ambling around the front, stumbling as he came to each of the truly dead.
I pulled the curtains closed and left Shadow on duty.
Already I'd learned to hate the calm. It was time waiting for the next crisis to strike, waiting for the next event to tear our world further apart.
Every little noise in this foreign house spiked my interest. I drew the gun in my mind ten times a minute, pointing it towards the dark.
I found Lane and Andrew in the kitchen, with Jack sat on the edge of the worktop by the sink. Jack's hand was in Lane's, who was leaning in to inspect a semi-circular wound between his thumb and forefinger.
“He's been bitten,” Andrew said, Lane's first aid kit open in his hand. It was one of the few things we'd been able to keep, the rest of our hoard lost, scattered around the campfire when we were overrun; a mistake we would not repeat.
“Bitten by what?” I said, fearing the answer. “When?” I said, as Andrew and Lane only replied with a raise of their eyebrows.
“Two days ago,” Andrew said.
“He thinks,” Lane added.
My gaze fixed on his and then on Andrew’s before turning down to Jack, the only one in the room who seemed to be oblivious.
He'd been bitten two days ago. Why wasn't he dead?
“How are you feeling, little man?” I said.
“Fine,” he said, his voice quiet.
I looked up to Lane. He replied with a nod.
“You must be tired,” I said, but he shook his head.
“He thinks he slept all day yesterday, after he was bitten,” said Andrew.
I ruffled the kid's hair and Andrew followed me to the dining room, where someone had put everything which might be of use on the table. There were a few cans of beans and a small stack of nappies, but not much else other than a collection of half-full spirit bottles. Very little food.
“There's a village down the road,” I said, but Andrew dismissed my statement.
“We need to watch the kid,” Andrew said, his voice quiet as he leant in.
“He seems fine,” I replied.
“You want to take the chance?”
“Maybe it's not a death sentence. Being bitten, I mean.”
Andrew kept quiet and Lane appeared at the door.
“He seems okay. More than okay,” he said, his voice quiet as we listened to light footsteps on the stairs.
“With the others…” Andrew said, but his face turned to the ground as he stopped talking.
I patted Andrew's upper arm.
“They wouldn't stop bleeding. Chloe anyway,” I said, Andrew filling the pause I'd left.
“And Naomi,” he said, looking to the ceiling. “The others didn't last long enough.”
Lane's voice was quiet as the footsteps headed over our heads.
“I had a look at Naomi and you're right, it looks like there's a clotting issue. I'm no doctor. We're trained in first aid for combat trauma, but there's more going on than just the bite. It's not the same for the kid. It's healing really well. Didn't need to bandage it.”
Lane was looking between us both. I swapped a glance at Andrew.
“You sure you want to take a chance?” he said, this time in his direction.
Lane was about to reply when Shadow's volley of barked calls stopped the words from coming.
48
The pistol led the way up the stairs, myself, Lane and Andrew chasing Shadow's sharp homing calls as best we could.
I knew what I'd see as I crested; knew Zoe would be dead, or dying, bleeding out. Naomi no longer her friend or her lover, whoever she'd been. Instead, the door sat closed with Shadow in the hall, barking towards the handle.
He followed behind as I pushed in. Zoe lifted her head, glaring back from the bed, still tucked in her embrace, the side of her face red with Naomi's blood. She scowled at our intrusion with an expression I'd never seen her wear. Lane and Andrew had turned before arriving.
“For your own protection,” I said, pushing the gun back in my waistband. “And ours, too,” I added.
“You never liked her,” Zoe’s voice barely said as she lay her head back down.
I bit my lip and stifled a reply, knowing nothing I could say would make a difference as I turned away, leaving the room, pushing the door as wide as it would go.
Cassie was in the hall with the others and followed as I ushered them into the main bedroom, pushing the door closed at our backs.
“I'm going to the village we saw on the way in.”
The three stared back, each face turning thoughtful. I could guess what they were thinking, Andrew especially, his gaze following toward the room next door.
I pulled the gun from my waistband and offered it in the centre. They each swapped glances.
“We need food, water, heat, if we can.”
They couldn't disagree with any part of what I'd said.
“You can't go without a weapon,” Andrew said, his eyes wide at the suggestion.
“I can't leave you without protection,” I replied. “At least I can run. It's quiet at the moment,” I said, nodding out of the back windows. “There might be somewhere better for us to stay tonight.”
There was silence as Andrew walked over to the window, pulling across the net curtains and staring outside.
“Your ribs?” Cassie replied, her eyes squinting down at my chest.
I shook my head; the empty feeling in my stomach was worse.
“I'll come with you,” Andrew replied.
I looked down at his side as he turned back.
“You're worse than me. Someone's got to look after the kids.” I held the gun out to Lane and he took it, pushing it into the pocket of his jacket.
“I'll come with you,” Cassie said.
My heart jumped.
“No,” I replied, without taking the time to consider the words. “The kids?”
A deep furrow arrived on her brow.
“I'm sure these two can take care of them. They've got the gun.”
I didn't reply, just stared in her eyes, trying not to get lost.
“Why don't you want me along?”
“It's not that,” I said, looking to Lane and then to Andrew for support
.
Both had turned away, finding somewhere else to focus.
“You need more hands, need help to find what we need,” she replied, her voice impassioned.
“It's not safe,” I said, trying not to turn away.
“But you're the big hero, right?” she replied, pushing her hands to her hips.
“I don't want you in danger’s way.”
Her eyes flared wide as the words came.
“Because?” she said. “Say it.”
I looked up and somehow Lane and Andrew had slipped from the room.
“Because I'm a woman?”
“No,” I said. “Yes. But not because you're not strong or brave enough.”
I didn't see her shoulders relax. She tilted her head to the side; raised her eyebrows, telling me to say what I meant.
“Then what?” she replied, not able to wait any longer in the silence.
“Because I don't want to see you hurt. I like you,” I said, raising my voice. I stopped talking and she took a step backwards, turning, but not before I saw a smile raise on her lips.
“A lot,” I added.
“Then I'll be good company,” she said, and headed out of the door.
Was she swinging her butt just a little as she left?
I took a deep breath and let the air slowly come out. I was nervous twice over. The run would be dangerous, but I was hopeful there would be food and water on the other side. Now I was nervous Cassie was coming along, but they were different nerves, more a feeling in my stomach. A feeling I hadn't felt since my wife had left my life.
Zoe's slow pained sobs pushed away my daydream. I took slow careful steps, standing at the doorframe, peering through. I didn’t know her pain, didn’t know what it was like to watch someone you love die.
At least Naomi had a chance; some hope. The boy had survived and so she might, too.
I drew a sharp deep breath. I couldn't dwell; I had a job to do. I had to keep busy. It was time to get on with living.
Downstairs, rucksacks were piled by the front door. Cassie stood with her smile gone. In her hands, she offered a large duffel coat with the fur around the hood.
I pulled it on.
She was ready, her coat over her shoulders and buttons done up to her chin, the hood pulled high.
Andrew appeared from an under-stairs cupboard I hadn't noticed before, a crowbar and a long screwdriver in hand.
I wanted the crowbar; it would make a more effective weapon. I handed it to Cassie and took the screwdriver.
Andrew returned with a short, stubby torch which I pushed in my pocket.
I hugged no one goodbye. It wasn't the end. We wouldn't let it be.
“We're only going down the road,” I said as we left, Shadow barking as Andrew held him back, the locks turning as we ran past the farmer.
I glanced back, ignoring the pain as we raced along the road towards the village in the distance. Even then I knew we would not see them all again.
49
Soon we slowed from a fearful pace, letting the white vapour from our mouths settle. Other than the farmer limping from the cottage, we'd seen no more of the creatures as we added to the distance from our haven.
Relaxing the screwdriver from my grip, I watched the village grow in the distance. To continue to call it a village was a big step; I could see four houses.
Each sat squat and close to the ground, much like where we'd just come from, but otherwise individual. A small post office sat nestled in the line as the road wound out of view. No corner shop yet, or one of those local supermarkets, but I hoped there would still be plenty of road to see when we got in close.
Cassie looked to the sky and along the horizon.
I followed, looking up and remembering the helicopters, bracing myself to run and hide as soon as we heard the first signs of their spinning rotors.
Cassie's gaze fixed on a valley, cutting between the shallow hills to the left.
“Might be a river,” she said, pointing in its direction. “If all else fails.”
I nodded, chancing another look back, pleased to be putting distance between us and the farmer.
Soon, the first of the cottages were on our right. Outside, lights hung around the edge of the low roof, their lamps drab and unlit, not unusual in the bright daylight. The curtains were drawn. The gate closed. No newspapers stuck half-out from the letter box. No candlelight came through the thin rounded panes of glass running up and down the door.
There were no sounds as I leant in. The round, brass handle stung my hand with its cold, refusing to turn.
“We should…” Cassie said in a whisper, stopping as I held my palm high.
I'd heard something and she leant in beside me, following the question in my expression. Her face drew in close and I could smell her perfume, not the kind which came from the bottle, but just as evocative.
Together we listened and I turned, fixing my concentration through the mottled glass, but whatever was on the other side was obscured in darkness.
I turned again, Cassie looking to the door as our eyes met. Another sound brought my attention back. There was definitely someone moving around in there.
I chanced a look at Cassie, our faces so close. She drew back a pace, turning to look along the building.
“Hello,” I said in a whisper.
Cassie shook her head.
“We should try the other end of the village first,” she said, her voice even quieter.
“Hello,” I repeated, a little louder this time.
Cassie's hand touched the top of mine.
“We should…” she said but stopped as we heard a series of what sounded like footfalls.
My mouth opened to a smile, eyebrows flashing in her direction. I turned to the door and something hit the wood hard from the other side. A small pane of glass burst open, glancing shards across the side of my face.
A gaunt, grey hand launched out in a foul-smelling cloud and grabbed my coat, the force pounding against my ribs. I doubled forward, hitting my head and was face to face with sunken eyes, squashed against the semicircle of textured glass.
50
A thin, yellowing sleeve covered the arm. Cassie's iron bar crashed down across it with a great puff of effort, but still the grip held.
I looked down and saw the skin tight around the bones. I tried pulling back, pushing away from the door, but no matter how much I tried it wouldn't let up. My left hand grabbed around the wrist but let go, the skin so cold; unreal, like a life-size doll.
A two-handed swing from over Cassie's head cracked against the forearm, snapping it down the middle. The grip sprung wide like the release of a bear trap, but the arm stayed out, waving from the window, leaving the last half of the limb swinging from side to side.
Cassie pulled me back from the door with such force I nearly fell to the ground before I made any distance.
Stumbling, I somehow kept on my feet as she pulled me along. I stared back, the drooping hand waving to the constant bang of its head butting hard from the other side.
Regaining my composure, we ran in the centre of the road, keeping an even distance between each of the buildings.
Chancing another look back, the farmer was nowhere. We then turned to watch the village open out and end. There was no supermarket, corner shop or pub, just the post office, looking no bigger than the size of the phonebook.
Cassie slowed first and I matched her pace. Her hands reached into her pocket and she pulled out a cloth, beckoning me closer with her other hand.
I followed her request and stooped a little. The cloth came away with a light dapple of blood, but I felt little pain as she gently dabbed the wound.
“We need to be careful,” she said. “You need to be careful.”
I let a wide smile fill my face and she handed me the cloth.
“Post Office is our best bet. Do you think?” I said, pushing the cloth to my pocket.
There were ten houses, each painted white, but all so different and simila
r at the same time. A thought came to mind and I turned around on the spot, taking in each of the houses for the second time.
“No cars,” Cassie said, before I had a chance to voice my findings.
“Evacuated themselves?”
She shrugged.
“We should find a map in the post office. We can walk to the next place, maybe find a car or at least somewhere with food.”
Nodding her reply, we walked but took our time to peer in each of the houses, stepping no closer than we needed too, not leaving the road.
Most were wrapped up tight, windows closed, curtains drawn, the occasional low-key Christmas decoration. All bar one.
A house, again much like the others, sat in the middle between two similar properties, with the Post Office next to the row of three. The curtains weren't closed and upstairs a window hung wide.
We shared a glance at the sight, stopping in the road, both unsure of what to do next. The front garden was immaculate and lined with evergreen bushes tapering in perfect cones. The patience required meant someone had time on their hands.
Sharing the raise of eyebrows, we took our first slow steps towards the house. Staring forward, we waited for the smallest of signs, telling us we should turn away.
Cassie was right; we needed to be so careful.
It wasn't any sight from the house which made us stop, or footsteps from the farmer, or any of his new friends. It was the sound of a large engine in the background, the noise already building as we waited; a truck, or something larger. Too noisy for a coach, the engine thrashed too hard for an official.
I turned to Cassie and she turned to me. My head filled with a vision of the helicopter and its devastation. A vision of those big jeeps they had in Afghanistan, but painted green, the machine gun mounted high and trained at every angle; the soldier's eyes twitching for everything which moved. Shooting first, asking questions later.
Her head must have filled with similar thoughts. I didn't need to do anything but tip mine across the road and she grabbed my hand, sending a shot of electricity up to my chest.
We ran, covering the distance in no time at all, between the two houses and jumping a short wall. The sound of the engine was almost upon us as we fell to the grass behind a wide chimney stack jutting out high from the side of the house.