In The End (Book 1): In The End

by Stevens, GJ

  Still, it wasn't enough. It was Logan who couldn't protect Ni, couldn't save her from this fate. He'd tried so very hard but I couldn't forgive his every decision. Many differences could have saved her life, could have meant another outcome. My life for hers, or maybe someone else. He'd tested his own to save me, to save Lane; had reached out from safety to get us in, but why couldn't he have done the same for Naomi? Was it because she had what he wanted?

  He'd killed so many of those things. Shot them dead with guns, smashed their faces in with blunt objects, but he grew distracted. He lost his edge.

  The new woman could never join our group, wouldn't fit; even if there was a group left. Even if so many weren't dead.

  She hadn't been through what we had, she couldn't understand the pain of watching so many friends die. I realise this now as my tears dry. I realise this now as my throat heals from the raw emotion I couldn't keep in; as I keep my dearest warm, even though she doesn't know I'm here.

  He said nothing as he manoeuvred her like an object, directing her transfer up to the bedroom. He wanted to stay. He wanted to appease his guilt, but I wouldn't let him spoil my last hours with her. If he had his way, he'd end it now. Would be easiest for all involved, right?

  No. Not right. Naomi was a person. My friend. My lover. She would go, but I would be the one to say when; to do what had to be done, but only when she was no longer there. No one would take that away from me. Not him.

  He came back, checked so many times. Each time with a pretence, but I knew his game and I wasn't having any of it. He even left the dog to watch. What was the mutt going to do when the time came?

  I heard their talk, his not-so-quiet voice. It wouldn't surprise me if those two didn't sneak away and fuck somewhere in a corner. Maybe once they had, he'd be more like the Logan who had been my friend.

  But would I stand for it? No. The door is staying closed. Get the fuck out, you black little shit. And you, too. You call yourself a friend?

  I woke and it was still light outside, the skin on my face tight. I knew why and didn't care. All I wanted to know was had it happened? Was she still with me?

  She was, for now.

  Nothing came back as I kissed her lips, but there was still warmth. Some warmth.

  I started at a knock at the door and was about to launch abuse when I saw Andrew with his hand clutching at this side, his face open, projecting towards me.

  My resistance crumbled. I nodded as he pointed to the bed, keeping silent as he sat at the end of the cover, looking over to Naomi with water welling in his eyes.

  I nodded and he turned my way.

  “I'll watch her if you want to clean up.”

  “Where is he?” I said. “Logan,” I added, as Andrew raised his eyebrows.

  “He's gone to see if he can find food, just up the road.”

  “Alone?”

  “Cassie's gone with him.”

  I couldn't help but scoff, but good old adorable Andrew didn't notice.

  I took up his offer, looking back with each step until I was out of the room, with the world still baring down on my shoulders.

  The house was quiet as I scrubbed at my face. It was her blood, but I couldn't live with it on me. I wondered if he could?

  I stared at my clean skin and saw Naomi behind me in the bath, heard her laughter breaking up her song and leant heavy against the sink to stop myself crumbling to the floor.

  A call went out, voices across the house and she vanished.

  Footsteps running, disturbing the dry floorboards. With a deep lungful of air, I straightened up and, opening the door, I saw Andrew stood wide-eyed, peering down the landing. He looked up and spoke.

  “The boy's gone.”

  75

  LOGAN

  Cassie and I counted five, but every moment we waited in the Land Rover their number added, each wandering in and out of the house like they owned the place.

  One thing was for sure; there was no frantic activity. Whatever had happened was hours ago.

  “Where now?” McCole said.

  “Nowhere,” I said, turning to Cassie as I held her hands between the two compartments. “We have to check inside. They could be hiding somewhere, scared to come out.” I kept my eyes on Cassie, not letting her lose hope.

  She nodded, widening her eyes.

  McCole didn't complain. With his pale skin and laboured breath, he was in no position.

  I drove slowly, the cold wind still blowing through my missing pane. I kept the sealed-up window of the passenger side between me and those things as we rolled passed the house to get a better look, hoping to draw out any more lingering to trap our friends.

  We counted eight, which took up to follow and snaked around the corners as I kept our pace slow, with Cassie watching out the back.

  My gaze fixed ahead, waiting to race off from any launched side-on attack we had no hope of defending against.

  Driving as far as we could stomach, Cassie heaved open the back door and, mentored by McCole, spent a full clip, despatching the tail in our wake.

  This time, at speed, we were back outside the house with a tire iron and a small shovel in our hands, not wanting to draw them near with the thunder of guns.

  We left McCole with the engine running, his pistol aimed through the back window.

  The house was quiet inside but the smell was anything but. It reeked with the same stink I never wanted to get used to, the forewarning stench which in this new world could mean only one thing.

  The hallway was littered with bodies. Cassie peered down close to my shoulder, our gazes trying to get as much information as they could so we could be sure it wasn't one of our friends, her family, laying with their heads bashed in.

  We stepped over three bodies, their blood thick and long congealed. We found fresh blood, too, from someone who'd been defending themselves. It was their trail we followed, their handprints up along the walls, heading to the kitchen.

  The trail stopped among the scattered contents of the kitchen cabinets littering the floor. The fridge was upended and barred the shallow larder cupboard, which I'd earlier found empty of anything of use.

  I paused, looking on at the wooden door and heard something behind the wood, realising why the fridge was in front.

  Looking up as movement creaked on the boards above, my finger rushed to my lips as I took my place in front of Cassie. Together we scanned the dining room to find everything as we left it, our meagre supplies still in the centre of the table, untouched; they'd had no time to collect them up before leaving, or before…

  I stopped myself from thinking any further.

  Movement above again cut my search short. The small bathroom was empty, despite the splash of blood up the door. The living room window was still barred and the light blocked by the great wall unit. Naomi's discarded, blooded bandages were still on the floor and the pieces of the puzzle locked into place. The floorboards creaked directly above.

  Each step groaned with my weight, my head upturned as I summited the stairs. Dark patches stained the floral carpet; they weren't there when we left that morning.

  The door to the bedroom where Zoe had been so protective of Naomi was closed. The master bedroom where I'd changed was open. It was the room where Cassie and I had made our connection.

  There was no one waiting to attack, the bed almost fresh.

  Cassie didn't follow. She was in the kid's bedroom and her tears were easy to hear, but, when I arrived, the room was empty and the covers thrown to the side.

  The bathroom door was left wide, the sink stained pink, but otherwise there was no sign. It left only the one door unopened. The one room where we knew danger lurked.

  All was not as I'd expected. Naomi was there but it was just her body standing, eyes white and sunken in her sockets. A quick look around the room told me Zoe had not been taken, hadn't suffered the same fate.

  I did the deed. Saying goodnight, I caught her body and laid her to rest before covering her with a sheet from t
he bed.

  It felt so wrong leaving the house. Felt like I was abandoning them, like I was leaving my last connection to my friends.

  Where had they gone? The question rattled around my head as we rolled along.

  Cassie was unable to add anything to my self-questioning, despite my assurances they'd got out alive.

  She couldn't take her gaze from the rear door of the Land Rover as we rumbled along the road and out of sight.

  76

  ZOE

  Andrew and Lane left me alone with the kids. Me, the least maternal person in the world, except after Naomi, of course, but I guess she couldn't be counted anymore.

  Andrew and Lane had left by the back door, jumping over the fence after we'd overhauled the room where the other two had slept; where the other two were still unaware I was left in charge with Naomi.

  It was Lane who'd seen the door open, who'd smelt the outside world drifting in and slammed it shut to run around the house, counting everyone; upstairs, downstairs, only calling out as the number hadn't added up.

  There were two of us missing; the boy and the dog. Nothing gone but a thick coat. The men of the house had puffed up, running after, leaving me to play house.

  Did they know what a state I was in? Still, I checked both doors were locked, as I'd been told.

  I checked the two kids were still sound asleep. The two sisters, but not of each other and no relation to me. Still they were precious, right? Was anything precious anymore?

  I stood at the bedroom window with the curtains open and watched out, staring across the field, up and down the road as far as I could, which wasn't very far at all.

  I turned back to watch Naomi stir, my hand grabbing for my chest as I fixed my focus, waiting for the sheets to rise and fall, soon turning to the window and looking back through the rain across my vision, even though the clouds were only just building.

  All I could do was wait. All I'd been doing was waiting, going along with their plan and look where it had got me. Look at where it had got Naomi.

  I turned again and watched her breath pause, picking up my own only when hers did.

  A decision had been made and this time it was my own. When Naomi and I were no longer, I would go it alone. If I lived for an hour, a day or maybe more, it would be on my terms, not on those of another.

  Yes, I felt something inside me react. Yes, I could feel the guilt rising in my chest. Logan had done his best, but the best wasn't good enough.

  I thought about going now. I thought about leaving the children sound asleep to be found by the two big strong men, or by Logan and his wife to be; if they ever came back. If they could ever make the journey.

  I looked out again, across the window and down the road, turning either side to see the empty street rolling out. The plan was set and I wouldn't be turned away.

  77

  I couldn't leave. I had to wait until I had nothing here left to live for, but it wouldn't take too long. The wardrobe was easy to move, easy to push across the door.

  No-one would divert me from my plan. Not even those creatures chasing after Andrew and the boy, racing down the street towards us. Not even the banging at the front door or Lane's colourful calls for me to turn the key.

  They were soon in anyway, their noise inside the house told me so. Voices calling my name confirmed, but they didn't need me. What did I have to give, anyway?

  A fist hammered at the bedroom door. The handle turned, rattling loose in its brass enclosure. I didn't reply and it went away.

  A scream ran through the house, followed by a toddler's cry. I listened to the wailing voices, not able to stop putting their features to the unholy cries, the sound still getting through my fists despite being pushed hard to my ears.

  I heard fighting, sure I could smell that stench. I turned to Naomi, but despite the space between her breaths, it wasn't coming from her direction.

  Gun shots came next, one after the other, the burning smell adding to the mix. Then nothing. No sign of who'd won.

  I stood, unable to keep back the tears. I watched outside as a crowd built, funnelling through into the house. I heard my name. I was sure and stopped my heavy breath, wiping the tears from my cheeks. A name, my name. They needed me.

  I turned to Naomi and held my palms flat on her chest, then moved to her hand and for the first time felt her grip.

  It was too tight, tighter than when she was alive. My fingers ground together and I pulled back.

  She wasn't Naomi anymore. Her eyes were open, white, sinking deep into her skull as I watched. It was time.

  I reached into my pockets, expecting to find a weapon but I hadn't put one there. I hadn't prepared. My chest grew tight and I realised as the weight lifted from my shoulders I would be no good on my own.

  My name was called again, but much more distant this time. These were my people. They were my friends. They were what I had left in this world. I couldn't see them dead at my hands.

  “Sorry, Naomi,” I said, as she rose, letting the covers fall.

  I turned to the wardrobe and shoved it, tried to push it aside. It was much heavier this time.

  I turned back to Naomi. No, not anymore; turned back to the creature in her body, shoved her cold flesh down to the bed and heaved the wardrobe to the side.

  With the door open, the stench was almost too much to handle and I slammed it shut at my back. My stomach heaved and would have poured out if there had been anything waiting.

  I called out, my words stirring movement below. I leant down over the banister. Those weren't my friends milling in the hallway.

  Running to the other bedroom, I dragged out the drawer of the wooden dresser and smashed it apart with one hit to the floor.

  Holding the plank of wood out in front, I raced down the stairs and called for Andrew. His reply came, but from far away. So distant.

  They'd left, gone. What little choice had I given them?

  The first creature didn't know what hit it, the wood crushing through the plate of bone between his eyes, falling back, tumbling the others down the stairs behind him.

  I leapt over the diagonal banister, landing on a body. It didn't react as I crushed the bone in its chest, no air left to escape. Behind me I saw a queue forming at the door; a long, orderly line, each ready to take the place of the next I took down.

  I rushed to the kitchen, passing the locked-up back door. I could hear their calls, but they weren't in the garden; only those creatures scratched at the window.

  I turned, backing my way in, hitting out left and right, blood spraying across the walls as my feet battled with the contents of the cupboards strewn over the kitchen floor.

  Even though I'd changed my mind, I'd got what I wanted. I was doing it my way. I would die through my own choices.

  78

  I swung the board left, then right, jabbing its length forward, smashing the rotting face over and again. Decaying flesh came away with each swipe, but it wouldn't go down; it just kept coming back for more, its hand clawing the air just out of reach.

  Somehow, I was keeping it from the kitchen, the cork in the bottle, knowing if they broke through I'd be surrounded and the weapon I'd improvised would be no use.

  I could feel my energy relenting. Knew it wouldn't be much longer before I couldn't even lift the board, my mind on the growing deadly queue in the hallway behind.

  The voices were back, quiet, but with an intensity of a shout and I could swear they were coming from the cupboard.

  A light sprung on in my head; they were behind the closed door. Why hadn't I checked before?

  I had one chance and hoped I could make it. When I stopped fighting they would pour in and overwhelm me.

  As I took the steps to find out, I hoped my ears hadn't been playing a joke.

  Angling my body around to the right, battering hard with a renewed energy and giving all I could with one last jab, I leapt side on to the door, pulling it wide to see the shallow larder, its narrow shelves empty of food and my friend
s.

  I'd done it now; I'd made my choice and the cupboard was where I would have to wait it out.

  Feeling a scrape against my jumper, I turned, jabbing the wood into the neck of a woman, her eyes white and wide, her hair missing, torn clean off to leave the red of her skull exposed.

  Another was at her side, but I turned before I could take him in. Looking to the fridge and with one push at its back, it rocked, almost dropping to the floor, nearly forcing back the horde but not quite.

  I turned, the rest a blur. The floor was gone, the light too and I was falling, but hands stopped my bounce against the steps. The door slammed shut and the fridge scraped along the floor as it slapped hard against the door.

  My gaze latched onto a candle against a far wall as it flittered in a draft. Hands put me right, turned me through ninety degrees, settling me on my butt.

  I was in a basement. Andrew's face peered at me as it moved in and out of shadow with each flicker.

  “This is awkward,” I said, but he didn't reply, just pulled me into his open arms and squeezed.

  “Look what Lane found,” he finally said, so quietly I could hardly hear as he released me, spreading his hands out to show me the rest of the tiny room.

  The room was about the size of the bedroom upstairs where I spent most of my time in the house, but without the bed and the dated flowered wallpaper, unless it was authentic decaying brick print.

  The floor was soft, a mix of rubble and mud I didn't want to spend much time looking at. Along the walls were shelves filled with jam jars, but I couldn't make out anything edible inside. The smell was an improvement from above, but only just; the musk and musty odour made me glad when my breath finally slowed.