Maybe his fingers moved a millimeter, certainly no more than that. He pushed again. And he felt the graze of rough ground against his skin.
“Don’t leave me.” The idea terrified him: that Susan would decide he was dead and she would move on. The possibility that he could be alone and expected to navigate this new world with only the voices for company.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t do it.”
“What?” Susan asked. He stared straight ahead, but at the edge of his vision the gray outline of Susan came into view. He tried to turn his head to look at her, but he didn’t have the strength to move.
“What can’t you do?”
“I can’t cope on my own.” He didn’t know if Susan heard exactly what he said, but she must have learned enough from his tone. He felt her body press against him, the reassuring weight of her arm pressed against his shoulder.
He sat, watching the burned-out house, feeling the weight of Susan pressing against his side. He sat, and waited.
21
They stayed for more than an hour, long enough for the daylight to begin to fade. The breeze drew the scent of burning down the street and it washed over them.
For a long time Jackson didn’t try to move; he was too afraid that he would discover he couldn’t. But eventually he had to accept he could not always sit there staring at the house, they had to do something. Susan seemed prepared to wait as long as he needed. She hadn’t shown any desire to leave his side.
When he stretched out his arm, it felt like he was operating a robot. He could feel what he was trying to do and he watched to see if his limbs would react. He fell against Susan and felt her hands upon him, helping him. When he stood, he wavered like a tree caught in a high breeze.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded and turned toward her. “Thank you.”
She looked confused, and then surprised, and then finally she smiled.
Jackson’s vision rolled. For a moment everything blurred. The burned-out house quivered in front of him. “I know what it feels like,” he said. “I can’t explain it, not properly, but it felt like dying was the only outcome to wish for.”
“But you’re all right now?”
He shook his head. “I can still hear them.”
“You looked like one of them.”
“The sleeping dead?” Jackson nodded. “I probably was.”
He looked back at the burned-out husk of the house. His house.
“Donna’s gone.”
Susan nodded. “Probably.”
He laughed. Even to his own ears it sounded hollow and a little desperate. “Do you have to be so hard? Couldn’t you at least pretend like there’s a chance?”
“Why?”
He looked away. The black stains on the brickwork hurt his eyes. They looked like specters. Ghosts.
“So what happens now?” Jackson asked.
Susan held out her hand and he took it. Her skin was soft. Warm.
“We keep on walking.”
About the Author
Richard Farren Barber was born in Nottingham in July 1970. After studying in London, he returned to the East Midlands. He lives with his wife and son and works as a Development Services Manager for a local university.
He has written over 200 short stories published in Alt-Dead, Alt-Zombie, Blood Oranges, ePocalypse – Tales from the End, Murky Depths, Midnight Echo, Midnight Street, Morpheus Tales, MT Biopunk Special, MT Urban Horror Special, Night Terrors II, Siblings, The House of Horror, Trembles, and broadcast on BBC Radio Derby and Erewash Sound.
Richard was sponsored by Writing East Midlands to undertake a mentoring scheme in which he was supported in the development of his novel Bloodie Bones. His novella The Power of Nothing was published by Damnation Books in September 2013.
His website can be found here: www.richardfarrenbarber.co.uk.
About the Publisher
DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.
To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, please visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.
Table of Contents
THE SLEEPING DEAD
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About the Author
About the Publisher
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