by Wood, J N
‘The bouncer,’ I told him.
‘No it’ll be fine,’ Roy assured me.
‘Good evening gentlemen,’ the bouncer said, and pointed at the soap dispenser on the wall. ‘Disinfect your hands on the way in and obey the social distancing rules.’
‘Of course,’ Roy said and pressed his hand against the dispenser’s lever. Nothing came out. ‘It’s empty.’
‘Use the restroom,’ he told us.
We entered the almost empty pub.
‘What’s social distancing?’ I asked Roy.
‘No idea.’
We found a table in a dark corner of the pub. Roy returned from the bar with two pints of pale ale.
‘You have to queue,’ he told me. ‘Something to do with this social distancing thing. You’ve got to stay two metres from the person in front. Same as in the Travel Centre. It a good job there’s nobody in here.’
I drank my pint in less than a minute.
‘I’ll go to the bar,’ I said.
‘You stay there,’ Roy said. ‘I’ll go. You look like a trembling dog.’
‘A trembling dog? Thanks very much.’
‘You’re shaking a lot,’ Roy explained. ‘Back in a sec.’
Milos going under the wheels of that bus was running through my mind. It was a truly shocking thing to see.
The thing is I don’t feel guilty for killing him. It was entirely an accident, very much my fault but still an accident. Although I’m sure a sane person should still feel guilty if they kill someone accidentally.
What if it hadn’t been Milos? It could have easily been an innocent bystander, looking for a loved one, lost in the chaos after the virus.
Anyway, it wasn’t, it was Milos so there’s no need to worry about it. But even if I’d done that on purpose I don’t think I’d feel guilty. It was almost certainly me or him, and he wasn’t the nicest of people. He definitely wanted to kill me.
His death was so fucking horrific. I’ve seen a lot of blood in the last few weeks, but that was a disgustingly large amount. The fact that it was witnessed by so many people makes it worse for some reason. I wonder if anyone actually saw me push him. All I can remember is Logan staring at me. If I think back I can’t see anybody looking at me. Everybody’s eyes were on that streak of blood under the bus. I didn’t really hang around to find out if anyone knew it was me.
Maybe I’m no longer sane, and should be feeling some kind of guilt.
Roy placed two more pints on the table.
I’ll worry about my sanity when I get home.
I dragged my pint closer to me. ‘Cheers mate. What’s it looking like out there?’ Our table was tucked away so I couldn’t see much of the pub. A glass partition blocked my view, so only the very end of the bar area was visible.
‘I only went to the bar.’
‘I mean in the pub,’ I told him. ‘No Border Security types asking for Proof of Entry things?’
He took his glasses off and used the cuff of one of his shirt sleeves to clean the lenses. ‘I don’t think so. It looks like your run of the mill Irish bar. What happened to Logan and Milos?’
I took a long mouthful of my drink, paused for a few seconds to figure out how much I should tell him, and then told him everything. Roy’s face went through a variety of expressions. Revulsion and surprise the two most prominent ones.
‘Did you really have to tell me the watermelon part?’ he asked.
‘That’s what it sounded like. I just wanted you to have the full experience.’
‘Do you often smash watermelons into the road?’
‘Probably seen it on YouTube,’ I explained.
‘So you killed him then,’ Roy slowly said. It wasn’t a question.
‘Yeah this time I did. I’m not taking responsibility for Willard, but this time I was definitely to blame.’
‘How many is that?’ Roy asked.
‘How many is what?’
He leaned in closer to the middle of the table. ‘How many people have you killed? Jack told me about the rapists.’
‘What rapists?’ I asked, but then instantly realised who he meant. ‘Fucking Jack. There’s no proof they were rapists, but also no proof I killed any of them. I might have killed two of them. I have one confirmed kill.’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this in a public place,’ Roy suggested.
‘Do you think?’ I laughed.
Behind Roy, standing close to the wall opposite me, a very attractive woman was staring intently at me. She quickly glanced away when she realised I’d noticed her. With her gaze averted, she slowly walked across the room towards us.
‘Don’t turn around but there’s a woman walking over,’ I told Roy.
He immediately swivelled around on his stool.
‘I said don’t fucking turn around.’
Roy turned back around to face me. ‘She’s nice. You don’t think she’s from the Border Security do you?’
‘Fuck. I didn’t until you said it.’
I braced myself, expecting the worse.
She stopped next to Roy and leaned in closer to me. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Are you Brian?’ The accent sounded French.
‘Nope,’ I said, relieved. ‘That’s not me.’
‘Sorry,’ she almost whispered, and walked away.
‘That was an anti-climax,’ I said, lifting my pint up to take a sip.
‘I was starting to panic,’ Roy admitted. ‘Thought they might have got photos of our faces in the Travel Centre.’
‘Why didn’t she ask if you were Brian?’ I asked him.
Roy shrugged and put down his pint. ‘Maybe you look like a Brian. French or French-Canadian?’
‘No idea. I can’t tell the difference.’
Roy placed both hands on the table and stood up. ‘I’m going to order the veggie burger.’
‘Have you looked at the menu?’ I asked.
‘No but they’ll have a veggie burger.’
‘Get me a normal burger please.’
A few minutes later Roy returned with a big smile on his face. He sat down and he let out a little chuckle.
‘What’s up with you?’ I asked.
‘That French woman was near the bar talking to some guy. Two metres apart obviously.’
‘Great,’ I flatly said.
‘He’s got two big scars running all the way down his face.’
‘Still great. Why are you finding it so amusing?’
‘That will be Brian. I bet she thought you might be him because of the cuts on your face.’ He paused to properly laugh this time. ‘He was really rough looking as well.’
‘Well I’m glad it’s amused you.’
Roy chuckled to himself again. ‘Tony Montana or Scarface, which do you prefer for your new nickname?’
‘To be honest I’d prefer Brian.’
Our food arrived all too quickly, meaning it was probably pre-made and waiting in the fridge waiting for someone to order it. I must have looked terrible because Roy still wouldn’t let me go to the bar. Once we’d finished the food, he left and returned with two more pints.
He placed the drinks down but remained standing. ‘I was just talking to the French woman and her husband. She did think you were Scarface.’
‘That’s fucking brilliant news,’ I said. ‘Thanks for telling me I look rough as fuck.’
‘This is Benoit and Aurelie,’ Roy said.
I waited a second but it was still just Roy just standing there. ‘Eh?’ I asked.
The French woman’s face appeared from behind the partition. ‘Hello,’ she said to me. ‘Sorry for before, the mistaken identity.’
‘That’s fine,’ I answered. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
Has he just brought her over so she can apologise? That’s fucking embarrassing.
A dark haired man stepped behind her and held his hand out to me. ‘Bonjour, hello. I am Benoit.’
I shook his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Chris.’
‘I don’t think people do that anymore,’ Benoi
t said. ‘With the social distancing.’
‘Do what?’ I asked.
‘Shake hands,’ he explained.
Roy put two more stools down around our table. I hadn’t noticed him leave to fetch them. Benoit and Aurelie thanked him and sat down.
‘Sorry for the intrusion,’ Aurelie said. Her English was excellent but heavily accented. ‘Roy said it would be fine.’
‘No it is absolutely fine,’ I quickly said, worried my face was saying otherwise.
‘Aurelie and Benoit were on holiday in Vancouver when it all kicked off,’ Roy loudly declared, and then very obviously winked at me. ‘Know what I mean?’ He winked again.
‘Not really,’ I replied. ‘What have we been up to the last few weeks Roy?’
‘I’ve told them the truth,’ Roy said.
I glanced at Aurelie and Benoit. They just stared at the two of us with interest.
I leaned in closer to Roy and whispered, ‘You fucking what?’
‘Yeah I told them everything after what they told me,’ Roy replied.
‘They could have been anybody,’ I said, and then to the newcomers, ‘No offence.’
They just smiled back at me. Benoit raised his drink in a salute.
‘They’re not just anybody,’ Roy said. ‘They’re two people that just paid a scar faced guy called Brian to take them to Montreal in his lorry.’
‘How long were you at the bar for?’ I asked incredulously. ‘Have you never heard of small talk?’
‘About five minutes,’ Roy nonchalantly replied. ‘It’s the queuing thing. People chat. They think Scarface will take us as well. It’s three hundred and fifty dollars each.’
‘Okay, fuck small talk. Go pay the man,’ I said, not even having to think about it.
‘The cash is in your bag,’ Roy reminded me.
‘Very true,’ I replied, and was soon digging around in my spare underwear.
I counted seven hundred dollars and handed it to him under the table.
‘He was close to the pool table,’ Benoit said, his accent much stronger than his wife’s.
Roy stood up, saying, ‘Won’t be long.’
‘How long have you two been friends?’ Aurelie asked once Roy was out of earshot.
I tried to think how long it had been. It felt like a lifetime. ‘A week maybe,’ I eventually answered.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, and held up one finger. ‘Did you say one week?’
‘Yeah. Maybe a few days less, maybe more. It’s easy to lose track of the days at the moment.’
‘I thought you must have known one another for years,’ she said. ‘Not only one week.’
‘Nope. We first met in one of the refugee camps. Did you go through one of them?’
‘No,’ Benoit replied. ‘We entered Canada one week ago. We did not know of these refugee camps until Roy tell us at bar.’
‘You exchanged a lot of information in five minutes,’ I told him.
‘When Aurelie tell him about Brian,’ Benoit informed me. ‘He gets very excited and tells us about the two of you. Not that you only know each other for one week.’
‘He was very lucky you weren’t somebody else,’ I said. ‘I’m not gonna complain just yet though, because it seems to have worked out for us.’
‘Roy told us he lived in America,’ Aurelie said. ‘How about you?’
‘I was on holiday in Colorado with a friend.’
‘Did your friend not survive the virus?’ Benoit asked.
‘He survived,’ I replied. ‘We only left him and his wife this morning. Hopefully they’re in one of the internment camps as we speak.’
‘Is internment camps the same as detention camps?’ Aurelie asked.
‘Maybe,’ I answered. ‘They put people in there for six weeks to make sure they’re not sick.’
‘Yes, it is the same thing we have been told about,’ she said.
‘Detention camps sound much worse,’ I said. ‘What have you heard about them?’
Benoit shrugged and turned the corners of his mouth down, looking very French. ‘Nothing bad. That is just the name we were told.’
Roy bounded up to us and sat down, a grin filling his face. ‘We have passage in the back of Tony’s lorry,’ he proudly declared.
Thank fuck for that. The sense of relief was unbelievable.
‘Who is Tony?’ Aurelie asked. ‘Our driver’s name is Brian.’
‘It’s the same person,’ he told her. ‘I just call him Tony.’
Aurelie turned to her husband, a confused expression on her face.
‘What time do we set off?’ I asked him, not able to stop myself from smiling.
‘Half seven tomorrow morning.’
Aurelie and Benoit both nodded.
Things are actually speeding up.
‘How long will it take to get there?’ I asked.
‘He says the roads are a lot quieter at the moment because of restricted movement, so about two and a half days.’
‘Then we just need to get to Quebec City,’ I remembered.
‘Why do you go to Quebec City?’ Aurelie asked.
‘So we can find a boat or something,’ I explained.
‘You can sail from Montreal,’ she told me.
‘Aurelie,’ Benoit said.
She turned to him and spoke in very fast French. I wouldn’t have understood if she spoke it slowly. He said just a few words in return, and then they both turned back to us. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Private argument between husband and wife.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I told them.
‘We are in a little motel not far from here, on the very edge of Kamloops,’ Benoit said. ‘It takes cash. They do not need identification. They might have more rooms.’
‘Let’s stay here and celebrate,’ Aurelie cheerfully said. ‘If they do not have rooms you can sleep on mine and Ben’s floor.’
Benoit did not seem to approve of his wife’s kind offer. Roy can’t have noticed Benoit’s displeased expression, because he immediately said, ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you. Let’s stay and have a few more drinks. We’re going to be stuck in the back of a lorry for two and half days. Might as well enjoy our freedom.’
‘What’s the toilet situation on the back of a lorry?’ I asked, the smile on my face disappearing.
‘Worry about that later,’ Aurelie said. ‘Now we celebrate our little victory.’
Fucking brilliant. We’re gonna be shitting in a bucket. All four of us shitting and pissing in one bucket. We might have to find a bucket shop first thing in the morning.
DAY TWENTY SIX
Chapter 12: Elena
Lots of disappointed faces stared down at me. I slowly looked back at them, trying to figure out what they wanted from me.
I was down on my knees on a cold, blood stained pavement. The faces started hissing, still all glowering at me. I didn’t feel any fear for some reason. Probably because they weren’t zombies. They looked like they wanted to kill me, but still like normal people. A gap appeared in the crowd directly in front of me. A large read smear of blood stretched out from under me and down the path the parting people had made.
I woke up on the floor of a dark room.
That was a weird dream, obviously inspired by yesterday’s events.
A very thin blanket covered my upper body. I turned my head to find Roy’s face far too close to mine. On the bed next to me, two pairs of feet dangled off the end.
Hopefully they belong to Benoit and Aurelie. I can’t imagine who else’s they could be.
The thin and cheap curtains in the motel told me it was still dark outside. I scrambled around for the phone, first checking my pockets and then the area around me. I spotted the white cable dangling from a socket, stretched my hand out and grasped the phone. Impressed that I’d remembered to plug it in while being so shit-faced, I checked the time. We were fine, still a couple of hours to go before Scarface sets off.
I tried to remember the previous night. Up until last ord
ers, when we were very politely asked to make an orderly exit, we didn’t leave the corner of that Irish pub. Probably best considering we’re basically fugitives.
I can’t remember if it was me or Roy, but one of us asked the French couple if they knew what was happening in Europe. Unfortunately they didn’t know any more than us.
They did tell us their apocalypse story. A week before everyone was aware of the Florida Virus, they rented a small cottage near Mount Rainier. Their nearest neighbours were half a mile away. At first they were disappointed the closest pub or restaurant was a half an hour drive away, but the remoteness ended up saving their lives. They didn’t find out what was happening until they drove into a very quiet town to do a bit of food shopping. She said a crazed woman in the convenience store told them to get back to their home and not come out until people stopped dying.
Benoit said it was a bit of a shock when they did finally venture back out to find the undead running around. Having to contend with zombies meant they took longer than expected to get to the border.
Somehow they managed to miss the refugee camps completely, and snuck over the border where the Canadians were yet to build a wall. The towns in Canada had already been evacuated by the time they crossed over.
After making their way further north to find other people, they apparently just climbed over the inner border fence. There was nobody guarding it so they just cut the barbed wire away from the top and that was it. Benoit told us it took them nearly half an hour to make it safe enough so they wouldn’t harm themselves. They were terrified someone was going to shoot them.
Roy joked that it might have been Sandro’s post, and he was probably taking some people to see Custard, or taking a shit.
After we’d been kicked out of the pub and walked, I think, back to Benoit and Aurelie’s motel, Roy and I tried to get our own room. It’s a bit fuzzy but I think the reception had been closed.
We’d spoken about buying some supplies for the journey last night. I can’t imagine there’ll be many shops open at this time in the morning.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, I got to my feet and went into the bathroom. I considered not flushing the toilet, fearing the noise would wake everyone, but flushed it anyway, thinking the smell would annoy them more.