They Remain: A post-apocalyptic tale of survival (The Rot Book 2)

by Luke Kondor

  Susie rolled her eyes and slumped against the car, feeling the ache in her legs from sprinting halfway across town.

  Still, sitting out in the open, beneath the stars and listening to four grown men laugh like children… that was a hell of a lot better than being trapped in a town full of death.

  Susie let a small smile play on her face until she remembered the mutilated face of her father and lowered her head, letting the tears fall.

  When they were all laughed out, Anton looked up and saw Susie, head buried in her arms. He crawled next to her, looked awkwardly at Colin, then draped an arm around her. Colin wasn’t sure how Susie might react, seeing how volatile and defensive she could be at times, but was surprised to see that she immediately fell into Anton, sobbing into his chest. He rested his head on hers.

  “I’m so sorrys for your loss.”

  Colin pulled out a bag from the boot of the car and wandered off for a short while. When he came back, the bag was spilling over with dry twigs and bracken found by trees at the side of the road. He was pleasantly surprised to see that everyone from the car was now sat in a circle, talking to each other under the light of the moon. Even the dogs were out – Whisper lying across Anton’s lap, looking forlorn as if she were lamenting the loss of her owner. Of Byron. Dylan’s ears perked up and he circled Colin’s feet as his master took a seat in a space around the circle, dumped the fuel, and sparked up a fire.

  Keaghan’s leg stuck out in front of him, the dressing removed to expose the skin to the air.

  “Still looks pretty nasty,” Colin said, poking the growing fire with a stick.

  “Doesn’t feel too good either. I was worried the drive would re-open the wound, but it seems to be holding together pretty nicely.”

  Quinton was sat practically shoulder-to-shoulder from Keaghan, looking at the leg with disgust. Colin looked around the group, seeing the sorry state that they were all in. Both Susie and Quinton had lost family today, Keaghan could now hardly walk, and even Whisper was hurting. It had been a hard road for everyone.

  “We owe you a lot, Keaghan. We wouldn’t have made it out alive today without you.”

  “Hear, hear,” the rest of the group chorused.

  Anton reached into his own bag and withdrew several bottles of water. He passed them around the circle, each person taking huge mouthfuls. When the dregs came full circle, Anton ensured the dogs got their fill. Whisper and Dylan lapped greedily in turn.

  There was little wind while they sat and regrouped. They had made a good distance already with Keaghan’s foot glued to the accelerator, but Colin thought that maybe they’d still be able to see the last smoulders of the inn and the adjacent buildings from far off. Rolling hills and small forests made that all but impossible and he looked around to try to get his bearings.

  “How far from Hope are we?” he asked Anton.

  Anton shrugged. “Hard to tell in the dark. We’re going in the right direction, that’s all I know.”

  Colin pulled out several foil-wrapped bars from his bag and chucked them to everyone around the circle. “Eat up and re-energise. I know today has been tough. We’ve all had losses, and there will be time to grieve. But it isn’t here. The sooner we’re back in Hope, the better. I’m happy to take first shift on the drive if people need to sleep, but we’re not camping out here tonight. Sleep in the car.”

  “Colin,” Susie said, grabbing his arm as he walked past. “Thank you.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around today,” he smiled. “Get some rest. Hope is calling us home.”

  ~ 23 ~

  Colin paced back and forth. His work shoes clapping loudly throughout the silent hospital corridor. Sweat gathered on his forehead and he swiped it away with his forearm. Panic settled in the base of his stomach and he felt ready to throw up. They’d told him the umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby’s throat, that they’d need to perform a c-section on Rachel. It was safe enough, they’d said. And yet, if that was true, why did he feel like this? Why did he feel like something terrible was about to happen? Why did he feel so light-headed?

  There was trouble around the corner. He knew that much. Or at least his body did. He could feel the weight in his head now, drifting to the side, swerving, could hear the road beneath the wheels go from smooth tarmac to dirt and gravel.

  “Mr Bolton,” a voice called from behind. It was one of the nurses. The news is good, “Your baby is here,” the voice said with a smile, and yet Colin couldn’t shake the feeling.

  Something terrible was about to happen.

  And then he jumped…

  …awake.

  Just in time, too. The right-hand side of the car was bumping along, dangerously close to dropping down into a ditch. He pulled the car sharply back to the centre of the road. The force of it awoke Anton who quickly offered to take over.

  “I’m fine,” Colin said, convinced he could still smell the sterile air of the hospital. He wound the window down to flush it out, licked his finger and dabbed the spit under his eyes. The cool wind on the saliva was enough to wake him a little more, but it didn’t take long before the hospital started to return. Rachel’s hair clinging to her head, the baby, ‘a boy!’, resting in her arms.

  “Bolton!” Anton shoved him and he was back in the car. “You’re exhausted! Are you tryings to kill us. Pull overs. Let me drive.”

  Colin reluctantly accepted, feeling awful as he saw the deep purples beneath Anton’s heavy lids. Still, they pulled the Ranger to a stop, swapped seats, and before long he was fast asleep in the passenger seat. His aching muscles taking over, his mind on lockdown. He dreamt, sure, but no longer of Fletcher’s birth. This time it was little more than a jumble of emotions and images. A parade of rotters, Rachel, Sunny, the LeShard farm. A surreal Kabuki – odd enough to make Fellini blush and Dali melt. He saw fire, heard screams, smelled the fetid stench of death. They all did. Not one of the travellers in the car slept in any restful way. Even Dylan twitched and grunted in the footwell.

  The car rumbled along in the quiet of night. Above them, stars shone with a brilliance that hadn’t been seen in decades, free from light pollution of towns and cities. Thin wisps of clouds danced in front of the moon as the shadows of trees and old farmhouses whipped past. At one point Anton slowed to avoid a fox that darted in front of the headlights, paused, then sped off into the brush.

  When Colin did wake, it took him a moment to remember why his bed was moving, jolting up and down to the rhythm of a road. He felt a weight across his feet and looked down to see Dylan. They made eye contact and Dylan hopped onto his lap, idly licking Colin’s palm. He was calm, relaxed – compared to when they’d first climbed onto the back of the Ranger – but the poor mutt just didn’t seem to like travelling around in a car all that much.

  “Not much further, buddy. It’s been a long trip for all of us,” Colin whispered. Anton glanced over, squinting at them both as he fought his own battle with sleep.

  “How you doing, Dutch?”

  Anton didn’t respond. He shifted his grip, leant towards the windscreen, and focused on driving.

  In the back of the car, Whisper sat on Quinton’s lap, deep in slumber. Keaghan took the other side of the car, mouth open with a string of drool hanging from the corner. Susie was between them. Her head lolled back. She was sleeping. Or at least pretending to be. Even as she slept he found it hard to ignore her beauty. He found his mind sleepily drifting into thoughts which brought him back to his night with Joanna on the bridge. A pang of guilt shot through his insides, followed by a mini buzz of excitement as he remembered what lay ahead. It didn’t matter how much terror lay in the small camp of King’s Hill now. They were away. They had found Susie and a bonus few survivors, and they could pass the story on, reunite with the other Hopefuls, and get blasted on moonshine until the cows came home.

  Maybe a near death experience was all Colin needed to truly appreciate what he had at Hope? Maybe he could let go his reservations, move past it all with S
unny and Joanna, and look at living a life worth living.

  Colin didn’t realise that he was staring at Susie’s chest until a soft voice spoke. “You like what you see?”

  “No. I mean… yes… I mean…” Colin sighed, feeling Anton’s eyes burning into the side of his head. “I wasn’t actually looking.”

  Susie smiled. “I’m kidding.”

  Whisper awoke at Susie’s words, and hopped off Quinton’s lap, finding new rest on Susie.

  “Hey,” Quinton said, rubbing his eyes and looking around. “She’s mine.”

  “Not anymore,” she said playfully.

  Keaghan slept on. If it hadn’t been for his heavy snores, they might have wondered if he was still alive. Colin couldn’t help but wonder about his leg, and how long it might take before infection took hold.

  But then, what was there to worry about? Joanna would fix it up, wouldn’t she? They had someone inside the infirmary now for occasions just like this.

  “How you doing up front, Dutchman? We got an eta on Hope?”

  Anton’s head had begun drooping but snapped up at the mention of his name. “Shoulds be there in a jiffy.”

  “How long’s that?” Susie asked.

  “That’s Dutch for an hour or so,” Colin smiled. Anton protested as Colin leant across his lap and wound down the window once again, inviting a fresh blast of air which opened Anton’s eyes to full capacity. Keaghan shivered and woke.

  “Woah, hey, huh? Whasshappening?”

  Susie, Quinton, and Colin laughed. A sound that seemed beautiful to hear in that moment. Even Anton’s lips peeled back as he clocked them all in the rearview, rubbed his eyes and pushed onwards.

  Sleep didn’t come to anyone after that. The three in the back huddled against the chill air that dominated the car. They hated it, and their teeth chattered, but they all knew it was necessary if they were to get back anytime soon. Besides, Colin’s promise of an hour (even though he was hardly sure himself) seemed to ignite some life in the three from King’s Hill. They spoke amongst each other, sometimes giggling, other times with tears in their eyes. They had each lost a lot and their emotions were all still in overdrive.

  At one point along the way, as the sky ahead began to lighten, Colin saw Susie and Quinton in deep discussion. He looked happy, as though he couldn’t believe his mother was sat next to him, talking to him. Whatever their dynamic was, it certainly seemed complicated. The one question popping again and again into Colin’s mind: why would a mother leave her son at the first sign of danger, and rescue her father?

  Why would a so-called patrolman not trust his instincts and allow an Irish scavvie into his home to murder the two people that he had begun to call family?

  Why would a guy spend a week ignoring a kid that had called out his son’s name in the night, without any previous mention of Fletcher’s name?

  Why would said man disappear into assuredly mortal danger on a scout mission without kissing Joanna goodbye?

  Colin’s head barraged him with questions on his own motives. He shook his head and stared out the window.

  The answer is simple. Because we’re human. Dumb broken humans who make mistakes.

  By the time the early morning light had begun to flood the sky, Colin began to recognise the landscape. Familiar fields he had viewed from afar on his canicross run. The spire of a distant church in an overgrown ghost town. The sky was a deep purple, peeling into red.

  Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight.

  Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.

  Colin looked for the sign he had seen on his arrival to Hope in a time that seemed years ago now. They had almost driven past when he found it, knocked over and laying on the ground, deep tire treads tearing up the mud around it.

  “Did you see that?” Colin whispered to Anton as the woods leading to Hope approached. He was sure the others in the back couldn’t hear for the roar of the wind in the car.

  “Hmm?”

  “The sign on the road?”

  “What about it?”

  “It looks as though someone hit it. Hard. Didn’t you see the tire tracks in the mud?” Anton turned and looked with eyes that looked unable to comprehend a word that was being said. He was on autopilot, his body nothing more than a slave to his instincts. Colin furrowed his brow and watched the road ahead. “Never mind.”

  But a strange feeling crept over him now. A feeling that he couldn’t shake, as though he had spent too long on the beach and there was now sand in places that he couldn’t quite reach. The feeling irritated him, wouldn’t let him rest. He wondered if it was just paranoia – and it might’ve been – but as they approached the booth with the motorised steel barricade where a man in ski equipment and a gun had allowed them passage earlier, there were now two men standing in the booth. Their hair short, and the dark edges of tattoos poking up from their collars. They approached Anton’s window.

  “Name and business?”

  For a second, Anton looked perplexed. He looked the two up and down, clocking the large assault rifles in their hands. “I’m sorry?”

  “Name. And. Business,” the second man growled.

  Anton looked at Colin, his face a mass of confusion. “I am Anton Bakker, kin of Henry LeShard. In the back is Susie K, Quinton, and Keaghan of King’s Hill. Next to me is Colin Bolton.” At the mention of Colin’s name, they bent into the car for a closer look. A smile played on one of their faces and Colin found that itchy sand feeling flare.

  “Bolton, eh?”

  “Henry’s expecting us.”

  The man at the front chuckled. “Too right he is. Move along.”

  “Well that was odd,” Quinton said as the trees swallowed the booth behind them. “Not the type of guys I’d have on reception.”

  “No. They’re not. Anton, you’ve been here longer than me. Do you know them?”

  Anton shook his head.

  Red sky in the morning…

  “Keep on your toes,” Colin mouthed to Anton.

  They drove on for another few minutes, Anton’s speed vastly reduced as the trees thinned and the familiar barbed wire-topped fence came into view.

  “Remain Hopeful?” Keaghan said. “Well, I sure hope this place is all it’s cracked up to be.”

  They parked up outside the gate and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  “What are we waiting for?” Quinton asked, standing behind his mother.

  “I don’t know. Usually, someone is always there, ready to—”

  A hum of electricity as the gates slowly opened. A moment later and Henry approached, his face sombre. He didn’t even seem to register their new guests. He just nodded at Anton and indicated that they should follow.

  “Henry?” Anton said, jogging to catch up with him. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  No answer.

  They followed him like naive ducklings, treading the maintained paths towards the collection of buildings that would have formed the old vacation site’s reception area. One by one they were filtered into the infirmary, bleached, given the ‘all clear’ by Veronica, and asked to wait at the side of the room. Where Joanna was, Colin had no idea.

  Colin was the last to be tested. He sat on the patient’s bed and grimaced as the bleach burned his skin. Veronica stood inches away, Henry standing post at the only door in and out. The others looking sheepish as they watched the crystals bubble on Colin’s hand.

  Colin leant forward, his mouth barely moving. “Veronica, what the hell is going on?”

  Veronica avoided his gaze and wiped off the bleach residue. She announced, “All clear,” then stepped outside.

  “Good,” Henry said. The first words to leave his lips since they arrived.

  Colin stood up suddenly, marched over to Henry and looked down at him. The man looked like shit. His eyes were red and his usual aura of spiritual wonder and happiness looked like it had been vampire-sucked out of him. His theatrics all boiled out. Here he did
n’t look much of a leader. He didn’t look much of a wise old Yoda, spouting sage advice to all to hear whilst handing out shots of moonshine. No more of that at all. Instead, he looked to be an old man. Nothing more. Nothing less. A tired old man. “What the fuck is happening, Henry? You can tell us.”

  Instead of answering, Henry wrapped his arms around Colin and embraced him tight. He pulled back, a tear in his eyes as he looked at the others in the room. When he looked back at Colin, he said two just two words. “I’m sorry.”

  Colin didn’t even have time to ask what for, as Veronica reappeared through the door, a group of three men in her wake.

  Colin’s stomach dropped as he looked at the familiar faces. Faces that sent thoughts flooding from the night at LeShard’s farm. The smell of sweat and blood that had filled the kitchen as they had slaughtered Jerry and Kitty without mercy.

  The Millers smiled with wicked grins and yellowed teeth as they filled the room. He recognised Jackie-Boy, the little one with the knife at the back. Thomas J Miller, the snake amongst the grass. The shit that had lived in the LeShard farm for a week before selling them down the river.

  And at the helm of them all, was Patrick ‘Paddy’ Miller. His nose crooked and his eyes still showing signs of bruising from when Colin had head-butted him in a desperate means to escape the farm.

  “Well, well, well… if this isn’t a nice little family reunion. “Don’t go running off just yet, will yer, Bolton? I think we’ve got some catching up ter do.”

  Colin looked at Henry, now staring at the floor. He sighed.

  Oh, Henry… what have you done?

  ~ 24 ~

  The morning sun rose and awoke a town oblivious to everything that had occurred the night before. Sleepy hands dragged across eyes crusted with sleep, bodies racked with yawns. Hopefuls stretched. It was a new day, and boy was it a beauty.

  Only a select few noticed the absence of the Dutchman and Byron at dinner the night before. No one seemed bothered about the lack of Colin, knowing that the stranger from distant lands kept himself to himself. Sure he had joined them for one evening, but he had left early, and when would leopards ever change their spots?