by Wood, Rick
He started out in a light jog. He stumbled to the side a little but didn’t break stride. He kept going. Surging on. Powering forward.
He sped up. A run. A gentle run, but he was going faster. And he was doing it without a care in the world.
He made the decision to see how fast he could go. He found a whole new dose of confidence, he felt ready, he was willing to see how far he could stretch this leg.
He sprinted. As fast as he could.
If anything, he went faster than when he had two good legs. The springs propelled him forward. The metal didn’t shake, quiver, or anything. It remained sturdy, like it was part of him, like it always had been.
He screamed joyous screams. Lifted his arms out and felt the wind rush through his fingers. Felt his breathing quicken pace, felt his heart race, felt everything in his body burst to keep up with him.
He was soaring. Like the first time he’d ever run, but better.
He turned full circle and ran back to where everyone was waiting. Out of breath, he stopped, put his hands on his knees, panted, let his body catch up, enjoyed the familiar aching, relished the stitch in his side.
“So,” Desert said, “what do you think?”
Gus smiled. Beamed. Couldn’t help it. The smile just plastered itself across his face and stayed there as if glued to him.
He stepped forward, took Whizzo’s hand, and shook it, shook it hard, vigorously, with enough passion and enthusiasm to convey his appreciation.
“Thank you,” asserted Gus. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure,” Whizzo replied.
“So what do you reckon, then?” Desert asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do you think about helping us? About searching out the rest of the AGA?”
“I think…”
Gus looked down to his leg.
His leg.
His metal, springy, perfect, amazing leg.
He looked to Sadie. Eager.
“Of course,” Gus said. “Of course, I’ll help you. I mean, we will help you.”
They smiled at each other, then Gus returned his gaze to his leg, astonished, marvelling.
The whole time, Donny stood there. Saying nothing but thinking everything.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The night sky lit up with the peaceful tranquillity of dozens of stars. Lights from destruction far, far away. A thing of beauty, yet a thing of death.
Eugene wondered how long it would be until their star exploded.
His hands traced the outline of the barrier surrounding his porch. His flat was high up and, despite being quite afraid of heights, he enjoyed it; it meant he could condescend to all the tiny people on the street below. He’d spent many nights nursing a whiskey as he watched idiots wander about their pointless lives. Fools stumbling home drunk, soon-to-be-broken-hearted-lovers wrapped up in their own hysteria, the pointless lives of the homeless searching out a shop porch. Now, there was only the aimlessly wandering infected – and they were just as pathetic. Every now and then their heads would jerk, as if sensing food, possibly via a whiff on the air or the scuttle of a rat – usually, it would turn out to be nothing, and they would continue staggering down the street. Funny, really, how they were so slow and sluggish, but once the prospect of food announced itself their speed was unmatchable, and their ferocity unleashed.
Just like my ex-wife.
He laughed to himself. An unspoken joke with his thoughts.
Behind him, Hayes was still in the flat, pouring himself a fifty-year-old Balvenie Single Malt Scotch Whiskey. The flat itself was where he entertained his extra-marital affairs, its cost going down as an expense, of course. He missed the doorman who would greet him in the foyer, who would allow his guests up with such subtlety no one could rival. The walls were pristine, absent of any mark or dust; just pure, solid, impenetrable white.
The foyer was a wreck now, and the doorman was part of the undead, but what you going to do? Life goes on.
Hayes walked onto the porch, handing Eugene a tumbler of the exquisite whiskey, and joined in looking at the wretches below.
“Pitiful,” Hayes observed. “Aren’t they?”
Hayes could have been referring to many people: Gus Harvey, Gus Harvey’s ratty friend, the AGA – but Eugene assumed Hayes was referring to the infected below.
Either way, the guy was correct.
“Yes,” Eugene agreed, sipping his glass and relishing the beautiful sting of the first intake of scotch. “They are.”
A moment of silence spoke of their mutual disdain for the beings they had created.
“Any word?” Eugene asked.
“Yep.”
“And?”
“All affirmative. We are on track.”
“Good. And the AGA?”
Hayes smiled cockily at Eugene.
“What do you take me for?” he asked.
Eugene grinned. Hayes was efficient, he had to give him that.
“So the trap…”
“Is on track. We will meet them, and we will take them out in a quick sweep.”
“Good.” Eugene leant against the wooden beam, exchanging glances between the dead below and the stars above. “I don’t see them as a threat.”
“But you just like to make sure.”
“I’m like that. Like to keep things tidy.”
“Say no more. It’s done.”
Eugene considered his next statement. He’d given it great thought, contemplating it every chance he got, and his decision had been made.
“I want to be there,” he declared. “When it happens, I want to be there.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Don’t think it’s a bit risky?”
“Think I can’t handle it?”
Hayes paused. Considered his words.
“It’s just a difficult situation, exposing you like that,” Hayes stated. “You’re the prime minister. You’re in charge. If you get hurt–”
“I thought it was going to be a quick sweep, General.”
“It is. But if you aren’t protected in the initial attack–”
“Then you’ll just have to make sure I am.”
Hayes shrugged.
“Okay. We can do it. I’ll put someone on you, make sure you’re safe. You’re the boss.”
“Yes, I am.”
Eugene sighed. Looked at his whiskey. Twirled his glass, watched the waves crash against the rim.
“I just don’t want to work for all this,” Eugene said, “and not be there to see it all come together.”
“I understand.”
“It’s been such a bother, such a difficulty to make this all happen. Now it’s going to happen, we’re going to see it, actually see what we intended to create – I don’t want to be sat at home waiting to hear all about it. I want to be there, to witness it. Once it happens, the AGA won’t stand a chance anyway.”
“They are pathetic. Depleted numbers. It’s all precautionary.”
Eugene put his hand on Hayes’ shoulder.
“I place my trust in you, good sir.”
“I won’t let you down.”
Eugene nodded.
No. He wouldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lucy Sanders was dead.
That’s all there was to it.
That pathetic morsel no longer meant anything to Desert. She wasn’t some bitch to the office boss, some slut to the men who said a nice few words to get the most insecure woman in the bar into bed. Lucy Sanders had been more than the slave to the grind; she’d been the obedient, conforming, vagabond to the grind.
Now, she was the grind. She was the temptress who lured others into the fight against the life she once was.
Emotions didn’t matter. They were there to be controlled, not unleashed. Everything she’d learnt up until now told her that she had to be ruthless, had to quell the useless instincts she’d had before.
Before the infection, sh
e’d been a person who wore the nice clothes to work, did as she was told, waited and waited for that pay check to arrive at the end of the month and relished the week that it would last.
Now there was no pay check. There was survival.
And she was good at it.
After travelling for hours with no break, she appreciated Gus’s suggestion to stop – but they’d stopped for too long now. They needed to get going. So, she readied herself. Prepared herself to continue.
The lake they’d found to rest beside flowed with steady waves, calmly thrashing its water against the bank. She dipped her bottle in, scooped up some water, lifted that bottle to her lips and relished the release from dehydration.
Funny, Lucy Sanders had never thought about how grateful she was for water. For the necessities of life she took for granted. For the pathetic existence that ruled her monotonous activities.
Desert was grateful. Every damn day.
Right. Enough rest. Desert concluded it was time to go, and approached Gus to voice this; but, as she approached, she couldn’t help but watch.
Gus was sat next to Sadie who, despite her obvious limits in vocabulary, was listening intently to everything he said.
“The infected,” Gus said, “the ones with the pale faces – can you tell the difference between them and us?”
Sadie eagerly nodded.
“So, the infected – what are they like?”
“Uh…” She considered this. “Fast. Bad. Uh… Dead.”
“How can you tell they are dead?”
“Uh…” She indicated her face, then pulled a disgusting face.
Desert couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Yes – they have disgusting faces,” Gus confirmed, also smiling to himself. “And people who aren’t infected – what do they look like?”
“Uh…” She thought intently. “Face… Nice. Alive.”
“Yes, exactly. Now, here is the question – do we kill the infected” – he lifted his left hand out – “or do we kill the living?” He lifted his right hand out.
Sadie thought about this, then slapped Gus’s left hand.
“Yes, excellent!”
Sadie smiled proudly to herself.
Gus held out his right hand, the one indicating the living.
“And the living – do we ever kill them?”
“Uh…”
“Think about it, Sadie. Is there ever a time we kill them?”
“Uh… Yeah?”
“Yeah. There is. Is it when you feel like it? Is it when you want them to go away?”
Sadie thought about this, then shook her head.
“Or – is it when you are in danger? When they are threatening your life, or one of your friend’s lives?”
“Uh… Yeah.”
“Excellent,” Gus declared. “Good, Sadie. Well done.”
Sadie beamed at Gus; she couldn’t look prouder.
“Hey, Gus,” Desert interrupted.
“What’s up?”
“Reckon it’s time to go?”
Gus shrugged. “Good a time as any.”
They set off, walking back through the endless forest that consumed their surroundings. Desert was pretty sure they were in the middle of the Lake District – but she hadn’t come across any signs, or any of the wooden posts that would have indicated a walking route one may have taken on a casual Saturday afternoon before the outbreak.
It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like they needed to know the name of the forest. They just needed to go in the correct direction. Before the government’s attack had left the AGA in scarce numbers, they’d had instructions on how to get there; head south east for forty to fifty miles. Expect radio transmission as you get closer.
But what if this place was no longer there? What if they didn’t receive any transmission? What if–
No.
Lucy Sanders lived her life with what ifs.
Desert didn’t.
Whizzo went to trip. Donny caught him, saving the young lad from an embarrassing slip into the water. An instinctive gesture of good will.
These were good people.
Gus’s fatherly instinct toward Sadie, her undying loyalty, Donny’s eagerness to avoid Whizzo getting hurt.
This all came from how much they cared about each other. From the strong hold their friendship had.
Strange, really. How such a thing can occur once the world had pretty much ended.
Maybe emotions weren’t such a bad thing after all.
Chapter Thirty
He remembered.
Donny remembered.
He remembered who Gus was. Gus was the ex-soldier who abused him the whole way to London, who insinuated he was useless, who belittled him for no reason other than for being a no-good loser, hellbent on drinking himself to death over the demise of his family.
But there was something else.
More to Gus.
There were more memories. They just felt… concealed. Like they were on a shelf too high for him to reach, or were floating away from him on the waves of the shore and no matter how much he stretched his arm out, he couldn’t reach them.
But there were feelings.
Again, feelings he didn’t have. Or didn’t recognise.
No, he had them, he was sure of it. He just didn’t realise what they were.
Gus’s leg. How did he end up with one leg? What happened? It seemed important, somehow. Like it was something Donny should know. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t recall.
Donny had something to do with that leg being lost.
He knew he didn’t do it. He knew that for sure. It didn’t feel right. Gus did it to himself; that’s what his instinct told him. That’s what he was sure of. But why, and how? Such discoveries eluded him.
Still, Gus seemed happier with this new leg than he did with his old. He was gazing at it like a child with a new toy, marvelling at its innovation. Other people asked how he was getting on, his smile shone at them, saying stuff like, “I can’t believe it,” and “I’m so grateful,” and “It’s amazing.”
Donny hung back. He felt a strange sense of responsibility to avoid being part of any social interaction, to avoid engaging in conversation about the AGA.
He glanced over his shoulder. All he saw was trees, but in his mind, he could still see the concealment of the AGA’s barren underground headquarters. There was something about their expedition to find the rest of the AGA he knew. Something he was aware of, yet not aware of. Something he was sure of but had no way of knowing.
There is no AGA.
That was it. They didn’t exist. He knew this – somehow, he absolutely knew their journey to the rest of the AGA was futile.
Again, he didn’t know how he knew it. But, same as he knew he had ten fingers and ten toes, same as he knew his name was Donny, and same as he knew that he had to follow them and not let them out of his sight, he knew – there was no AGA.
The people they were looking for.
Their friends.
Useless.
Donny considered telling them. Rushing up to Desert and letting her know that this trip was pointless. That this search would lead nowhere.
But that wasn’t what he was supposed to do.
He shook his head, attempting to snap himself out of it, out of this funk, out of this deep despondency that perplexed his mind.
Why was he so damn miserable?
He thought as far back as he could. He remembered Gus being an arsehole. As usual. A regular arsehole.
He remembered Sadie. She was like a human animal. But what else? What had Sadie done? Why did he know her? How did he know her?
Then his memory was made up of a long period of nothing. Sadie, Gus, then nothing. After this nothing was the compound. A room. A blank room. He met a woman. Doctor Emma Saul.
Then he was leaving. Sadie was dragging him out of a room, taking him to find Gus. He was putting his arm around Gus, helping him hobble out, and the infected were part
ing, moving out the way for him.
Why did they do that?
Oh, wait.
He knew the answer to that.
Then they emerged. He followed Gus. Did as he was told. Did it as competently as he could. Because that was the plan.
What plan?
The plan.
Oh yes.
“You all right?”
A familiar voice to his side.
Gus. He’d hung back, let everyone else go ahead, to talk to Donny.
Donny didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t know what to say to anyone. Still, his mind remained an untouched canvas. An impenetrable fort. No cannon could break down his stone walls, and no knife was sharp enough to penetrate what was underneath.
“Donny, man, I’m talking to you,” Gus said.
Donny knew he had to say something.
“Yes?” he tried.
“I asked you if you were all right.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You know, you’re kind of freaking us all out at the moment. The way you are. It’s strange.”
Strange.
Donny was strange.
What was strange?
Was strange being a one-legged man with a feral best friend and a quick-tempered disposition?
“Donny,” Gus prompted.
“I’m fine,” Donny responded. “Fine. Honestly.”
“You’re not,” Gus insisted. “I can see you’ve changed. I have no idea what they did to you in the compound, but I bet it was tough.”
Donny nodded. He didn’t remember.
“They did shit to me too, mate. They tortured Sadie. But, by the look of it, they may have got you the worst.”
Donny wished he could be left alone.
“So what did they do?” Gus continued. “I know it’s tough, but I really want you to talk about it.”
“I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that, but you ain’t. Donny, you are an irritating guy, but not this kind of irritating. I mean, you’re full of life, you’re joking all the time, it takes loads to get you to shut up. And now it takes loads to drag out a few syllables. I’ll give you time if you need time, but, still, you’ve got to give me something.”
Donny had no idea what Gus was talking about.