by Seth Rain
‘Hello?’ Scott said.
The old man stood, legs apart.
Scott climbed over the barrier between the carriageways and walked towards him, the palms of his hands in the air.
The old man shifted warily.
Scott cleared his throat. ‘You’re the first person I’ve seen since…’
The old man took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as if checking Scott was real.
‘Who are you?’ the old man asked.
‘Scott. I’m Scott.’
‘George,’ the old man said, then turned around on the motorway and looked both ways. ‘Can you believe this?’
Scott’s brow furrowed as he peered along the empty road.
‘What happened?’ George asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ve been a doctor, a GP, for nearly forty years,’ George said. His face darkened and his hand trembled. ‘I’ve seen the bodies. There’s no sign of anything on their faces or their bodies.’
Scott didn’t know what to say.
‘Do you think it’s true?’ George asked. ‘The…’
‘I don’t know.’
George turned on the spot, looking both directions along the motorway. ‘Why are we still here, do you think?’
Scott didn’t want to say that he didn’t know, for a third time. ‘Where are you from?’
George pointed back the way he’d come. ‘Galgate. Not far.’
‘Where are you headed?’
He put his hands in his pockets. ‘I wasn’t sure at first. When it happened, I just started riding.’
‘Do you have a date?’
‘June, twentieth. What about you?’
Scott showed him his tattoo. It was easier than explaining.
‘You’re Chosen?’ George said, then stretched his neck to examine his date. ‘And your date is today? The date of the Rapture? So why aren’t you … aren’t the Chosen supposed to show the way for everyone else?’
It was Scott’s turn to shrug.
‘Well, how about that?’ George said. ‘I guess you have at least another year. Unless…’
‘Unless it still happens some time today,’ Scott said, finishing the thought. With Freya, Noah and Juliet so convinced that his date would be different, he too began to doubt it was his time.
‘It would have happened already,’ George said. ‘Bit f a coincidence, though – having the date of the Rapture.’
Scott wanted to tell him it wasn’t the Rapture, that this was Mathew’s doing, but the thought of having to explain stopped him.
‘Where are you going exactly?’ Scott asked.
‘Land’s End. There’s a hotel, right on the edge of a cliff. That’s where I’m going. Me and my wife, we talked about going but never did.’
‘Your wife?’ Scott asked.
‘She died three years ago.’
Scott rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I can give you a lift but I’m headed north.’
‘Where to?’
‘The Lake District.’
George took his hands from his pockets and folded his arms across his chest. ‘The Lakes, huh? Beautiful part of the world.’
‘It is.’
They stood in silence. Scott saw the two of them, standing on a motorway, talking about beautiful parts of the world.
‘I’ll keep on this way, I think,’ George said. ‘I’ve never been further south than Derby. I want to see the south coast.’
Scott looked in the direction George would have to ride his bike. The motorway stretched out in a straight line and rose to the brow of a hill in the distance.
‘Can you drive?’ Scott asked.
George shook his head. ‘I never learned.’
‘Well, now’s the time. There’s a Jaguar garage about a mile up the road. With manual options. You could take your pick of the cars there.’
‘I fancy riding,’ George said, again pointing along the motorway.
Scott looked the way George was pointing. ‘Have you seen anyone else?’
‘Alive? Only you.’
Scott stared at the old man. What if it was only the two of them, and Juliet, alive? But the chances of them meeting, if that was true, were ridiculous.
The old man seemed to be impatient to get going.
‘Stay safe, George.’
‘You too.’ The old man raised a hand and straddled his bike. He pushed off and rode along the centre lane of the motorway.
Scott watched him, before getting back in the 4x4. He started the engine and pulled away.
Forty-Five
In his mirror, Scott saw the car burning furiously, bright orange against the dark sky.
He no longer felt the desire to return to help Juliet. That chance had passed and he could do nothing for her now. He looked at the palm of his hand, the flames flickering shadows across his date. The date itself was meaningless. But it had led the Watchers to the house. They’d hunt him and Eve for as long as it took. There was no escaping Mathew – there was no point hiding. The only option, as Juliet had told him, was to find Mathew himself and end it.
Eve, in the passenger seat, was sleeping. He touched her arm, which was warm and clammy.
He headed south. If he was going to end things once and for all with Mathew, he’d need someone to take care of Eve. The thought of leaving her with a stranger, even if he could find someone else, unsettled him. He switched on the radio and as he drove along the dark lanes and roads, tried the AM stations, searching for signs of others.
It would take the two Watchers some time to find a way of following him, so he took his time driving through the lanes, worried that one wrong turn could leave him in the same situation as the Watchers, of needing to find other transport.
The horizon was two days away. Then they’d be free from the AI’s knowledge.
The sun was up. Scott pulled over and readied Eve’s bottle. He unfastened the seatbelt strapping Eve to the car seat and lifted her out. She was floppy and seemed tired. He laid her on his lap and changed her, even though she was clean. When he sat her up, still her head flopped. She wasn’t her usual self.
‘Evie,’ he whispered, reaching for the bottle.
She jerked her head and tried to open her eyes, but was soon asleep again.
Scott pushed the teat of the bottle to her lips.
‘Breakfast,’ he said.
Her mouth opened a little, but then closed.
‘Hey,’ Scott said. ‘Time for breakfast.’
Her hands flailed, then her body shook in a violent spasm.
Scott dropped the bottle and held her up in the air. Her head lolled and she continued sleeping. She opened her mouth and sighed, her lips dry. Her breath was sweet, musty, a smell he didn’t recognise. He tried the bottle again but she took no interest in it.
Scott’s chest tightened. Something was wrong. He placed Eve in her seat and fastened her seatbelt. He dropped the bottle into the bag and turned on the engine. Finding a pharmacy wasn’t a problem – he’d have access to all the medicines and drugs he needed. But he didn’t know which ones would help. He wasn’t even sure if her behaviour was normal. Weren’t babies always fighting off some bug or other? That’s what living was all about. He took the pouches of paracetamol from his bag and threaded one sachet of medicine between Eve’s lips. She screwed up her face at the taste, and some of the liquid dribbled back out of her mouth and down her chin. Her face softened again and she was asleep. It was unlike her to sleep so much.
He remembered the man he’d met on his way north, on the day of the Rapture. He had been heading for Land’s End. He was a doctor of some sort. What was his name?
Scott looked at the fuel gauge, then at the back of the 4x4; he had all the diesel he needed. He was just outside Morecambe and could be at Land’s End by the end of the day.
Now he didn’t have time to avoid the motorways or drive cautiously. Something in the way Eve hadn’t woken to feed played on his mind. He was worried. The more he thought about it, the faster he
drove.
At Manchester, the motorway widened, at points five lanes wide. At times like these, he marvelled at what humanity had done to the landscape. And for what? Now it was all obsolete. He just needed one lane. He recalled driving back when the traffic was at its peak, before self-drivers eased congestion overnight. All those cars, which had been driven by men and women, were then driven by machines, and each of them travelled at a constant speed, part of a tightly packed convoy, using one lane. There were no accidents, no breakdowns, no problems.
The constant hum of the engine and the sound of the tyres swishing against the tarmac made him sleepy. He reached over to Eve and patted her chubby arm. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and remembered the old man’s name. George.
Forty-Six
Birmingham was how he remembered it: huge, tall, lumbering. It was all there, and yet the life, just like London, had gone. It was a skeleton city. Tall buildings were unfinished, giving the impression of destruction rather than being incomplete.
His eyes had closed several times while driving, and twice the rumble-strip at the side of the motorway had woken him. He checked on Eve, feeling her face and arms with the back of his hand. She felt hot. She slept, her breathing shallow and quick.
He took the next junction and pulled up at a petrol station just off the motorway. He changed Eve and then tried to feed her, with little success. Her small body was limp and lifeless. He gave her another sachet of paracetamol and tried some water; she wasn’t interested, pushing away his hand and the bottle with a weak, trembling fist.
Scott washed his face with cold water, sat in the driver’s seat and exhaled loudly. Pressing the button on the radio, he searched for any broadcast. Nothing – only white noise. He set the radio to search itself. He slapped his face and shook himself awake, leaning his head back against the seat. The sound of someone talking on the radio woke him. He checked the clock – he’d been asleep for over two hours.
Eve was also asleep, her face pale. He nudged her gently and she whimpered. He peered at the radio, his eyes scrunched up, a finger hovering over the buttons. The voice rose and fell. He pressed the button again and the voice grew clearer.
‘… over twenty of us in central Birmingham, left behind, ready to begin again. Safe from Watchers. Walk into the centre of Birmingham and we will find you. This is a call to any survivors out there. There are over twenty of us…’
The message repeated.
He looked at Eve, then at the radio. This is what they needed: safety in numbers. How many of those people in the centre of Birmingham had dates after the horizon, dates the AI had lied about? He laid the back of his hand against Eve’s forehead. Still hot. But maybe the message was a trap, recorded by Watchers to catch the likes of him. He listened to the message again, then scanned the Birmingham skyline. Maybe these people could help with Eve. Maybe there were people who knew how to look after a baby. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, then reached for the radio and switched it off. No – he couldn’t risk it.
He started the 4x4, spun it around and drove along the slip road and onto the motorway, headed for the south.
Forty-Seven
By the time he reached Land’s End, it was night. The hotel was white against the dark sky. Outside, even with the window shut, he heard waves crash against the rocks, the wind howling.
Scott drove slowly up to the hotel. It was close to midnight. In the passenger seat, Eve coughed. Turning the headlights off, he rolled a little closer to the building.
He grabbed his rucksack, got out and walked around to the passenger side for Eve. The revolver was in the glovebox next to her seat; he slid it into his coat pocket. He closed the door as quietly as he could and walked slowly towards the hotel, now and then checking all around. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks was louder out here. The hotel was big, comprising several buildings. He headed for the rear and made his way into a small courtyard where the wind had blown over tables and chairs, which lay scattered around. He stepped around the table and chairs and looked through several windows into dark rooms.
The air carried sea spray that coated his face and lips so that he could taste salt. Eve moved in his arms, turning away from the blowing wind. He needed to get her inside.
One of the patio doors was unlocked. He slid it open and stepped inside. When he shut the door behind him, there was a change in volume that made the silence, in that moment, as loud as the waves outside.
Eve’s face was pink from the cold sea air, but her body was limp. He held her close and kissed the top of her head. Looking around the large room, filled with tables and chairs, he carried her further into the hotel and into a sitting room, where he laid her on a settee. He changed her and again tried to feed her, but still she was more interested in sleeping. Scott shook his head and sat back on the floor. The room was not musty like many houses in which he’d found refuge since the Rapture. He hoped it was a good sign, that maybe George was in the hotel somewhere. Scott stood and set about searching for him.
Through the door he found the reception area.
‘Hello?’ he called out, his voice echoing.
On the ground floor was a dining room and kitchen. In the kitchen on one worktop were cooking utensils: a bowl, plate and glass. Scott paused, waiting to see George there. No sign of him. He backed out of the room, into the reception area. He checked on Eve before returning to stand at the foot of a broad staircase. Scott glanced into the sitting room in which Eve was sleeping, turned back to the staircase and took a deep breath. With each step, the stairs creaked. At the top, on the landing, was a white door. He opened it, stepped into a hallway and walked past several doors before stopping. It was no good. For all he knew, behind each door would be more of the dead, lying on beds. The thought of going through that each time was maddening. He made his way to the stairs. Maybe he’d sleep now and search in the morning. Or maybe he should leave now – get to Birmingham and find the survivors.
Scott walked down the stairs, through the reception area and into the sitting room.
‘Hello there,’ a voice said.
Scott stopped. George stood there, holding Eve, who was asleep in his arms.
‘What are you doing?’ He took Eve from him.
‘I’m sorry,’ George said. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘She was sleeping.’
The old man took a step back, his shoulders slumped. ‘She was crying. I couldn’t leave her there.’
Scott remembered why he was there. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just…’
The old man raised his hands. ‘I didn’t know whether someone had left her here. She’s sick.’
‘Yes,’ Scott said. ‘She’s sick. Can you do something? I came here for your help.’
‘You came here to see me?’ the old man asked, frowning. ‘Wait. It’s you,’ he said, his smile growing. ‘Yes. You. The man on the motorway.’
Scott nodded. ‘Scott. I remembered what you said. About this hotel. You’re a doctor. You said you were a doctor. George?’
The old man nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Scott asked, offering Eve back to the old man.
‘Infection, I’d say. Bacterial.’
‘What do we do?’
‘Penicillin. Don’t suppose you know if she’s allergic?’
Scott shook his head.
‘No, no … of course not.’
‘Is there a pharmacist nearby?’ Scott asked. ‘I never thought to get any.’
‘There’s one at Sennen Cove.’ George walked over to the patio doors and fastened his coat. ‘It’s not far.’
Scott followed George out into the night and showed him to the 4x4. Inside, Scott handed Eve to George.
‘What’s her name?’ the old man asked.
‘Eve.’
George looked down at the still, quiet bundle in his arms. ‘Eve. Pretty name. Pleased to meet you, Eve. Let’s get you fixed.’
Forty-Eight
>
When they returned from the pharmacy, Scott placed Eve on the same settee he’d put her down hours before and wiped the medicine from her lips. He fell into another armchair.
‘We need to talk,’ he said.
George sat on a chair opposite.
‘Do you have any idea what’s happening?’ Scott asked.
George frowned. ‘I know everyone’s dead. What else is there to know?’
‘Do you know what happened? What Mathew’s doing?’
‘He has far-reaching power and control. We should never have let it happen.’
‘The Rapture was not celestial,’ Scott said. ‘It was not God’s doing. It was us. We did it. Or rather, Mathew did it.’
George didn’t move. ‘How?’
‘Ninety per cent of the world’s population,’ Scott went on, ‘relied on rice, wheat and maize for the majority of its calorie intake. These foods were genetically modified, containing nanotechnology that formed a network of switches. When these were activated, they killed everyone. Not only were these foods modified but drinking water systems around the world were treated too.’
‘So everyone is dead?’ the old man asked.
‘Except a few.’ Scott gestured to the old man and himself.
‘Why not us?’
‘Somehow, we’re immune to the nanotechnology.’ Scott waited. ‘But it wasn’t God’s doing. This is down to us – humanity.’
‘And what about my date?’ George asked.
‘When is it?’ Scott asked, leaning forward.
‘In seven months.’
Scott shook his head then showed the old man the date on his hand. ‘They’re a lie. Any date after the horizon is a lie.’
‘Horizon?’
‘There’s a horizon the AI cannot see past. This horizon is two days away.’
‘Why can’t the AI see past this date?’
‘I’m not sure. But I imagine, and the AI thinks so too, that it’s either because there will be no AI, or no humanity, or both.’