The Rot (Book 1): They Rot

by Luke Kondor

  Stephen nodded and smiled. “Where d’ya find that?”

  “Back at the outpost. Back where… well…” he pointed at his face where the bruising around his eye had darkened.

  “Right… sorry about that.”

  They finished up eating, drank some water that Stephen fetched from the dyke, and looked out at their surroundings. Stephen clapped a hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Right, Bolton. Are yer ready for the last leg of yer tour?”

  To his surprise, Colin smiled, big and dumb. Despite the ups and downs since they’d first met each other, he couldn’t help but feel a fondness for the giant. After an exhausting few days of physical and mental draining, it was nice not to have to go the last stretch alone. To have some camaraderie with someone who knew these lands, and could find the way to somewhere safe.

  Colin walked behind Stephen, following his shadow as the sunlight made its first appearance on the horizon, barely passing through the thick storm clouds, but it was there. Sure enough, it was there.

  ~ 24 ~

  Sunny felt a cool wash as the atmosphere changed. The raised voices of the adults had died some time ago, but he could still feel their energy in the air as a voice crept into the back of his mind.

  …The itsy-bitsy spider

  Climbed up the water spout…

  It was a palpable acceleration of everyone’s heartbeats. He could hear them all as thuds in his ears, the rhythms pulsing as if everything was synchronising. He could almost see them through the walls; the dark-skinned woman and the teen in furious whispers in the office room at the end of the corridor. The old man, who had shouted so much that his voice had grown hoarse, curled up outside the front door. Where the one with the funny accent had gone, he had no clue, nor did he know where the big man had gone. He had been the most interesting. Almost like a superhero but without the costume. Sunny imagined that with the correct training the man could look like a hero from his comic books. He could have lines drawn on his chest, arms, and stomach that showed off the muscles. All he needed were the lines and the logo on his chest.

  Or green skin.

  Yes.

  He could be a green skinned one.

  The world began to darken, shadows creeping in the edges of his vision. Next to him he felt Joanna shift. She had fallen to sleep not too long ago, though by the sounds of her breathing it wasn’t a restful one. He looked at her face and thought of how she could be rather calming at times. That was one of the things he liked about her. She could be cold and distant to him a lot of the time, but she always managed to bring him back after the atmosphere changed.

  Even his parents had never been able to do that.

  …Down came the rain

  And washed the spider out…

  The voice was soothing. Seductive. He turned his head to figure its direction.

  His heart rate slowed.

  It seemed that the more he tried to become one with his surroundings, the calmer he felt. As if the surrounding energies were a warm bath with bubbles and soaps. It comforted him and coddled him and made him feel like he had a place in the world. Like he belonged. And the voice… the voice belonged with him too.

  He wondered if he were still dreaming at that very moment. Sometimes it was difficult to tell. Sometimes the dreams were so real they made him feel like it was the other way around to how the adults put it. They said the dreams were fake and the wakefulness was the real world, but Sunny wasn’t sure if that was true. To him, it felt like the opposite. More than that. It felt that wakefulness was just a way of keeping the real contained and manageable for their brains. A lens through which the real world was seen through, distorted on the edges, untrue in most respects.

  A crackle of thunder suddenly rang throughout the building, followed by the pattering of water against the roof. The rhyme began again. Cool words from a velvet tongue.

  The itsy-bitsy spider.

  Climbed up the water spout.

  Down came the rain…

  Sunny rose to his feet. No one noticed as the boy looked up to the rafters and began to walk into the dark factory. He could see something pulsing high above them all. Another heart as it took its steady beats.

  And that voice… oh, that musical voice… leading the way for the small boy to follow.

  …And washed the spider out…

  ~ 25 ~

  Dutchman’s head throbbed as he lifted himself off the damp floor. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out but the darkest part of the night had passed. The birds were chirping somewhere in the distance as fine rain dampened his naked face.

  He got himself to his feet, wobbled a bit, and felt his face for any swelling. It hurt to move his jaw and his cheek was inflamed.

  Great…

  Stephen and the bearded guy would be long gone by now. Far into the trees and towards the rising sun. There was no point chasing them, at least not yet anyway. He turned and looked up at the balcony where the door stood wide open and climbed the rope ladder.

  It wasn’t even that he felt he wanted to get back inside the factory now. The embarrassment of having lost two men that he’d argued a case for bringing along had now turned on him and escaped. He wasn’t exactly excited to report it to Ria. He already knew what she would say. He could see her face screwed up with rage. ‘One fuckup after another with you. You think this is some kind of game? Jesus Christ, wait till he hears about this…’

  But would the boss really care? He supposed he would, but his adopted uncle had always been a forgiving sort.

  The strangest part of it all is why would Stephen help the guy escape? In the days Dutchman had known him, he was hardly the compassionate type. Was there something he didn’t know about? What was Stephen’s game? Because it sure as hell wasn’t simply helping his little Dutch friend back inside.

  A warning shot. That’s all it was supposed to be. Perhaps Stephen thought he was really trying to blow a hole in their new bearded friend’s chest. But a warning shot. That was all.

  It was warmer inside the factory as Dutchman navigated through a series of old office rooms. The further inside he got, the warmer it became, and for that he was thankful. His body ached enough without the constant shivering. After the last office in the chain, he found himself on a metal-mesh walkway above an open area of the factory. He had never been this high in here before, having only visited Ditton on a couple of occasions, and those mostly simply being quick stop-offs on the way to cache drops. He marvelled at the place for a moment, trying to gain his bearings.

  In the far corner, past a trailing line of conveyor belts, he saw what looked like the back of the foreman’s office. The raucous had died down now, and Dutchman grew a little angry at the fact that – if the argument had indeed ceased – not one person had come to find him knocked out on the floor. He knew the rules, and how strictly Ria kept to them, but dear God, surely they could spare a few minutes to unlock the doors and make sure he was okay? Was Chicory even inside now? Or was he still by the front door like some naughty dog caught gnawing on the sofa cushions?

  Something moved. High up near the rafters.

  Dutchman strained his eyes to look up to where it was darkest. There was maybe another two or three levels to this place, and on the wall to his left, he saw the figure of someone climbing another set of stairs.

  It was the boy. The small boy with dark hair whose unblinking gaze unsettled him. The boy was walking along the higher platforms in a slow, dreamy ramble that made it seem as though he were a ghost merely gliding along. His pale skin was haunting in the half-light.

  He thought of shouting out but shook the idea away. Instead, he scanned the factory for the easiest route, and let curiosity get the better of him, following the boy into the rafters.

  ~ 26 ~

  Colin soon grew sick of trees and cold. The smell of mouldering bark and dirt all around. Mud finding its way between his toes with each laboured step. Occasionally stopping to pick loose needles and bracken from his skin.

  If there was
a positive to the woods that they found themselves in now, it was that Wheat was in his element. Something had changed in the last few hours – whether that was the streams that allowed him to fill his belly and wet his muzzle, or the seemingly limitless supply of power bars that lined Stephen’s pockets. The dog raced about in every which direction, nose buried in leaves, leg cocked up trees, barking and chasing unseen wildlife.

  A couple times Colin had to snap at Wheat to quiet for fear of being tracked, but they hadn’t heard a car or seen a soul since they left the factory. Stephen assured him that it would be a while before the group of scavvies even thought of leaving their safe place. They had strict rules when it came to daylight, and wouldn’t leave until the entire ball of the sun was out and proud. “They’re a strange breed, really. Creatures of habit in a lawless world.”

  As they walked, Colin asked further questions about Hope, at one point even sharing the note that Kitty had placed under his door all those nights ago. Stephen’s eyes widened as he read the letter. “Who knew that Henry had a brother?” he said, more to himself than to Colin.

  They spoke a lot of each other’s lives. When it came to Colin’s life with the LeShards, Stephen had a great many questions. He seemed to marvel at the fact that three people could survive for so long on a pantry piled high with tin cans and ramen noodles, when the closest he had ever gotten to regular meals was whatever was offered on the road.

  “Didn’t you get sick of the same meals?”

  “Well, who doesn’t these days?”

  “And these men that drove you out? What were they like?”

  Colin looked at Stephen, arms swinging as they walked. “To be completely honest, they were like you. Only not so big. I didn’t really get a chance to have a proper look at them all… the whole night was a bit of a blur. Though they did share your artwork. There was one guy who seemed to be their pack leader – a vulturous little bastard. Must’ve been in his fifties. His face was haggard. Maybe some sort of military background, I guess. Difficult to say for sure.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  Colin kept quiet.

  For a few moments after, the one they called Uncle Paddy’s face floated before him in the pre-dawn gloom. His menacing grin and sharp whiskers on his face mocking Colin as he walked. He blinked and tried to shake the visage away, but instead of disappearing altogether, he morphed into the sweet, soft face of Rachel. Another blink, and there he was. Spider-man… Fletch, himself. Cheeky smile and a crop of untidy blonde hair.

  Colin’s eyes fell to the floor.

  *

  Thunder rolled and the sky darkened.

  A short while later and the trees grew closer around them. A couple times they lost Wheat in the shadows, but could still hear his excited panting and the rustle of leaves. There was no distinct path to follow, just a trail that led towards the lightest spot. The sky on the horizon turning to the dark colours of a fresh bruise, when something caught Colin’s eye.

  “What is that?” Colin said.

  “What’s what?”

  Colin took a few steps towards the dark shape amongst the shadows. “Over there, near that tree?”

  Stephen draped a hand casually around Colin’s shoulder. “Probably nothing. Maybe just a rock or something. C’mon, we’ve got ter keep moving if we don’t want ter get caught.”

  Colin felt the pressure as Stephen attempted to steer his body in the other direction but curiosity pulled him further on. The thought of finding another outhouse, or vehicle too great. Besides, what was the harm in checking?

  In one swift movement, he ducked under Stephen’s arm and took a steady jog forwards. He heard Stephen grunt behind him, “Hey! We haven’t got time for this.”

  Wheat whipped past Colin excitedly, tongue hanging out his mouth, playing a game all of his own. Colin followed the golden speck as he streaked towards the object that grew and grew until it was unmistakable what it could be.

  Just as Colin was about to come to a stop, something caught his leg and he tripped. Behind him, he heard the lumbering form of Stephen crashing through the foliage.

  “Over here,” Colin called. He grabbed his ankle and rolled it around in his palms to check for any sign of strain, but found none. Rising to his knees and brushing off the dirt he began to look up for Wheat and Stephen, when his eyes locked on something that, for a moment, turned his skin to stone and his hair to ice.

  Jesus Christ… he whispered. He crawled a little closer and found his horror confirmed. It was a body, alright. A man lying at an awkward angle on the floor. The face like a melted action figure, skin stretched tight and a giant rock imprint in his skull, catching a small puddle of rainwater. Sticky red congealed around the nose and mouth and a gash on his cheek where the bone had splintered outwards. Next to the body was some sort of rucksack. A small barrel fixed to the back of it, with piping that led out to what reminded Colin of those jet washers he’d used to clear the muck off his mum’s patio tiles years ago. No doubt, this thing wasn’t made for cleaning ceramic. He’d seen a few at the quarantine walls of the city. A specialist piece of equipment used by the government in its final days. A goddamn flamethrower.

  Colin scanned around and saw the dark shape he’d initially chased was undeniably a car, parked just a breath away from a tree trunk.

  His heart began to race. What the hell is going on? The caustic smell of death already filling the air, he held his breath as he leant forward and probed the khaki army jacket. Peeling back the collar, he revealed a dog tag with the name printed on it from years of service long passed: David Mulligan.

  Had this been what Stephen was so eager to hide from Colin?

  Colin’s first instinct was to find somewhere to hide. Fortune seemed to have its way, though, as a second later Stephen ran straight past him, clearing him by several metres. In all the darkness and foliage, Colin figured he must be difficult to spot. He watched as Stephen slowed near the car, looking around for Colin, eyes wide and searching.

  “Bolton? Where’d you go?”

  As Colin lifted his head a fraction to get a better look at Stephen, a weak ray of twilight, broke through the clouds. He ducked out of its beam and looked up at the sky through the canopy of leaves, rain splashing his face. It was then that he realised something that made his heart skip, a mistake so stupid that if he could have kicked himself, he would. The entire time he had been so concerned with learning more about Stephen and sharing his journey, they hadn’t been heading towards Hope at all…

  No. They had been heading east towards the sunrise. Back the way Colin and Wheat had come. Back towards the farm.

  ~ 27 ~

  It didn’t take long for Dutchman to catch up with Sunny. He’d snuck along the thin walkways, doing his best to tiptoe and be quiet. Though the platforms had other plans as they groaned beneath the weight of a fully grown man. At one point he worried the floor might give way as a board beneath him creaked with a splintering crack. Even then, with Dutchman’s whimper, the boy didn’t turn his head.

  It was as though the boy were lost to a dream, sleepwalking, or maybe he was leading Dutchman on… but where?

  Sunny walked so slowly he might as well have been leading a funeral procession. With only one more level to go, he was only an arm’s length behind. Dutchman thought of stopping him, of tapping him on the shoulder and leading him back down to the ground level – perhaps recapturing the boy might soften Ria’s mood on his return. But the curiosity was now so great that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The boy walked with such unerring purpose that Dutchman found himself needing to know where he was going.

  As they climbed the stairs into the dark spaces of the rafters, Dutchman spared one more look down. The factory floor now five floors below, the conveyor belts looking like no more than stray shoelaces. They’d worked their way around the factory’s edges and could just make out the doorway, almost directly below, that led to the foreman’s office. He could see no one and didn’t expect to.

  The
barest of morning twilight found its way through an open window off to the side.

  The rain now showering the roof.

  All focus on the boy.

  He barely had time to register just how high he was. And just like that, his head spun and he gripped the rail tightly. He closed his eyes, and turned ahead, focusing on the stairs. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t have a head for heights, but it’d been a long time since he’d been higher than two floors.

  When he looked ahead Sunny had gone. At the top of the stairs, the darkness was dense. He could just make out the boy’s head disappearing and picked up his pace to catch up.

  What the hells is this kid doing? Dutchman wondered as the metal stairs ended, and he followed the boy into the shadows.

  *

  Sunny didn’t know where he was going but felt the strong pull against his chest, as if some invisible rope attached his ribs to some unseen hand, a hand that was now yanking on the string, winding him inwards like a fish caught on the end of a wire. He could feel the heart’s pulse, could see the shifting energies in the darkness, lighting the way ahead.

  The words told him to follow, to not resist, ‘It’ll be okay’. He was aware that someone was behind him – the one with the funny accent. A trivial thought that had no real meaning in the moment. Let the man follow, then they can discover together. Wrapped in the soothing tendrils of the thing that called his name.

  Sunny felt a draught coming from below as his feet narrowly avoided a hole in the floor. He felt its edge at the side of is foot and looked down for just a second. He could see the others below him. Their beating hearts warping the air around them as a heat source may cause the air to shimmer. They were still where he’d left them. Most either asleep or preoccupied. Only the one following him seemed to be truly awake right now.