by Ryan Casey
In a weird way, the taste of his blood still on my lips, I owed him.
I reached the top of my driveway and the hairs on my arms stood on end.
“You need some company?” Kesha asked.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I think this is something I should probably do alone.”
Kesha half-smiled. Nodded. Then she reached out and put a hand on my arm. “Go get ‘em.”
I smiled back. “I will. Thanks.”
I walked up the driveway, up the flags that I’d laid four years ago, bashing my little finger in the process. That was painful. Kerry had sat by my side the whole time, which helped because hospitals were pretty much my least favourite places in the world. I’d felt a lot better when Olivia came to visit, and gave me a load of raisins, which she insisted were some kind of miracle cure.
Warmth flooded through my body as I looked up at the bedroom window and saw the curtains were closed.
I had to hope they were closed because they were inside, hiding.
I stepped up to the door, my throat wobbly. I went to lift my fist to knock. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? I didn’t want to charge in and scare them. Whoever’s in there might just attack me in the process.
I looked up and down the street, made absolutely sure it was silent, empty.
Then I took another deep breath and knocked on the door. “Kerry? Liv? It’s… it’s me. Will.”
I waited for a response. But the longer I waited, the more my nerves grew as an inevitability overwhelmed me.
I knocked some more. “It’s your dad, Olivia. If you’re in there… just—just come to the bedroom window. It’s me. I swear it’s me.”
“Will,” Kesha started.
“No,” I said, turning around and lifting a hand to stop her progressing. “They’ll be in here. They’ll be home. They—they’re just scared. That’s it, isn’t it, Liv? That’s all it is.”
I waited even longer.
Still, I got no response.
After what must’ve been ten minutes standing at the door, I knew nobody was going to answer. But I still didn’t want to accept that there was nobody home.
I reached under the plant pot for the spare key.
The spare key was gone.
“Shit.”
“Will,” Kesha said.
I shook her head, blanking out whatever she was planning to tell me. “I just need to get inside.”
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
“They have to be home. Or…”
My voice faded.
Or…
I’d never see them again.
That’s what I meant. That’s what I was holding back. That was the cold, hard reality I was staring in its ugly eyes.
Kesha walked up the pathway, Bouncer by her side. She put a hand on my arm, which felt surreal and alien as I stood outside my home.
“Come on,” she said. “Don’t beat yourself up. You tried.”
I felt my eyes stinging and held back the tears.
“Not tried hard enough yet.”
I lifted the plant pot and stepped back.
“Will, what’re you—”
“If there’s anyone behind the lounge window, get away, now. I’m coming in.”
“But—”
I didn’t listen to Kesha’s protests.
I tossed the plant pot through the lounge window.
I hesitated as I threw it. It was as if the world had switched back on, and I was nothing more than a vandal or a burglar.
But the plant pot went smashing through the glass.
I listened to it echo around the quiet street and I wondered how many people had heard it.
Then I walked over to the glass and climbed into my lounge, being careful not to nick myself on any of the glass.
Being back home, a plant pot in the middle of the lounge, was surreal. I looked around. Looked at the fifty inch LCD television I’d so proudly purchased. Looked at the Sonos system that I’d told Kerry she could keep ’cause Olivia enjoyed her music. I saw the photographs. The photographs of family holidays. Of my daughter in her school uniform on her first day. I saw fossils of a past I thought I’d lost completely, haunting me like ghosts.
“Kerry!”
I searched the lounge, made sure nobody was hiding behind the sofa, like Olivia used to when she was playing with me.
I moved on to the dining area, then to the kitchen. I checked the garden, peeked through the shed window.
Still nothing.
I went back inside, heart racing, adrenaline coursing through my body, and went up the stairs.
“Olivia! Kerry!”
I searched the bathroom.
I searched the bedrooms.
I searched the loft.
Then I went back downstairs again and started checking the exact same places I’d looked in before, unable to accept the reality, unable to face the truth.
“Olivia…”
I saw it, then. Saw it on the dining room table.
The orange ticket.
No. Not a ticket. A receipt.
I walked over to it and my stomach sank as the realisation, the memory, flooded back into my mind.
It was a receipt for a train ticket. A train ticket on the day of the collapse.
A train ticket to London.
“We’re off to London in a few days.”
I slumped down to the floor and sat there, holding the ticket receipt in my shaking hand, just staring at that receipt, Kerry’s words replaying in my mind.
They weren’t home because they’d gone to London.
They were long gone.
I’d fought so hard to get back home and I wasn’t even halfway.
I felt a lump swell in my throat as total defeat overcame me. I stood up, walked over to the window, needing to speak with Kesha, needing to cuddle Bouncer.
But when I looked outside, I couldn’t see them.
I stepped out into the street.
There was nobody.
Nothing.
Just total silence.
I looked down at that train ticket receipt and I fell to my knees on the flags I’d worked so hard to put in four years ago.
My family was gone.
Everyone was gone.
I was completely alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Day Thirty-One
NO SIGN OF KESHA.
No sign of Bouncer.
Still totally alone.
CHAPTER FORTY
Day Thirty-Two
TODAY, I found bloodied paw prints, and a clump of black fur.
After that, nothing else mattered.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Day Thirty-Three
I WONDERED how much longer I could go before I starved to death.
I lay back against my sofa. The street outside was quiet, but I could feel the cool breeze blowing in through the smashed window. I kept getting an urge to clean up that plant pot and take a look at the antiqued wooden coffee table I knew it must’ve dinted when it’d crashed through the window. Then again, what was the point? They were just possessions now. No, actually. They weren’t even possessions. They were just things.
Things in an empty shell of a house.
Just like me.
I listened to the silence of the street and stared up at the white ceiling. My eyes stung, and I could smell sweat. I knew it was my own sweat. But again, what did it matter? What good were appearance and personal hygiene anymore? This world didn’t care if you were smelly and dishevelled. It didn’t give a shit if you were alive or dead, so it definitely didn’t give a shit what you were wearing.
Besides, it wasn’t like I had anyone left to dress up and look good for.
Not now Kesha was gone too.
And Bouncer…
A sour taste crossed my lips when I remembered that clump of fur I’d found while walking a few miles away. There were bloodied paw prints, no doubt about that. About the right size for a dog like Bouncer, too. And there wa
s that black clump of fur. Fur that felt just like the fur I’d stroked so many times. Fur that felt like his. That was his.
I wanted to keep that fur. I wanted to hold on to it forever just out of memory for Bouncer.
But of course I’d got pissed last night, my headache banging now, the taste of vomit still lingering at the back of my throat, and I’d lost it.
But hey. It would’ve been a shame to waste a fine bottle of cognac I had stashed in the back of the kitchen cupboard.
I closed my eyes and rubbed them. Every time I thought about getting up, I just gave up. What was the point? Kerry and Olivia were on the other side of the country. Kesha and Bouncer were gone. I’d expended all my energy and all my expertise getting this far. I couldn’t make it any further.
I’d done what I could. I’d fought. I’d given up the chance of safety and security so many times. I’d nearly died.
But I’d made it home.
And in the end, it was the doubting questions of the people I’d met on my way that circled my mind like vultures, now.
What if they aren’t at home?
What if they’re already gone?
Questions I’d rebuffed time and time again. Questions I couldn’t provide any answer to, realistically because I didn’t have any answers. I couldn’t say what I’d do if they weren’t home. I couldn’t predict what I’d do if they were already gone.
But now I was living it… well. I saw exactly what I became when I failed. When I had nothing else to fight for.
That same guy that Kerry fell out of love with.
The guy that ran away from problems instead of facing them head on.
I had a flashback, then. A flashback to when we’d first got Bouncer. He got really sick on the park when he was just a pup. Some pricks laid down some rat poison with the intention of doing serious harm, laced some sausages with it, and of course Bouncer had gone and eaten one of them.
We’d sat in the vet’s, my hand in Kerry’s, her’s in mine, and I’d consistently reassured her that we were going to be fine. That everything was going to be okay. The vet told us Bouncer might not live, and that keeping him alive would be expensive. We were hardly made of money, but I’d just got an advance for a project with my publisher and I didn’t hesitate to throw that money into keeping Bouncer alive.
Then there was talk that he was going to survive… but he might end up paralysed. Brain damaged. All the advice pointed towards running away from that problem. To just putting Bouncer down and being done with it.
But no. For a rare moment in my life, I’d stood up and fought. And hell, if Bouncer made it through and he was suffering, I’d put him down myself because that decision was on me.
But I wasn’t going to let some guy in a white coat make that dog’s decision for it.
By the grace of God, I wasn’t going to give in.
I opened my eyes then. It was as if something was waking up inside me.
I wasn’t a quitter then.
And I didn’t have to be a quitter now.
Where love was concerned, you could achieve anything if you really put your mind and your everything into it.
I stood up. I was dizzy, sure, and I was near puking, absolutely. But I had a choice. Drink myself to death on this sofa and die a quitter, or stand up and get searching for my family.
Even if I died, I died trying. I died facing my problems head on.
That was more than I could say for the vast majority of my life.
I walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed the receipt for the train ticket.
Then I walked to the front door and grabbed my bug-out bag. I checked everything was in there. Everything I’d need.
Then I took a deep breath and wrapped it over my shoulder.
I turned around and saw a family photo staring back at me from the mantelpiece.
It was one of me, Kerry, Olivia and Bouncer in the Lake District just a year ago. We all looked so happy, as we climbed the Arnside Knott. We all looked so perfect.
And sure. Things weren’t perfect anymore. Kerry and I were finished. Bouncer was…
I didn’t want to think about Bouncer.
But my little girl.
My little girl was out there, and I wasn’t going to be a runaway dad on her.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and smiled at her on that photograph.
“I’m coming for you, princess.”
Then I took a deep breath, opened the front door and stepped out of the house.
I knew, this time, it really was for the last time.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Day Thirty-Four
ON THE NEXT DAY, I saw signs of life.
The morning sun was suffocated by the clouds. I was on the train tracks. Figured there was no better route to London, really. Hopefully it’d keep me out of the way of any threats I might encounter on the roads. And if there were any threats, I’d see them from a distance.
I kept on telling myself that, anyway. Trying to reassure myself.
I wasn’t totally reassured.
I couldn’t get used to the eerie silence even though it’s something I’d been a part of for over a month now. Being on this train track really made me feel like I was in an apocalyptic landscape. After all, what was more apocalyptic than the sight of a ton of trains, static in the middle of the railway?
I’d had to show caution when I’d passed a few of those train cabins. But I hadn’t seen any signs of existence inside them, as the smell of rusty metal came from every one.
Not until later that morning, when I saw the woman peeking through the window at the back of a Virgin Pendolino.
She had dark hair, long and frizzy. She looked at me with concern on her gaunt face. When I saw her, I instinctively looked to my side to check that Bouncer didn’t go shooting off. Then I remembered Bouncer wasn’t with me anymore. He was gone. I was alone.
I heard a click behind me as I got closer to the train and I knew someone was following me.
I stopped. Lifted my hands. “No need to screw around here. I’m not here for trouble.”
“Oh you’re not, are you?” a man’s voice behind me said, as his footsteps got nearer to me. “Isn’t that what you guys all say? Lower your bag.”
I did as he asked. No point antagonising him. If he wanted my stuff, well, he could try and get my stuff. But I’d stab him. I had no hesitations about doing that. “I’m just looking for my family.”
“I don’t give a shit what you’re looking for,” he said, patting me down ruthlessly. Eventually, he found the knife and prised it from my hand, as well as my bag. “Now you’re going to turn around and pretend you never saw us.”
I looked back at the man. He had long, dark hair, thinning, and a beard that seemed to be growing faster on his neck than it was on his face. “You’re letting me go?”
“Not if you stay around here a second longer. And we’ll take the knife. For insurance, you know?”
I bit my lip as the man walked past me and back towards the train. “Can you just look at a photo for me?”
The man frowned. “A photo? Why the hell would I look at a photo?”
“Like I said, I’m looking for my family. I… I have a feeling they might’ve headed this way. They were on a train to London when the storm hit. They must’ve been on this line at some stage.”
The man looked me up and down. “Your name?”
“Will. Will Stuartson.”
“Will. I’m Patrick. And I’ve got some advice for you, Will.”
“Shoot.”
“Don’t go wandering aimlessly looking for someone. That’s what’ll get you killed.”
“I’ve done alright so far. And honestly, I’m not sure I care. I want to find my family. I’ll die trying if I have to.”
I saw Patrick start to head back to the train. Then he stepped out of it, came walking back towards me, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “You’ve really been through the shitter for them, hmm?”
“I have to
find them. No other option.”
“And you have a photo?”
I nodded and pointed at my bag, which was on his shoulder now. “It’s in there. Front pocket. Just take a look. You can keep my stuff.”
“Seriously?”
“Honestly, I’d rather you didn’t. I won’t survive long without it. But if you have to, you have to.”
I knew then that Patrick was looking at me differently because I was different. “You’re a brave man. A mad man, but a brave man.”
“Love can do that to you.”
“Hmm. Front pocket?”
“Yeah. Just… just there.”
“No funny business in here? None of those shitty fake chewing gum packs that snap around your fingers and hurt like a motherfucker?”
“None of those, sadly.”
“Right,” Patrick said. He dropped my bag and unzipped the front compartment slowly. Then he pulled out the photograph, squinted at it for long enough to make me wonder if he recognised them after all.
The woman in the train cabin kept on peering down at us behind the safety of glass.
“Nope,” Patrick said.
“What?”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen ’em. Sorry.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely sure. Seen plenty of people ’round here but not them.”
He shrugged, and stood over my bag. “Sorry.”
I felt the momentary hit of disappointment. Now I was without my stuff and still miles away from my family. “Well… well thanks anyway. For looking. For—”
“I saw her.”
I wasn’t sure where the voice came from. It was too muffled.
Then I looked up and saw the woman in the train pressed right up to the glass, pointing at the photograph, eyes wide.
Adrenaline kicked in. “You saw her? Who? My daughter?”
“I saw them both,” the woman said. “Passed by here… hell, it must’ve been two days ago.”
I gasped a breath of both relief and pain. I was so close, yet so far. “Did they look okay? Who were they with? Were they—were they clean? Did they look well fed? Were they—”
“They were with the Animals,” the woman said.
I saw Patrick’s face drop when she said that. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, then handed back the picture.