by Paul Wilcock
The villagers have decided to celebrate tonight on account of me being the first sane living person they’ve seen for a long time and bring out the alcohol they’ve had stored up, nobody in the camp has had anything to drink in over a year so it’s not long before everybody is extremely drunk which seems to be causing a few problems for one of the couples. I watch from my seat at the edge of the room; it looks like one of the men is accusing another of sleeping with his partner behind his back, from the look on her face I’d guess he’s right and my guesses have been pretty good today. While they argue I’m still talking to the older woman who’d told me about Gemma, she’s flirting heavily and I’m happy to respond while keeping one amused eye on the argument in the background. Out of nowhere she lunges in for a kiss, I kiss her back and she gropes me heavily, it appears that she hasn’t had a man for a long time, this should be good. I stop kissing to laugh as I see the argument at the back of the hall erupt into a brawl; one of the men gets slammed onto a folding table which promptly collapses under him. I use the distraction to pull my admirer to her feet and lead her back to my bed. She doesn’t look as good naked as she did when she was clothed and I lose interest slightly but she’s so hungry for me that it looks like she’s going to do all of the work anyway so that’s cool. While we fuck I listen to the sounds of fighting and shouting coming from the communal area and try to figure out who’s winning; I think it’s the husband, the one who had to get drunk to build up the courage to say something about it, good for him.
In the morning I’m appalled to find my lover looks even less attractive than she did last night and I climb out of bed and cover her body with the sheet so I don’t have to look at her while I get dressed, she assumes I’m being caring, covering her to keep her warm, she smiles, I grimace. I grab my bag and a cup of strong black coffee from the kitchen and head outside into the car park. The scavenger party is about to head out and I ask them the best way to go; if there are any areas I should avoid; one of them, a thin, balding man whose face looks thirty years older than his hands suggest he is, tells me
“Steer clear of the petrol station on the edge of town, out near the industrial park, we ran into a lunatic out there a couple of months back, she was like some wild woman, nearly caved my head in with a shovel and clawed Nigel’s face up so bad he’s blind in one eye.”
A man in an eye patch lowers his head in shame at the back of the group and I decide against telling them that I’m actually looking for the lunatic as I’m starting to question the decision myself. I follow them out onto the street and they confirm that it all looks clear and we part ways with a wave. I finish my coffee and put the cup in my bag, I might give it back later when I return for my car or I just might “forget”, it’s a big coffee mug with a picture of a donut on the side and I like it.
I walk casually down the street towards the petrol station, it’s another sunny day, clear blue sky. I put my iPod on, volume low enough that I can hear if any footsteps start heading my way, Soul Asylum – Without a Trace. The windows of the houses draw my eyes in as I pass them by, all empty, of life anyway, photographs of families, most of them probably dead now, still stand on the mantelpiece, coffee table, or hang on the wall. One particular window catches my eye and it draws me closer to see if I really have seen what I think I’ve seen. I rub at the window, trying to clear some of the grime from the glass, it smears but a few clean streaks run through the filth and I peer inside. There on the windowsill, is a genuine 1980’s Garfield telephone and even though the phones are all dead and will probably remain that way for a long, long time, I need that phone. I move around to the side of the house and try the door; it’s locked, big shock. I go around to the rear of the house and try the back door, also locked. I look through the windows, all seems quiet. Back to the front of the house and I look again at the phone, consider breaking the window, worry about the loud noise bringing unwanted attention to my location. I’m looking at Garfield’s sleeping face and I’m eight years old calling my Grandma to thank her for my Christmas presents. I kick the door, it doesn’t budge. I make a mental note of the house number and street and vow to come back when I’m in my car and can make a quick getaway, Garfield will be mine.
I continue on towards the petrol station, the houses start to thin out, replaced by industrial units and car parks, long dead bodies litter the ground around here but there are also one or two fresher ones, I say fresh but the smell is atrocious and I put on my air filter mask, the filter has long since stopped working as it should but it’s better than nothing. I take the axe from my bag, the weight of it in my hand comforts me and I walk a little more confidently through the danger signs that lie all around me. I can see the petrol station now, the prices on the sign seem cheap considering how scarce petrol is now. A nearby bike shed provides a handy vantage point that I climb onto the roof of and pull out my binoculars.
Focussing on the windows of the petrol station, looking for signs of life; nothing. I stay there for a few minutes, keep sweeping the area with the binoculars, by the time I see the sunlight glinting off the sniper scope Gemma has already fired her air rifle at me and my left lens cracks from the impact, shit that was a good shot! I roll down from the roof of the shed and run for the bushes, the sound of pellets hitting leaves around me drives me on and I dive down out of sight. Why is she shooting at me? Surely she’s seen that I’m not infected, maybe she has gone crazy like everyone says, maybe she doesn’t want to take any risks and has decided to just kill anything that comes near. I can’t blame her, I did a similar thing myself, but there’s a big difference between avoiding people and flat out shooting at them. I take off my mask, screw up my face at the taste of the air, how can she stand living out here?
I shout over to her “Gemma, it’s me, Dan Wedlock, we used to go out together; can I come over and talk? I’ve come to help you!”
“Dan Wedlock? Yeah ok, come on over, we’ll talk.”
Okay, at least she can still have a conversation, she hasn’t gone totally wild. I leave my bag and slowly rise up from the bushes, Gemma is stood in the doorway, rifle still pointed straight at me; I walk carefully towards her.
“So, how are you? I’m glad you managed to survive, how’s it going?” It sounds totally lame as I say it but what do you say to someone who’s been living out in the wilderness fighting off diseased cannibals for the last couple of years.
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t lower her rifle, just stares at me. I try to judge the expression on her face but she doesn’t have one, then she fires; reloads, fires again. I’m hit twice in the crotch and holy fuck does it hurt, I think she’s missed what matters most though, thigh and groin maybe; but I’m bleeding, running as best I can back towards the bushes, every step sends searing pain through me and my vision blurs with tears but I’m weaving and dodging, making myself a hard target. Somehow despite my best efforts I’m hit again in the back before I manage to throw myself into the dirt and the protection of the ferns growing along this stretch of road.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? I wanted to talk!” I’m screaming at her, undoing my trousers at the same time to check my crotch, one thought repeating again and again “please not my dick, please not my dick, please not my dick.”
I’m lucky, dick and balls are intact but the pellets are embedded deep in my leg and I’ll need to dig them out which is likely to hurt even more than it does now.
Gemma screams back louder than me “Fuck you Dan! Just want to talk? You promised me that you wouldn’t hurt me and you walked out on me!” Another shot flies through the leaves, a wild shot, not aimed, she doesn’t know where I am, I keep low anyway.
“That was a long time ago Gemma, I’ve already apologised a hundred times for that but it doesn’t matter now, there are bigger things going on!”
“I said all along that you were a dick! Your friends warned me against going out with you too, I should have listened to them!”
Jesus Christ! It was seven years ago! I shout out “It w
as seven years ago! Why are you still having the same argument with me seven years and an apocalypse later?”
“Because you’re a bastard! You talked me into trusting you and then you walked out and left me on my own, I don’t want you anywhere near me now! I can’t afford to trust anyone these days!”
I’d forgotten about walking out on her, that was the first time we broke up, I didn’t mean to break up with her, it just happened. We were at a nightclub, she was acting like a bitch and while she danced with her friend I walked out and walked the eight miles home without telling her. That was the third time I made her cry in a four week period, but in my defence, she made me make her cry every time. I felt bad about it again now that I remembered it, I wanted to try and talk her round, convince her that I’d changed, that I deserved a chance to prove myself to her but I didn’t even believe it, no way she would. I crawled away quietly through the bushes and her shouts of abuse and the crack of the rifle faded behind me.
I worried that I might be somehow responsible for how Gemma was now but I think she was always a little unhinged, I just gave it a push. I thought Gemma would be the worst on my list and now that it was over with I was slightly relieved, the rest would be better; still, it was now 2-0 to the Dan’s a Dick team, even though I really didn’t mean to be a dick with Gemma, it just happened, without me wanting it to, but she definitely thought I was a dick and a lousy boyfriend so I can well and truly cross her off and never see her again.
It hurt to walk, it was going to take a while to get back to camp, in fact my walk was more of a hobble so I had plenty of time for wondering whether the infected could smell blood from a distance, another rumour I’d heard from someone back in the early days. Nothing I could do about it anyway, need to move as fast as I can and get patched up back at the camp. It’s a good job I got friendly with that woman last night, she’ll no doubt be able to nurse me back to health. A scene plays out in my imagination of a more attractive version of last night’s conquest in a slutty nurse’s uniform giving me a bed bath. Before long the house with the Garfield phone comes into view but I’m still not willing to risk it; later, I tell myself, got to focus on getting back safe. I reach the gates of camp without incident and feel relieved, start smiling, shout over the gate.
“Hi, it’s me! Dan! From yesterday! I’m back and I’m hurt, could you let me in please?”
A shot rings out, dust flies up from the floor by my feet so I dive for cover behind some nearby barrels, déjà vu.
“Hi, I said it’s me! Dan! The guy from yesterday, we had the good party, remember? That’s my Porsche parked up out front, don’t shoot!”
Another shot ricochets from the barrels and my head tries to retract into my body like a tortoise, instinctively flinching away from the bullet. What the fuck! Has everyone gone crazy? I call over the gate.
“What the fuck! Somebody get Mayor….” I can’t remember his name, did he even tell me his name? Then the Mayor’s voice shouts over the gate.
“We invite you into our camp! Give you a place to sleep in safety! Throw a party in your honour and offer up our food and drink, and what do you do?”
I had no idea; was he expecting me to answer or was it a rhetorical question? I had a feeling he knew what I’d done more than I did…….Silence; nope, he’s not going to tell me what I did.
“What? What did I do? I don’t know what’s wrong!”
He roars back at me, cutting me short “You fucked my wife you piece of shit!”
Bullets spray the barrels and the surrounding area causing me to screw up into a ball as small as I can. I didn’t even know he had a wife, let alone fuck her.
“Who’s your wife?” I’m asking the question but thinking about it I did wake up hung-over in that sexy nurse’s bed this morning, what was her name again?
The Mayor, his voice almost at breaking point he’s screaming so loud at me “Jacqueline! My beautiful Jacqueline, if you make it away from here you’d better never come back, I’ve ordered the scavenger parties to shoot on sight!”
Jacqueline, yeah that was it, damn it I couldn’t even remember the sex, I don’t mind trouble if it’s worth it but I’m getting shot at for something I can’t even remember and actually she isn’t that beautiful, I decide not to argue with him on that point though and ask instead “Can I get my car back?”
The longest “Fuck you” I’ve ever heard flies over the gate followed closely by more bullets. That’s the Porsche gone then, shit! Stuck on foot, injured, in a town full of people that want me dead, not good Dan, not good. Whose idea was this stupid ex-girlfriend list thing anyway?
When the bullets stop I break from cover and run, teeth clenched in pain, forcing myself forward until I get out of sight of the camp and collapse against a burnt out car; look around, check for enemies, infected and healthy, potential vehicles; nothing. Today sucks. I pull myself back up and head back towards the Garfield phone, the only bright spot in this shitty day.
I crouch behind a fence for twenty leg aching minutes watching the house and the street, my iPod is playing Coldplay’s second album, I can’t remember what it’s called, don’t bother looking to find out, it suits the moment though, everything is calm, I see a cloud that looks like a foot drift by and reposition my legs again trying to find a comfortable crouching position, such a discovery would most likely win me some kind of reward as there doesn’t seem to be such a thing as a comfortable crouch. Approaching the house cautiously, I already know the door is locked, but the window in the door is cracked. My hand taps the glass and it falls to the ground with a deafening crash so I quickly reach through the hole and undo the latch, step inside, listen for movement; nothing. A room by room sweep of the house doesn’t uncover any danger so I decide to spend the night here. A bookcase dragged over to the door blocks the broken window, I don’t want any copycats stealing my idea and killing me in my sleep to get the Garfield phone.
Ten minutes pass by before I place Garfield into my bag, ten minutes of lifting and replacing the receiver to watch Garfield open and close his eyes, it’s more amazing than it sounds, honestly. Finally I dress my wounds as best I can, lie down and try to sleep.
Morning comes bursting rudely into the room and I’m woken by the sunlight which manages to penetrate the thick layer of filth on the windows and fill the room with hope; today will be better than yesterday, repeat it to yourself until you believe it. I wind the iPod USB charger furiously for an hour then search the cupboards for leftover food but the cupboards are bare and I have to eat from the few supplies I carried in my bag. As I eat I try to think how much gear I left in the Porsche, it wasn’t fair, sex with Jacqueline isn’t worth anything near a Porsche.
First priority today, get some new wheels. As I’m heading through the door my eye catches a set of keys hung on the wall; car keys? Surely not? (Today will be better than yesterday, today will be better than yesterday) I pick them up and head outside, there’s a garage built onto the side of the house; one of the keys on the key ring fits the garage door! I get a rush of excitement as I lift the door and see a black Ford Capri, 0-60 in 22.6 seconds, tinted windows, custom paint job with gold detailing on the bonnet and sides, excellent condition; it was obviously the owners pride and joy but not suitable for fleeing the apocalypse luckily for me. I open the driver’s door and sit inside, start the engine after only three attempts, not much petrol, not enough to get me back home and grab some more supplies anyway. The only petrol I’m likely to find around here is at the petrol station; guarded by a lunatic. I was hoping to draw a line under my and Gemma’s relationship, call it even, I abandoned her, she shot me in the balls, leave it at that. Looks like I’m going to have to see her one more time though.
I pull out of the garage and turn towards the petrol station, unsure how I’m going to get in, fill up with petrol, and get out without being seen. I couldn’t even sneak in on foot without getting shot at.
On the road I see a scavenger party from the camp, picking through wreckage a
few metres from the roadside, I slouch low in my seat and increase my speed, I don’t want anyone else taking pot shots at me trying to win favour with that bastard Mayor. A glance in the rear-view mirror reveals them staring down the road after me, one of them is pointing, great. It’s definitely time I got out of here, I was planning on waiting until dark before chancing the petrol station but fuck it, I’m in a car and Gemma has a pellet gun. I turn up the music, Fine Young Cannibals - She Drives Me Crazy, I smile, but it’s a twisted smile without humour, a determined smile? Maybe.
The petrol station comes up fast, I cruise straight past keeping an eye out for Gemma, can’t see her so I drive past again, still nothing. I drive under the canopy, past the pumps, still no sign so I turn and pull up next to one of the pumps; sit there, engine idling, checking the building, nearby bushes, tree line where I was laying bleeding yesterday, no sign of movement. I get out and quickly flip open the fuel cap, push in the nozzle, nothing happens, there’s either no power to the pumps, no petrol, or both. I run into the building, head for the back, not worried about the infected, Gemma would have been keeping them at bay, but I’m more worried about Gemma than the infected anyway. I search the back room trying to find out where the pumps are powered, I have no idea how petrol stations work, this is an unexpected disaster; siphoning petrol from abandoned cars was so much easier. I head back out onto the forecourt, locate the covers for the main tanks, maybe I can just siphon it straight from the source. The Capri has a small pry bar in the boot which I clumsily use to prise up one of the covers but the tank below is empty. The second one is still partially full so I run back to the garage and grab as many jerry cans as I can find. Running back to the hole in the ground with three 20 litre cans I realise I haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings for at least ten minutes. I stop, force myself to calm down and focus, scan the area, full 360 degrees around me, a few infected are now wandering around in the tree-line, quite far away, they shouldn’t see me from here I don’t think; down the road, coming from the direction of town is the scavenger group, shit!