Ferine Apocalypse (Book 1): Collapse

by Leonard, John F.

  Adalia and Elliot left their post, sidled around Sault in a fashion similar to how pedestrians skirt a messy something on the pavement. Gross and yet fascinating, interesting and a little nasty if truth be told. Seeing was one thing, you certainly didn’t want to get any of it on you.

  The two of them joined Caroline, Pearcey, Julian and Joe in the kitchen. Caroline served them food, the others already near to finishing their meals. They sat side by side on the floor and began to pick at food as conversations continued around them. After a period, the talk stopped.

  Joe filled the silence, telling Elliot that Julian and Pearcey had invited them along in the attempt to gain the safety of the Black Hills facility. Sketched an idea of what Black Hills might be and what it could mean for them. Joe wasn’t surprised when Elliot replied that he couldn’t go there directly. Explaining what he’d already told Adalia, what Joe already knew.

  Elliot intended finding his brother. He didn’t expect any help, was extremely grateful for what help he’d been given, but he had one objective. It wasn’t negotiable, up for discussion or open to debate. Once he found his brother, it would be very different. He’d welcome sanctuary, walk in and give everything that he could to contribute to its continuation, but only if he walked in with his brother at his side.

  They were all momentarily awed by his eloquence, Joe included.

  Whilst he and Elliot had shared time, shared talk, he hadn’t heard the kid speak at this length in front of other people. Hadn’t heard him expound such a convincing and totally genuine argument, an inadvertent salesman selling his own cause. A pitch that could have been interpreted as a justification for lunacy. Speaking like this, the kid could sell social insights to facebook, give internet search term tips to Google, or peddle cheap shit plastic to China. Beyond that, Joe understood the sentiments, his thoughts shifting to Kirsten and Eddy. Wife and son that were heartbreakingly remote before the collapse and were now completely lost to him.

  What would he give to be within reach of them, to have even a slim a chance to be able to influence their situation?

  Whatever he’d said, Elliot made an impression. Lifted them all in an odd way, inspired hope even if the hope was ambiguous. Talk blossomed, bickering back and forth at times, but always hushed and contained. The discussion spooled out, twisted in on itself and flailed out at useless tangents, sputtered and flared and arrived at the only conclusion.

  They agreed to all travel together to Black Hills but Joe and Elliot wouldn’t enter, they’d continue on. It was a small detour and it meant that they would know the location so that they could return there after they’d found George.

  Joe Byrne may have been increasingly unsure of almost everything in the mind bending unreality of the collapse, but he’d always been sure that Elliot wasn’t for turning. The kid was never going to abandon the chance of his brother still being alive. Their destination was as fixed as anything could be in that crazy new world.

  <><><>

  Later still, Pearcey sat down by Joe and offered him a drink.

  “No, I better not,” Joe said with a slight shake of the head and a wince.

  He lit a cigarette and took a swig from a can of warm coke.

  He’d noticed the selection of booze in the kitchen and the even bigger selection in the bar.

  Had blanked them out. Blocked it, the availability of those bottles and the potential they offered.

  Much as he wanted a drink, and boy oh boy, did he want a drink, he had a feeling that it would really screw things up. Not screw things up in a manageable way. Screw things up in a way that was fucked up beyond redemption, a guarantee of bodies damaged and hope extinguished.

  You know that place Joey. You’re familiar with fucking people up in a way that lasts. One could say that you have experience. Hahaha. You’re an old hand, a loose hand, a not so cool hand ...Luke. Hahaha.

  A couple of fingers in a glass would have been a nice loosener alright, God knew he’d earned it, and it would take the edge off the throbbing pain in his arm, the thud in his head, the edginess that coursed through him like an electrical twitch, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t stop there. He’d let it go, embrace the surf, dive in and be swept away, the tide rising and magnetic, pulling him into its unloving arms.

  Take a glassful and you may as well just grab the bottle out of that black fella’s hard hand and be done with it Joey-Joe. Tell Elliot, Jesus and fucking Mary as well for that matter, their brothers and their pet dogs if they have them, everyone they know and have ever talked to, tell them to go feck themselves ...because if you take a glassful, you won’t be in any state to help anyone. Least of all yourself.

  Yep, that was about the sum of it. He was perched perilously on the wagon, it wouldn’t take much of a bumpety–bump to send him tumbling him off it. Not too much at all, a little jiggle-jerk and he’d be thrown off. Bouncing joylessly into the sea of oblivion.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Pearcey replied.

  Pearcey’s voice interrupted Joe’s internal meandering. Hard but slurred. Only slightly, a keen and experienced ear could detect it. Joe could hear it as clear as he’d hear a church bell on a Sunday morning.

  Injury and pain and alcohol to blunt it.

  “But Joe, I don’t think we’re going anywhere tonight,” Pearcey shrugged as he poured himself a top up.

  “I probably ought to stay sharp as well ...it should be okay if we keep below the radar. Those things have to move off sooner or later. Soon as some other sorry fucker is unlucky enough to catch their attention.”

  Joe nodded.

  He was feeling battered and bruised but more than that he felt frustrated. Wanted a drink and if not that, he wanted to get going, to get into the shit so it could be done with, one way or the other.

  You never could wait could you Joey-Joe, not-so-slowy-Joey? Never could wait to get to the end.

  He had no intention of venturing outside until they had a fair shot. Storming out into the midst of them? No way, no way on this earth or any other. Getting ripped to pieces trying to get into the car wouldn’t help Elliot or his brother.

  “I barely know you Joe, but you seem like you’ve got your head on straight. Shit, you’ve survived this far and that’s a qualification in itself, the way I see it. Can I ask you something and risk ruining a beautiful friendship before it’s even begun?”

  Joe actually laughed a little before nodding.

  “Fire away fella, I’m slow to offend and quick to forgive so we should be good. And by the way, if we ever get somewhere safe and sound, I’ll take you up on that drink. Just ...not here, not right now.”

  “Agreed.”

  Pearcey lowered his voice even though the others were sitting a little distance away, paired off in conversation, Adalia taking to Elliot, Caroline to Julian.

  “This idea to pick up the kid’s brother, I get it you know. I have a daughter but don’t have a hope of finding her, don’t even know exactly where she might be. But ...without sounding like a completely uncaring cunt, what are the chances?”

  Pearcey took a gulp of his drink and paused as though he was struggling to find the words.

  “The kid’s brother, George, he’s twelve, thirteen right? It was a few days ago when Elliot last spoke to him?”

  Joe nodded.

  “You’ve been out there, you know what it’s like. Do you think he’ll still be alive? It’s a hell of a risk you’ll be taking on the off-chance. Especially if you think that you’ll be driving past the gates of a safe haven en route.”

  Joe stubbed the cigarette out and lit another.

  “I know what you’re saying.”

  Considered the glowing end of the newly-lit cigarette before he spoke again.

  “I promised him ...after he saved my life. So ...I won’t go back on the promise. Besides which, the crazy little fecker is determined enough to go it alone ...and I couldn’t live with myself if I let him do that. Not after ...the last few days.”

  Joe trailed
off and blew smoke at the ceiling, a long breath before he continued speaking.

  “When you said I’d survived this far ...well yeah, you’re spot on fella, I have. I’ve survived. But I don’t feel like I’ve covered myself in glory doing it. If you want the truth, I feel like I’ve covered myself in shit. Had a good old bath in it. Dunked my head and swallowed some into the bargain.”

  He looked Pearcey in the eye.

  “Doing something decent is more than overdue as far as I’m concerned.”

  Pearcey looked at him and nodded slowly before speaking, his face a serious mask.

  “I’ve spent a fair part of my life neck-deep in shit and I know that taste. It has a habit of lingering at the back of your throat.” he finally said.

  “D’you think maybe getting yourself killed trying to save the kid’s brother will wash it out?”

  Joe smiled at him and had to fight the urge to ask for that drink after all. Had to force the words back down before they escaped and it was too late.

  He would have enjoyed getting shit-faced with this guy. Maybe even a grand tour in the right circumstances. But it wasn’t to be, not now, not if he was going to do that decent thing he’d talked about.

  “A man can hope, my new found friend, a man can hope.”

  <><><>

  That night was longer for some than others, although none of them slept well. None of them had slept well since the beginning of the collapse, and some not too often before that.

  Being in the hotel, that insecure series of brick and glass boxes, sensing at the edge of hearing the wild things roaming around those fragile boundaries, wasn’t conducive to a restful night.

  The nearby presence of a corpse murdered and mutilated by human hands did little to help the situation.

  Exhaustion lent a hand, mental and physical. It was deceptive assistance as always, just as liable to throw nightmares your way as it was to enfold you in the restorative arms of peaceful slumber.

  What did momma used to say ...too tired to sleep?

  Elliot Lowton dreamed of his brother George and his parents and the beautiful girl he’d met. Of men in cars and monsters on streets in places unknown.

  When Joe moaned in his sleep, a moan that threatened to spiral upwards into a tortured scream, Elliot leaned over and quietened him with whispered words and a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder.

  Adalia’s mother spoke to her, gentle and unyielding as ever, of the perils of life, of the danger and desirability of men and the beauty that grew from stony ground. Spectres of dead worlds and deader girls flitted in background, the smell of near summer mixed with the salty heath of fluid earth.

  Joe Byrne dreamed of that which is precious and lost. Things forever gone but still just within reach. Chances offered once and never again, and the plaintive cries of the dead as they scorned the unjust.

  Pearcey saw confusion and continual risk and the tantalising prospect of peace. Opportunity spinning away, always spinning and always loaded with danger. Felt the never-ending weight of capability and the crumbling inevitability of failure.

  Julian’s mind tumbled with numbers and unknown quotients. Sad songs of loneliness that resonated down the years. The flight from dark places and the illusive quality of nearness, the obscurity of safety.

  Caroline slept little but when she did dream it was of a clawed hand on a door, a hand that wouldn’t let go and pulled ever harder, however much she resisted. If the door could be closed, she would turn away from it and be wrapped in a softness that promised eternity.

  And Philip Sault? He dreamed of a harsh and beautiful new world. A slate wiped clean by catastrophe, where he would be able to delight in the things that delighted him, where his laughter would be unrestrained. Oh, how he would laugh.

  Chapter 8.

  Checking Out.

  There were two creatures still visible, sluggish and damaged looking.

  The weather had turned, all the blue had blown away leaving an overcast morning. A tarnished silver sky that was heavy and brooding. It might brighten up, but Joe didn’t think so.

  He thought that the dry spell had come to an end, like everything did, and there might be rain today. A storm maybe, the sky had that expectant, full feel to it. He was almost glad, the sunny summery days had seemed wrong given the situation. It bordered on the obscene that the apocalypse should have cerulean skies.

  Much more apt, this swollen greyness.

  Joe stood at the doors, his arm aching and stiff, Pearcey at his side, both watching the two broken things hunched under the bushes outside.

  The rest of creatures were gone. Something had happened during the night that had pulled them away. Something unfortunate for whatever, or whoever, had attracted them.

  Bad news for those poor souls, hey Joey-boy. That’s for sure, as sure as eggs is bacon and ducks have watertight arseholes.

  Joe really didn’t want to dwell on what had distracted the swarm of creatures, he had enough misery of his own to wallow in without considering the misfortune of others.

  Those two things outside that had remained were damaged, Joe could see that clearly from where he stood.

  Torn and holed, limbs bent at odd angles.

  Damaged alright, but they certainly weren’t dead.

  Nope, those critters don’t die easy, that’s for sure as well Joe-Joe. As sure as rocking horses have huge hickory dickies.

  He and his new companions would go soon. The others were getting ready to leave. Pearcey and he were simply scoping out the exit route. Not that the preparing to go amounted to very much in reality. Nerving themselves up was probably a better description. Amazing how soon precarious safety became comfortable and the thought of abandoning it caused the heart to beat faster.

  Joe knew it was more than that. They were exhausted. All of them.

  Joe could feel an utter weariness in his bones and see it reflected in Elliot’s eyes and echoed in the stagger of Pearcey’s limping gait. The wince is Caroline’s face when she put weight on her foot and Julian’s hunched posture, as if a piano were suspended over him on fraying ropes. Philip Sault was pretty unreadable, but Joe could tell that even he was flagging, the way he moved at times, like getting up and walking had become an effort of necessity over desire.

  They all needed to rest soon, properly rest, somewhere safe and secure. Somewhere that they could stop worrying about simply surviving the next few hours. If they didn’t, they were liable to make a bad call on something simple. And making a bad call these days, even on something seemingly innocent and unimportant, was a sure-fire shortcut to the ever after.

  “We need this to be by the numbers, nice and slick,” Pearcey breathed, as if reading his thoughts.

  “Be a shame to have survived another night and get chewed up opening the car door.”

  Joe was glad that Pearcey was by his side. The man was capability personified, he radiated competence, an unflappable quality, a possibly brutal proficiency.

  Not surprised you recognise the brutal Joey-Joey-ungentle-fucking-Joey. Not convinced that you’d know proficient if it bit you on the hairy ass. Hahaha.

  He wished the voice would shut the fuck up. Gobble down some chill pills and do one until time folded in on itself.

  “Yeah, I hear that fella. Those two ugly fuckers look worse than I do after a night on the tiles but, as old ma Byrne used to say, looks can be deceiving,” Joe replied quietly.

  “They could just be licking their wounds or whatever the fuck they lick. Recovering. Short of having their heads caved in, all the ones I’ve come across cling to life like a dipso clings to his meths. Plus there could be others picking their teeth just round the corner.”

  Pearcey grinned despite the tension.

  “Joe, you have a way with words. You remind me of some of the fouler-mouthed politicians I’ve met.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve been told. Fouler-mouthed that is, not the politician bit. Although I’m not sure my charmless eloquence is going to grease as many wheel as
it used to. An irreverently amusing turn of phrase doesn’t kill many monsters.”

  Pearcey nodded, the grin vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared.

  “We’ll lead in the Range Rover. Caroline, me, Julian, Addy and that prick Sault. You follow us, you have the radio right? Try and use that if we encounter problems rather than getting out of your vehicle. Caroline thinks there’s a lane out of here that leads to Black Hills. Narrow, long and winding. Rural all the way baby. Empty hopefully. When we jump off, I’ve got the gun but ammunition is getting low and the noise is a big no-no. Last resort in this situation. Never mind that anyway, if you can make sure everyone gets shifted into the cars without too much messing around, I’ll take care of the Jacks if they get close.”

  “Jacks?” Joe asked.

  “My pet name for them. Something made me think of Jack the Ripper ...oh never mind, it’s a long fucking story and it sounds stupid saying it aloud. Anyway, that’s what they’re called in my head.”

  Joe thought the man almost seemed embarrassed.

  “It’s as good a name as any. God knows, it’s some sort of new jack fucking city out there now. Names are a big deal you know. Before the world went crazy, I made a good living from names, words, images. All that stuff. Names, pictures, they’re handles. Once you put a handle on something, you can manipulate it. You can grab a handle and turn it one way or another. I could’ve built a nice little campaign around that name, Jacks. It’s a goer, got the right kind of feel to it, very visual. Maybe black and white. Misty silhouettes ...”

  Joe was interrupted by activity behind them. He and Pearcey didn’t get chance to continue any discussion about the relative merits of naming your demons, or the marketing potential of the mutated monsters that now roamed the earth. As it turned out, it was the last real discussion that Joe Byrne and Carlton Pearcey shared. Much as they both would have liked it to have been otherwise.