by RR Haywood
‘Pheromones then?’ I say before the silence gets uncomfortable, ‘makes sense…bloody frightening though…’
‘Very,’ Clarence offers, ‘how did you get to the Saxon?’
‘Marcy,’ I reply, ‘I was surrounded at the top by the gate, things were coming in on all sides. Then they just parted and let me through…Marcy was stood on the wall, I got to the Saxon and she’d gone.’
‘Not all bad then,’ Clarence says with a tilt of his head.
‘She couldn’t hold them back though, like she was losing her control over them…was Reggie with you?’
Head shaking as they look at each other. ‘Dave? Did you see him?’
‘No,’ he replies bluntly.
‘Him and Marcy must have got away, or they’re still here,’ Clarence adds.
‘They could be in that lot I shot down.’
‘Unlikely, are we going after them?’
I look at Clarence, then at the lads and then at the mess of the fort all around us, ‘not now, we need coffee and rest.’
‘Police dogs can track people, we could get Meredith to find them,’ Nick says.
‘They’re trained to do that mate, she’s good but we wouldn’t know where to start or how to make her know what to look for, we’ll rest and figure out what to do when the sun comes up…I need coffee, lots of coffee.’
I head across to the old police office, getting an instant reminder of everyone we lost as I walk in. The rooms are tidy and put back to order. Marcy must have had her lot working hard while we slept.
Marcy.
Something tells me this isn’t over yet, not by a long way.
Seven
‘Urgh,’ Paula groans as she sits up, sweat dripping from her face, clothes sodden from sleeping in the cramped back seats. The morning sun burning through the windows, slowly heating the inside of the vehicle. Feeling groggy she moves quickly, pushing the door open to dash outside, grimacing at the wall of heat hitting her.
She licks her dry lips and pushes her tongue out of her mouth, yacking at the foul taste. Hair plastered across her forehead, red faced and with a full bladder she moves away from the vehicle and quickly pulls her trousers down, squatting on the grass and groaning with pleasure at the relief of urinating.
Taking her time she scans the view. At the top of a hill she can see down into a valley, across meadows and fields, forested copses and the roofs of cottages and farmhouses dotting the landscape. Rural England, beautiful and shimmering in the high summer heat. Rabbits further down the field, moving slowly through the long grass. Movement catches her eye, a burnt orange colour slinking along the hedgerow. Standing up she pulls her trousers up and moves to the vehicle, grabbing the binoculars from the rear. Focussing on the hedgerow she moves her view along. There, a flash of orange. A fox creeping through the undergrowth, gradually working its way to the rabbits.
Paula feels a sense of trepidation at the sight. Wanting to shout a warning but then realising the fox needs to eat, it might have cubs and be starving for food. Mind you, it doesn't look starving. Nicely shaped with a bushy tail it looks anything but starving. With the instant demise of man, animals like this will fare much better. Just the reduction in road kill will boost the numbers.
The fox stays low, creeping forward as it slinks between the thickets. Pausing every few feet before darting on with a quick burst of speed. Pulling the glasses away she looks with naked eye to the rabbits, still happily moving about without a care in the world.
Watching this, knowing their main predators is stalking closer and closer invokes a feeling of helplessness. Mankind is being pretty much obliterated from the planet but they are just one species. Just one of countless life forms trying to survive. Rabbits have suffered disease and pulled through, they even suffered man made disease used to cull their numbers. Myxomatosis was brought in to try and ease the numbers and ended up wiping out nearly all the wild rabbit population. Maybe that’s all this is. A manmade disease sent out by a group of scientists intent on cutting the numbers back and taking the world back to a base state of being.
Twelve days ago that would have sounded absurd. But now it is one of a number of highly probable reasons of how this all started. It must have come from somewhere. Something this virulent couldn’t have always been in existence. This is made by man, Paula is sure of it. It has to be. But those rabbits, they just carry on the same as before. The fox gets closer and closer, the rabbits keep eating. Their demise is right there. All they have to do is look, but they don’t. They enjoy life and take what happiness they can. They know the fox can’t catch all of them.
The fox bursts from the hedge into the open ground, a split second later the rabbits starburst. White tails bobbing up and down with incredible speed and agility. The fox fixes sight on one and gives chase. The rabbit heads straight, then turns instantly to the left, then to right, jigging back and forth. The fox right behind it, turning with every twist, neither gaining nor falling away.
The explosion of energy must be huge, both animals running for everything they are worth. The rabbit bucks and leaps mounds, scattering in a haphazard manner of running. No set pattern that the fox can fix on. Paula smiles as the rabbit finds a hole and drops out of sight, the fox stopping dead with its snout buried into the hole. It scrabbles at the ground for a few seconds before giving up and slinking away.
A mixture of emotions greets Paula as she pushes the binoculars back. Stripping off she stands in bra and knickers, washing with lovely cold water and wet wipes, sluicing the sweat away from her armpits. She tries running a hand through her hair, yelping at the knots that catch on her fingers. Greasy and tangled, she sniffs the end, pursing her mouth at the stench of the fires from last night. Remembering the fire she quickly looks about, scanning the skyline. She spots the smudge in the distance, just a thin plume of smoke wafting high into the air. It doesn't look too bad.
Pulling a large bottle of water from the back she manages to get her head under the lip and start pouring it over her hair, shivering with pleasure as it splashes down her neck and back. Awkward and difficult, using one hand to get her hair soaked and one hand to hold the bottle. She pulls the toiletries bag out and selects a shampoo, squeezing the thick liquid directly onto her head she starts massaging it into her scalp, working it through the strands. An idea strikes her, a pleasant day, washing her hair in the great outdoors, but something is missing.
She moves to the front of the vehicle, leaning into the passenger door to push the radio on. Static fills the car until she presses the play button on the CD player. She waits a few seconds and winces audibly at the Spice Girls booming out that they really really wanna do something.
Still, at least it’s upbeat and cheerful. Dancing her way to the back of the car she starts rinsing the shampoo out, smiling to herself as the bubbled water pools round her bare feet.
Paula works the brush through her wet hair, ridding the tangles and still singing along to the music. Cheesy songs but a positive feeling inside her. She won. She actually won. Killed nearly every one of those things and walked away.
A whole town rid and cleansed of the things, and all of it done by her, alone and without help. The loneliness she felt last night still tugs deep inside, but she can cope with it. Better that than being stuck with the Clarke’s of this world.
Finished with the hair, feeling clean and dressed in fresh clothes she pulls the small camping stove out and starts heating water. Humming along to the music she prepares a mug with coffee and powdered milk. The water boils quickly, the perfect amount measured out from the many times she has done this.
Within a couple of days she had started this ritual, standing at the back of the vehicle, eating food while brewing up. The normal actions of making coffee soothed her. Something about boiling the water and doing the same thing she had done every morning for as long as she could remember.
With fresh coffee she stares at the bag, knowing she’ll do what she shouldn’t do it but enjoying the pause to
see if she can resist temptation this morning.
Nope. No can do. She slides the packet out and draws one of the white cigarettes out. One a day, sometimes two if she felt like it. No one to judge her, no one to moan or say how bad it was. She hadn’t smoked for years but had a sudden craving a few days ago and had enjoyed the hit of caffeine and nicotine while standing in the glorious morning sun.
She lights up and cups the mug in one hand before shuffling her backside onto the rear of the vehicle. Coffee and a cigarette. She settles in for a few minutes, gazing out across the panoramic view. The deep blue sky with not a cloud in sight. Lush green fields stretching out for miles.
With a sigh she takes a sip of coffee then a pull of the cigarette, enjoying the sensation of blowing the smoke away.
Where now? That was the question. That note she read suggested she find her own kind. Which meant find other survivors and stay safe. Or, she could find another town and start all over again. She examines her responses inside. The thought of finding others doesn't fill her with any sense of want or need, but the very second she thinks of taking more of those things out and she feels a tingle of excitement.
Nodding her head she makes her mind up. Decision made. Head south and do it all again, and kill as many of them as possible on the way.
How long do they last for? It’s been twelve days today since it began and they were going strong last night. Do they eat or drink, do they sleep? At least she knows some of them can talk and think normally. That was strange, very strange. He was stalking her for days, intent on killing her but had the ability to write a letter. Which meant he would have looked for a pen and notepad and then found her vehicle to leave it under the wiper. He could have just staked her car out and waited, trapped her someway. That speaks of vanity which is a weakness she can exploit. If others are like that she can goad them and use that vanity to lure them harder.
The razor wire worked well. The broken glass was okay and felled a few but nothing brilliant. As part of an overall strategy with other tactics it was valued but broken glass on its own wasn’t good enough.
Fire was good, very good. Not only burning them but starving them of oxygen too. What else explodes? Anything that is pressurised and contains a flammable liquid or gas. She leans round and grabs her toiletries bag, pulling the can of deodorant free and looking at the flammable sign on the back.
With a mind full of plans she pulls out the ordnance survey map and folds it flat, working her finger along the roads. She finds her town and using a marker pen she puts a bold cross through it. Tracing along she works out her rough position and then moves south to the next settlement.
A wry smile tugs at her mouth as she realises the word she used, settlement. Not a town or a village but a settlement. Like olden times when people would gather together to have safety in numbers against the beasts and bandits.
‘Pretty much like now then,’ she mutters. A small town like that is hardly going to have a large enough DIY store to get all the things she needs. Maybe a hardware store but after twelve days the chance of finding one that hasn’t been looted will be quite low.
But then a small town or a village won’t need the big plans, the numbers should be smaller and therefore easier to cull.
Paula nods, thinking this will be a good test. Drive into the village and use whatever she can find on the spot to do the culling. It will be good experience in case she ever gets caught on the run and has to improvise. Can you have planned improvisation?
‘The seven p’s,’ she mutters quietly, ‘proper pre planning prevents piss poor performance, but on this occasion we shall plan not to plan.’ Paula’s decisive mind works quickly, weighing up the positives, negatives, variables and accounting for unknown eventualities that might arise. After this evaluation of the plan she comes to the conclusion it will be worth it.
The four wheel drive is packed away. Everything stowed where it should be, secured and made safe. She checks her boot laces, making sure the laces are tight and the ends tucked away. Trousers clean and dry, belt secure. Pistol in holster with a full clip of ammunition. MP5 on the passenger seat with a full clip of ammunition and spares for both in her pocket. Flare gun with a fresh flare loaded in. Large bladed knife in the scabbard attached to her belt. Vest top dry and tight to prevent snagging. Hair tied back and free from her eyes. The last two items are put on, a pair of sunglasses, carefully chosen with non-reflective lenses that allow her to see in the day without worrying about glare but not so tinted she would lose vision if running into somewhere darker. Finally a black baseball cap, cotton material and perfect for preventing the sweat rolling down her forehead into her eyes. And if she loses the glasses then the hat will protect her vision.
With the map folded to show the route and placed on the passenger seat she drives back down the field, a full bottle of water between her legs to sip from and stay hydrated. She tuts at the fuel gauge showing less than a quarter of a tank. That will mean either a re-fill or finding another vehicle. No matter, that is to be expected.
At the gate she keeps the engine running while she yanks it open. Driving through she doesn't bother closing it, knowing it will be there and open if she needs to use it again.
On the lane she keeps the window down and one arm rested on the sill, enjoying the blast of hot air rushing past her head. The lane ends at a T junction with another five bar gate leading into a field ahead of her. A brown horse with a thick mane stands with its head hanging over the gate. Paula holds at the junction, staring at the animal as it cranes its neck down to try and reach the juicy grass. The animal’s ribs are showing clear along the flank, its head low with huge sad looking eyes. She switches the engine off and drops out, heading across the road. The horse watches her coming and gives a tiny toss of its head. At the gate Paula looks into the field at the bone dry water trough a few metres along.
Reaching over she pushes the handle down and swings the gate open. The horse moves straight to Paula, rubbing its nose against her shoulder. She pats and rubs the hot muzzle before moving down to look at the waterless container and the tap fixed to a pipe above it.
The sadness of it strikes her hard, that the water is right there but completely inaccessible to the horse. She twists the tap on, water gushes from the end, thundering into the container beneath. The horse is there within seconds, dropping its head down to start licking at the rapidly pooling liquid.
Standing back she spots the brown mound further down the field. She walks closer slowly recognising the form to be another horse, laid flat on the ground and hardly breathing. Like the other one, the ribs are showing along the side. Dying from thirst, in this heat with no shelter it must be only a matter of time before the farm animals start perishing.
Feeling a sense of anger that the owners probably didn’t spare a second thought for the poor creatures and were simply occupied with their own survival. But that’s not fair; it’s human nature to protect yourself. But the sight of the suffering creature still fills her with a sense of unfairness. They relied on humans for everything. Held in captivity, forced to remain within the boundaries of fields and stables. Unable to find food or water.
The horse lifts its head and snorts, letting her know it’s not quite dead yet. She rushes back to the vehicle and drags a water bottle out from the back. Running into the field she spots the other horse still stood at the trough drinking deeply as the water pours out.
She scoots round and drops to her knees in front of the prone horse. Unscrewing the cap she gently lifts the horses head and shuffles her legs underneath. With the head raised she tries pressing the bottle to the horse’s mouth, pouring a gentle stream of water into it. The horse responds immediately, its large tongue darting out. Remembering from the films or a documentary that water must be given slowly if a person has suffered serious dehydration. Is that the same for horses?
She has no idea but it can’t hurt to take it slow and let the water trickle in gently. Paula feels the animal’s throat working as it takes
the water down. The relief must be immense, to have cool refreshing liquid after such a long hot dry period. How have they lasted this long? But it rained a few days ago, that sudden heavy downpour. That must have given them enough to last a few more days. But the parched ground and hot weather would have sucked the moisture away quickly.
She pulls the bottle away and waits for a few seconds, stroking the animal’s long face. The horse looks up at her and snorts again, sending a blast of hot air onto her arm. She shuffles to ease the cramp, not realising how heavy the head would be rested on her lap. The horse snorts again, seemingly demanding more water. She presses the bottle to the mouth and starts pouring the water in again. It splashes down and soaks her lap but the horse drinks and takes what it can. Lips pulling back to show a row of even stained teeth.
A shadow looms over her, making her drop the bottle and reach for the pistol before feeling the warm muzzle of the other horse on her shoulder. Grinning foolishly she carries on, holding the bottle with one hand while rubbing the other ones nose. It moves round and lowers its head to the prone horse. Sniffing at its face before pawing the ground with one front leg and snorting loudly. Get up. Get up and drink.
The message is clear and repeated several times. The upright horse even starts nuzzling the downed one, pushing its nose against the neck. Paula watches with interest, realising the intelligence of the animals, the attempts at communication and the clear show of concern.
Not knowing if she is helping or hurting, Paula squeezes out from under the horse and rushes back to the vehicle, mooching through the back and finding the box of sugar cubes. Will this hurt them? The horse is huge so one or two shouldn’t hurt and maybe it will give it enough energy to get up. She runs back, hoping she isn’t doing more harm than good.
She starts with the horse on its feet, breaking the seal on the box and laughing as the horse smells the contents and starts pushing the box with the end of its nose, eager to get the contents out. The cube looks tiny compared to the horse but then she guesses they don’t have a great amount of sugar in their food so it might be quite a strong effect. She holds it flat in her hand and grins again as the horse rubs its lips over and snatches the thing away, within a second it’s nuzzling her open hand, asking for more. She gives another two and watches, worried in case it will do something bad but not sure what the bad thing would be. Maybe get hyperactive like a child and start running round in circles. But it doesn't do anything but keeps pushing at her hand, demanding more sugar. She feeds another two and then goes back to the one lying down.