by Perrin Briar
She pulled on the lever under the seat and brought it as far forward as it would go. She had to sit on the very front of the seat to reach the pedals. She could only see through the hole in the steering wheel.
“Okay,” she said to herself. “This is simple. You’ve seen people do this all your life. It’s a piece of cake. Just put the car into gear.”
She grabbed the gearstick and began to move it around. She tried to push it into the location where the number one was depicted on the top of the gearstick, but it wouldn’t go in.
“It’s not working,” she said. “There must be something wrong.”
“Clutch!” Chris said.
Maisie pressed her foot to the clutch and pushed the stick into first gear. It crunched, but finally went in.
Just then, there were low groans from somewhere in the woods that made the windows chatter in their frame.
“Take your time,” Chris said. “Push down the accelerator and lift up the clutch.”
Maisie did as he said, but too fast. The car shot forward like it had been stung. She held onto the steering wheel like it were a bucking bronco. The car swerved left, toward a tree. She hit the brakes, and the car jolted, stalled, and sent Chris sliding forward, his head striking the dashboard.
“Careful!” Chris said.
“I told you to wear your seatbelt!”
Attracted by the noise, zombies stumbled through the foliage. They looked up at the car with hungry eyes.
Maisie pressed the clutch in again and turned the key. The car started, and she let the clutch up slower this time, and pressed the accelerator down. The car slowly moved forward.
The zombies limped after the car. Maisie, too afraid to risk stopping, kept the car in first gear. On the rough ground they outpaced the zombies as the engine screamed and roared and pulled them across the grassy verge and onto the road.
“Left,” Chris said.
Maisie turned the steering wheel. They were only going a few miles an hour. Even the zombies could keep up at that pace. Their fingertips grazed the paintwork.
“You need to change gear,” Chris said, his voice a rasping gasp. “Push down on the clutch. Let the accelerator up at the same time, and change into second gear. Then take your foot off the clutch and press down on the accelerator.”
“Lift up the accelerator,” Maisie said out loud as she carried out the instructions, “and push down on the clutch.”
“At the same time.”
“And then go up a gear and release the clutch and press down on the accelerator.”
The car went into second gear. The engine sputtered and began to conk out. Zombies came up alongside them and pressed their faces against the windows.
“What’s happening?” Maisie said.
“Press the accelerator more. More!”
Maisie put her foot to the floor, and the Porsche gradually gained speed and pulled away from the zombies’ grip.
“You were changing gear too slowly,” Chris said. “Your technique is right. Just do it faster. Try third gear.”
Maisie changed into third gear. The gears grunted, but it was generally smooth. The fourth gear change was flawless.
“Well done,” Chris said. “That’s essentially all driving is. You’ve got a nice touch with cars. Nice to know you got something from me.”
Maisie couldn’t help but smile.
“Really?” she said. “You think I’m good at driving?”
“I didn’t say you were good,” Chris said. “But you’re certainly no worse than your mother.”
Z-MINUS: 2 HOURS 2 MINUTES
Maisie refused to go faster than forty miles per hour. Any faster felt like light speed to her. Occasionally there were empty cars in the road. She peeked up over the dashboard, slowed down, didn’t change out of gear, and swerved around them. The car juddered, in too high a gear. Maisie put her foot down on the accelerator and the car gradually picked up speed. She focused entirely on the road. If Chris had turned into a zombie, she wouldn’t have noticed.
“Slow down and turn left down this country road,” Chris said.
“This doesn’t look like Granny’s.”
“That’s because it’s not. I wanted to see this place before I turn.”
Maisie glared at him.
“I thought we were going to granny’s?” she said.
“We will. All in good time.”
“I thought now was good.”
She looked at Chris and noticed how much healthier he looked. He had a little colour in his cheeks and there was an alertness in his eyes that was not there before. Clearly his head still hurt as he abstained from turning it too quickly to avoid the stabbing pains at his temples.
“I suppose we have time,” Maisie said.
The car bunny-hopped forward as they turned onto the obscure dirt track between two trees and wound their way through the dense woods.
The road opened up onto a wide driveway in front of a large farmhouse. It was an old house, built with broad arched windows, and needed a new layer of white paint.
“Go around the back,” Chris said.
Maisie pulled the car around the house and came to a barn. She circled it and came to a stop in an area lined with tractors, harvesters and other farming machinery. She turned the engine off, pulled up the handbrake, and left it in gear.
“So, what’s the story?” Maisie said.
“This was your first home, the place we brought you after you were born in the hospital.”
“Bit of a come-down after Nottingham, isn’t it?”
“We didn’t live in the house. We stayed on the field over there. We used to work the fields here, picking potatoes during the summer. It was probably the best time of year. The summers were always beautiful back then. It was never too hot, the sun always shone in a cloudless blue sky, and we had you and your sister.”
“When did things change?” Maisie said.
“It happened at about the time we stopped working the fields. New machinery came along and they didn’t need us anymore. It was cheaper to have one machine than a hundred pickers. We managed to sabotage the machine a few times, and the farmers asked us if we wanted work. We earned a little money, experienced the old days for a little while, but never for long.
“Eventually the machines took over. It happened like that all over the country. We sold everything we had and moved into the house in Nottingham. Some of us worked in factories, some of us set up companies, but all of us miss those days. We felt like we lost a part of ourselves. Some started drinking, others took drugs. Most just got on with their lives, but some couldn’t let go. It’s probably good that it’s over. No more back-breaking labour. But they were good times, all the same. Easier times.”
Chris covered his eyes with his hand, and his body shuddered.
“I only had one person to make happy, and I couldn’t even do that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I hit her, I mistreated her, and when we had children, I beat them too. I ended up becoming my father after promising myself I wouldn’t.”
His body shook with racking sobs. Maisie turned away, unable to watch her father cry. Then she turned back to him and put her hand on his back. She wrapped her arms around him. She couldn’t reach all the way around.
“Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh,” she said. “It’s all right. You’re going to be okay.”
Chris wiped his nose with his sleeve and dried his eyes.
“I woke up today and found myself in a car crash from having drunk too much,” he said. “I should have been at home with my wife and kids. Maybe if I’d been there to protect you, your mother and sister wouldn’t have turned. It’s my fault they turned. Not the zombies, not the virus, but me. We might have all escaped, all gotten away, all be here safe. But we’re not, and I have to live with that.”
“You don’t know if they’d have been all right,” Maisie said.
“I know they’d have been better off if I was at home.”
Chris smiled and held Maisie tight.
“But look what you’re doing now,” Maisie said. “You’re finding somewhere safe for your daughter. You’re finding her a home. Not many people will have the opportunity to do that.”
Chris smiled.
“Let me tell you a little secret,” Maisie said. “I used to be afraid of you. But I’m not anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are worse things out there than you now.”
“That’s only just dawned on you? There are loads worse people out there than me.”
“Not when you have to come home to you every day. I used to think I hated you. I used to dream about our lives without you. I used to think we would have been better off without you.”
“What about now?”
“Now, I think you’re okay.”
“I’m okay? I meet your high standards?”
“Just about.”
For a moment they sat in contented silence. Chris sighed.
“It’s about time we got you to your granny’s, don’t you think?” he said.
Z-MINUS: 1 HOUR 51 MINUTES
The nearest house was half a mile away, the nearest town, Bury St. Edmunds, over five miles. The last village sign they’d seen was for Timworth, but they’d long since driven past it. The roads had gotten smaller and smaller until Maisie thought they would have to get out and walk the remaining distance.
The house sat on a small piece of land surrounded by farmland. It was white and rough on the outside, as if it had been made from mud and left to go hard in the sun.
Chris got out of the car and opened the gate. Maisie pulled the Porsche onto the driveway beside a pristine Ford Fiesta. Twenty years old, with fewer than a thousand miles on it.
Maisie got out of the car and stretched her arms and legs. She stifled a yawn with her hand. They moved toward the front door. Maisie wove her fingers between Chris’s. She was pleased to find his fingers grip her own.
Chris knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, and was again met with silence. He tried the door. It was locked. He moved to the window and peered inside with his hand over his eyes.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s in,” he said.
“Do you think she popped out?”
“With her car still here? She’d never go anywhere without it.”
“Maybe she’s sleeping.”
They moved around to the back of the house, finding a small allotment of home grown vegetables. They looked vaguely unkempt, weeds allowed to sprout where they will.
Chris knocked on the backdoor, his stomach twisting tight. There was again no answer. He tried the door. No dice. He rested his shoulder against the door and forced his weight against it. The wood split after the first shove, cracked on the second, and broke on the third.
The first room they came to was the kitchen. It was small and narrow, ideal for a single old lady. There was a single unwashed bowl, spoon, breadknife and plate in the sink.
They moved through into the living room. The room was an homage to nineteen thirties living. There was a small TV, little bigger than a portable, a gramophone, and a fusty old sofa with a throw blanket across its back.
They moved through into the bedroom. There was the faint smell of decomposing meat, stronger than the usual dead skin aroma that followed Granny like a personal raincloud.
There was a lump in the bed. Granny-sized. Chris’s breath caught in his throat.
Granny lay staring up at the ceiling, eyes unblinking.
Z-MINUS: 1 HOUR 45 MINUTES
Chris and Maisie sat in Granny’s front room. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked down the seconds, as if emphasising the remaining time slipping through their fingers.
“Do you think she’s dead dead, or undead dead?” Maisie said.
“Does it make any difference?”
“I suppose not.”
“Trust her to die right at this moment,” Chris said. “She’s always been that way. Never does anything helpful if she can’t do something awkward first.”
“I doubt she died on purpose, Chris.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“It could have been worse.”
“How could it be worse?”
“We might have arrived the day before she died.”
Chris shrugged his shoulders.
“Shouldn’t we bury her?” Maisie said.
“When? We don’t have the time. What are we going to do?”
“I could say here,” Maisie said. “I can take care of myself.”
“You need an adult to take care of you.”
“You were going to let me stay at Aunt Beatrix’s alone.”
“Things have changed. And there’s a lot more of those things out there than I thought there would be.”
“So, what do you want to do?” Maisie said.
“Let’s drive into town. Maybe there’s an orphanage or church that can take care of you.”
“I’ll drive.”
“No,” Chris said. “I will. We can’t afford to mess around. We’ve got less than two hours left.”
After a moment of hesitation, Maisie handed over the keys.
Z-MINUS: 1 HOUR 32 MINUTES
Chris pressed the accelerator flush to the floor to coax as much speed out of the engine as he could. They came to a crossroads. Chris didn’t signal and hardly slowed as he threw the car around the sharp right-angle.
“I wanted to leave you at your Aunt Beatrix’s house,” Chris said, “but, nooo, you had to come to your granny’s. Now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere and you’ve got nowhere safe to go. Now what?”
They came to a sharp corner. Chris forced the Porsche into it, the tyres screaming. Maisie gripped her seat with both hands.
“I didn’t know she was dead,” she said.
“She’s old. What were we thinking? Even if she was alive she wouldn’t have lasted very long. Maybe I should give her to some zombies so they can bring her back to life.”
The countryside, blurry with speed, gave way to squat buildings and restless traffic lights.
“Please, slow down!” Maisie said.
“Now what am I going to do with you?” Chris said. “There’s nowhere safe for you to go.”
“Just drop me off here,” she said. “I’ll take care of myself.”
“You couldn’t take care of a goldfish. You’re helpless.”
“I’m not helpless! I can fight!”
“With those soft little hands? I’ve gone through all this trouble and you’re going to get bitten and turn anyway.”
Chris was in a mad rage now, not listening to anything Maisie said. She turned away, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I should have left you at home,” Chris said. “At least then I could have enjoyed the last few hours of my life.”
Chris hit the brakes, and the car lurched to a stop outside an old church. Maisie pulled on the door handle and got out. She slammed the door and ran across the road.
“Where are you going?” Chris said. “The church is this way!”
Maisie disappeared into some bushes.
“Fine! Go!” Chris said. “I’m better off without you anyway.”
Chris hit the accelerator and sped off down the road. He grumbled to himself under his breath. Even he didn’t know what he was saying.
Maisie’s backpack sat in the passenger seat stairwell. The small pockets, straps, and knuckles made it look like it had a face. It had a forlorn expression, lying on its side, one strap snapped in half. On the front was stitched, ‘Hang in here!’ in red letters, with an arrow pointing to the handle.
Chris hit the brakes. The Porsche screeched to a stop. Chris shut his eyes and shook his head, ashamed of himself. He could feel the anger in his chest, like it wanted to explode out through his fists. It was the rage he sometimes felt, either in the ring facing an opponent, or returning home after he’d had a few. He took a deep breath and forced it out of his system.
He put the bag on his lap, turned the st
eering wheel full-lock, and hit the accelerator. The car’s wheels screeched and marked the road as the car spun around to face in the opposite direction.
Chris came to a stop beside the bushes where Maisie had entered. He climbed from the car.
Z-MINUS: 1 HOUR 16 MINUTES
A tall fence ran along either side of a narrow path. Chris grabbed the top of a fence and pulled himself up, peeking over into the back garden of someone’s house.
There was a children’s slide and a small square sandpit, but no Maisie. He pulled himself up to look into another garden. It had a perfectly manicured lawn and a fountain in the centre. A few orange fish swam in the cool-looking water. A zombie knelt over it, his hand in the water, trying to grab the fish as they swam past, but they were too fast for him. The next garden had a large collection of gnomes, each smiling and carrying out their duties.
Chris lowered himself down to the ground. He shut his eyes and tried to think as Maisie would. He looked around at the tall fences. They would seem insurmountable to her. If she was in a garden she would have found a gap and crawled through.
He walked along the fences, looking for a hole. He found one beside a ‘Beware of the dog’ sign. Chris crouched down and stepped through the gap and into the garden. He saw Maisie. His blood went cold.
A big muscular dog leaned over her threateningly, the hair on the back of his neck ridged and erect. Maisie’s hands were entangled in his coat, trying to peel him off.
“No!” Chris shouted.
He ran toward the dog, his hands outstretched to wrap around the dog’s neck. The dog turned to look at him, a happy smile on its face, its tongue lolling out of its wide mouth.
Maisie sat up and wiped the drool off her face with a hand. Chris’s chest heaved with relief.
“I thought…” he said, but didn’t say anymore.
Maisie turned and walked toward a small pond. She sat on a log that lay beside it. She sat there, looking into space. She didn’t react when he sat down beside her. The fountain had tiny blue GloFish that zipped in short spurts in the water.
“I’m sorry for getting angry,” Chris said.