by Colley, Ryan
She was getting ready to run when she heard a loud crack. It was deafening, and she was sprayed with wet gore. Stephanie looked up through squinted eyes and saw a woman stood there, rifle in hands and staring at her.
“Everything ok?” the blonde woman asked confidently. Stephanie nodded and walked over to the mystery woman, who added, “I’m Kirsty.”
“I’m Steph,” Stephanie replied distantly. Everything felt so weird and surreal. She’d been attacked, she’d attacked someone, and she’d watched that person get shot! Stephanie carried on staring at her saviour before asking, “Do you mind if I stay with you?”
“Go for it,” Kirsty smiled and led Stephanie to her car.
CHAPTER 28
I woke up, light creeping through the sheets and waking me naturally – as opposed to the intrusive screech of a pre-apocalypse alarm. Was it early? How early? What was the time? I smiled. I didn’t have to be up and about – I felt rested. An all-natural sleep rising and falling with the sun. I didn’t have a schedule, just a destination.
I yawned and stretched, my joints popped and clicked with the movement. My body wasn’t used to luxuries like a mattress. I could have stayed in that bed forever. Getting up and starting the day meant life back on the road again, and all the hardships that came with it. Sleeping in the van was a punishment I accepted unwillingly. A bed made me realise how much more than sleep my body needed. Rest and relaxation were key to a healthy mind and body. But it wasn’t just the comfort of the bed and reluctance to get back in the van that kept me where I lay. I looked at the sleeping form of Kirsty next to me, watching the rise and fall of her body with each breath. It was so peaceful, just the two of us alone. We’d been on the road for so long, that I … my thoughts turned to Alice and I felt a pang of guilt. Nothing had happened between Kirsty and me, so why did I feel guilty? Why did I feel like I was betraying her? It was just platonic comfort between two friends in a time of need. Nothing happened.
Conflicted thoughts echoed around my brain with no sign of a solution. So I thought about Alice, and why I was on the journey to her. I needed to think. I needed coffee. Coffee. Now that was a thought I hadn’t had for a very long time. I really did want a coffee. That would give me the boost I needed for the day ahead. I rolled out of bed – literally rolled. My limbs felt like lead as they tried to hold me hostage in bed.
I dragged my feet out of the room and into the rest of the house, yawning as I went. Stephanie wasn’t on the sofa, and the TV was off, but I could hear the shower running. At least she was up. Maybe she would feel differently after a shower and a decent sleep? I smiled, thinking about the brief time we’d spent together the night before. I felt as though I’d gotten through to her – she looked almost at peace when I left. For the first time, I felt genuinely hopeful about the days ahead.
I walked to the kettle, filled it up, and switched it on. I recalled something about a lot of American households didn’t have a kettle in the same way the British did. That thought shook me to my core. Kettles were such a staple of British life. Tired? Cup of tea. Hard day? Cup of tea. Good day? Cup of tea. Couldn’t get my head around it.
I threw a lot of coffee into a mug, betraying my natural instinct of wanting a tea. There wasn’t any fresh milk, but that didn’t matter – I didn’t mind a black coffee. Just smelling the coffee out of the jar … I used to laugh at a friend who said coffee wasn’t a drink but an experience, but I truly understood what he meant in that moment. I inhaled the smell deeply, remembering the coffee preference of people I held dear. I missed my family. I wanted to make them coffee again. I sighed and leaned against the side. A sensation of somberness came over me and I lived in it for a while, remembering the people I’d left behind.
The kettle clicked, pulling me back to the present. I turned to address the boiled kettle, knocking one of the painkiller bottles off the side with my elbow again. It fell to the floor with a CLUNK and rolled across the floor, stopping when it hit the skirting. I rolled my eyes and bent down to pick it up.
“Stupid place to put them,” I sighed, scooping it up. I rolled it between my hands and put it on the side. However, something wasn’t right and it nagged at me. What was it? I leaned against the side, thinking about it, but nothing came to mind. I shrugged, it probably wasn’t important and my mind was all over the place. So I went ahead and made my coffee, sitting on the sofa and sipping it. Was damn good. I could almost feel my neurons firing at a faster rate because of the caffeine injection. I leaned back and relaxed.
Yet, something still bothered me, preventing me from fully enjoying my drink. It was on the tip of my tongue, like a voice you couldn’t place. I walked through my morning. Woke up. No Stephanie. Heard shower. Coffee. Pill pot. Drink coffee. Nothing unusual there. So what was it? Should I have made coffee for others? It would have been polite, but that wasn’t it. I’d long ago stopped caring about being selfish. My uncertainty started with the pill pot. I got up, putting my coffee down in frustration. I needed to figure it out. I couldn’t relax while whatever it was danced across my grey matter.
As I walked back to the kitchen counter, I kicked something and it skittered across the tiled floor. I moved towards it, crouching down and inspecting it. It was tiny, smaller than my fingernail. Oval-shaped. Smooth too. White and almost chalky. I rolled it between my fingers. A pill? Yeah, definitely a pill. Pieces of a puzzle started to fall into place.
I could still hear the shower running. How long had it been? Thirty minutes? Forty? I knew people liked long showers, but that still didn’t feel right. What was it? I had to think. Think! THINK! I slapped my face a couple of times, trying to hit away the tiredness. I needed to focus. Pill. Shower. Pill pot. It began to fall into place a little more. Pill. Pill pot. Pill. Pill pot. Then something dawned on me, something I couldn’t accept. I moved to the pill pots and opened the first one.
In retrospect, I already knew what I was going to find the moment I decided to open the pot. I peered into the little plastic container and saw nothing. I dropped it and it bounced hollowly across the floor. I moved to the next and opened it. Nothing. I chucked it down and opened another. Nothing! I opened one after another, not taking enough time to even check each one. I didn’t need to see what I already knew. They were all empty. Every single one! I pushed them all to the floor in one swift arm motion. They all clunked and bounced, not one rattled. An icy pit filled my stomach as dread spread through my body. Stephanie! I turned to face the bathroom and ran.
Everything slowed down. Each step pounded through me as it made contact with the ground. I pushed myself over the short distance and slammed open the bathroom door. I didn’t knock. I knew I didn’t need too. The door swung inwards with such force that it bounced off the tiled wall and swung back towards me. Steam from the hot shower billowed out of the room, clearing the air in seconds. And that’s when I saw Stephanie lying in the bath, the shower on and washing over her. She looked pale. On the side next to her was a pile of pills. Some floated in the water, partially dissolved. Others had been washed onto the floor. The rest I knew were in her stomach. I shouted out. Not to Stephanie. I needed to attract attention – alert my companions. I shouted again.
I moved forward still, slipping in some of the water. I reached into the overflowing bath and put my hands under Stephanie’s body. I lifted her, my back screaming in agony as my muscles twisted and heaved. But I needed to get her out of the bathroom. I shouted again. Her body was cold despite the hot water she’d been in. I desperately tried to move quickly, but my feet kept slipping out beneath me. I couldn’t get any purchase. I needed leverage. Stephanie was heavy. Too heavy. A human body weighed so much. I needed help.
Kirsty and Keith appeared, both with weapons in hand. Keith’s eyes moved around the room, pinpointing my face, Stephanie’s body and the pills. He knew in an instant. They dropped their weapons and moved forward to help.
We carried her to the sofa and laid her down. Kirsty tried to resuscitate her. Keith looked through the c
upboards for something. Anything. I just stood there, the realisation of our helplessness already setting in, and I stared at Stephanie. Commands were other. I don’t think anything we said really mattered, couldn’t even tell you what was said, but we all needed to do something. Even if there wasn’t anything we could do. We couldn’t pump Stephanie’s stomach. We couldn’t make her vomit. We couldn’t restart her heart. It was just trying for trying’s sake.
“She’s gone,” I said simply, slumping to the floor opposite them, the weight of her death dragging me down.
“No, she’s not!” Kirsty screamed and continued the resuscitation effort.
“Even if we get her breathing again … even if we get her heart pumping, what’s the point? Her stomach is still full of pills. We can’t fix that …” I said, trailing off mid-thought. I wasn’t even necessarily talking to anyone, I was just speaking aloud. Trying to deal with the horror in the way only I could – cold, hard logic.
I was right though. There weren’t any emergency services. No magical fix-all. There wasn’t anything. Keith stopped his frantic searching and looked at me.
“He’s right,” he responded weakly. A look of personal defeat crossing his face as it fell. He didn’t want to agree. He wanted to save her. He had to save her. Yet, he knew the difference between optimism and reality. We were fighting a battle where the outcome had already been decided against us. Kirsty didn’t listen. She continued blowing air into dead lungs and pumping dead meat. What made Stephanie ‘Stephanie’ was long gone. Her essence had left the body, just leaving behind a weight.
I just watched the scene unfold, head in my hands and tears falling down my cheeks. I didn’t know what to do. It was like James all over again. A death I could have prevented. I wanted to scream, and cry, and tear the world apart. I wanted to lead a tirade against the undead. I wanted to destroy someone or something. I wanted to promise them death. With James, I could blame Harrington. With Stephanie … I had no one to point that finger at. I didn’t want to blame Stephanie. I couldn’t. Why had she done it?
Kirsty was still pushing on Stephanie’s body. My mind spiralled and I thought back over the days. I could see the signs. I could see the darkness that had formed in her mind. I should have done more! And there it was, the blame. I was to blame. I should have made more effort to help. I should have–
“Stop it,” Keith said, staring at me. I looked up to him through tear-rimmed eyes.
“What?” I croaked, staring at him. It hurt to speak, like I’d shredded my vocal cords. How loudly had I shouted for help?
“I’ve seen that look on people before,” he stated. “You’re blaming yourself. You couldn’t have stopped this. No one could have.”
I looked away from him and said, “But if I’d–”
“If you’d what?” Keith interrupted. “Got up earlier? Hid the painkillers? Then what? She would have found another way. Death by zombie? Slit her wrists? She had suicide on her mind. We couldn’t watch her forever. She would have done it eventually. Whether a bullet, pills or the undead, she would have found a way.”
“Aren’t either of you going to help!?” Kirsty begged breathlessly. Her eyes were red and tears streamed from them.
“No, we’re not,” Keith said sadly. She glared at him, still pumping Stephanie’s chest, almost through force of habit. “She’s dead. She wanted to die. We can’t bring her back. Even if we could … she wouldn’t want that. Just … let her keep her choice. We might not want it … but she did.”
Kirsty carried on with her attempt at bringing Stephanie back from the dead. Keith looked at her sadly before stepping away. I stood up and stepped forward slowly.
I approached Kirsty, and she sneered at me. I placed my hands on her shoulders and, almost instantaneously, she fell away crying. I stroked her head. She wailed. Her full weight leaned on me as the sobs wracked her body. I carried on holding her, tears of my own falling and my chest threatening to crumble. I stared at Keith over her shoulder. He was looking through the drawers. Quickly and systematically, only stopping when he found what he was looking for – an ice pick. He saw me looking and made the international ‘be quiet’ signal by putting his finger to his lips. I squinted at him questioningly but followed his request.
Keith approached Stephanie’s body. Only he and I could see what was unfolding. I continued holding and rocking Kirsty, trying to soothe her. I didn’t expect it to do any good. Didn’t even know why I did it – she was stronger than me. My pride was the only thing stopping me from screaming.
Keith held Stephanie’s head by her chin with one hand, and other crept forward with the ice pick in the other. Closer and closer to her nose. My eyes widened when the realisation of what he was doing hit. He slipped the needle-thin pick up one of her nostrils, a sharp cracking sound as he breached whatever biological barrier prevented access to the brain. Blood ran from her nose, which he wiped away.
“We need to bury her,” Kirsty sobbed into my ear.
“We will,” I whispered, holding her tightly as she tried to pull away. She didn’t need to see what I saw. Not because she was a female – she’d proven to me time and time again that she was stronger than anyone I knew. She didn’t need to see it, because it was brutal and inhumane. Because it was necessary. I knew that she didn’t need to see it simply because I didn’t want to see it. She didn’t need protection, but I was going to give it to her. Another sharp push by Keith, and another stream of blood from Stephanie. It didn’t pump out of her, as her heart no longer pushed the blood around her body. He withdrew the ice pick, wiping away the blood from her pale skin and retreated to the kitchen, throwing away the pick. I gently released Kirsty and she pulled away, returning to our fallen friend.
“We should bury her,” Kirsty said again, holding Stephanie’s face on her lap and stroking her hair.
“Yeah, we should,” I agreed. Keith nodded once and then disappeared, leaving through the back door. I just stood there with Kirsty, watching over her and Stephanie.
CHAPTER 29
Keith returned a short while later with a shovel. I noticed fresh blood on the end of it.
“Trouble?” I asked, nodding to it.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he said with a weak smile. He then whispered, “You understand why I did it, right?”
“Ice pick?” I questioned. “Yeah, I know, destroy the brain and all that.”
He nodded and said, “I don’t want to seem barbaric … especially since I’ve just earned my freedom.”
“No, seriously, I get it,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. I was just thankful I wasn’t the one who had to do it.
“I’ll get to work digging and you fill the grave?” he said, posing the division of labour as a proposition.
“No,” Kirsty interrupted. She stood and took the shovel from Keith. “She was my friend too.”
I nodded at her, admiration of her sheer force of will. I was thankful – I didn’t know if I could have dealt with it.
“Sounds like a plan,” Keith nodded. “There’s a tree out the back … it would be a perfect marker for her grave. If you both agree?”
We did. It was a good idea. We began heading out to start work on the grave, and that is when it hit me again. The gut-wrenching, soul-destroying feeling of someone lost to you forever. The lump in my throat. The streaming tears. The anger and sadness. It would come and go in waves, and it would be unbearable when it did. For the moment, I had to be brave.
Kirsty took the first shift digging the grave whilst I watched with Keith. It didn’t make sense for us to wait inside, especially with the heat, but the three of us had a duty. Then Keith took over when Kirsty had blisters on her hands, followed by me. It was hard work, on my body and my mind. I don’t even mean that metaphorically. My muscles strained against the act, burning with each thrust of the shovel. Each load brought me closer and closer to saying goodbye to Stephanie forever.
When the grave was deep enough, meaning that roaming animals wouldn�
��t be able to get at her, Keith and I disappeared inside. Keith wrapped Stephanie’s body in a white sheet from the house, causing an almost ethereal appearance as her wet body clung to the sheets. We carried her body out and laid her out as ceremoniously as we could manage in the shallow grave. Keith placed his hand on the shovel, which was headfirst in the pile of dirt and mud, and stood silently. We all stood there, unsure with how to proceed.
“Should we say a few words?” I suggested with a croak, there were nods. I walked forward and stood at the edge of the grave, waiting in silence for a few moments while I forced the lump in my throat down. I swallowed again and spoke loudly, as if there was a crowd of people there. “I didn’t know Stephanie long … but … she was awesome. A terrible taste in music, but awesome.”
Kirsty and Keith smiled. The lump forced itself back into my throat and I stood away from the grave, unable to say any more. Keith stepped forward.
Keith spoke loudly and confidently, like he’d done the same for a thousand others. “I’ll never know what she went through, nor what she was still going through but there’s no shame in what she did, and I hope she has found the peace and solace she was looking for.”
Keith stood back and made room for Kirsty. Kirsty strode forward, the only sign of the sadness was her red eyes.
“Stephanie was a fantastic person and friend. There’s no other way to put it. I was closer to her than any other person in existence. We found each other at the end of the world, and I grew to love her in the same way only a sister could. We bonded through fear and survival, and I believed we’d always have each other. I’ll miss her more than she’ll ever know … goodnight,” Kirsty said, speaking quicker and quicker as her speech went on, trying to keep ahead of the sobs which would soon wrack her body as she stepped away from the grave. Without saying another word, Keith proceeded to fill the grave while Kirsty and I stood watch until the hole was finally filled. The mound that was Stephanie’s final resting place was the only thing that marred the green garden.