by Paul Kane
Saw Danny, standing and looking down, sobbing. Kim was by his feet, covered in blood. She was looking up at me, but I could tell there was nothing of her in those huge, lifeless, glassy eyes. The crossbow was in her hand, but she’d obviously not been able to stop her attacker.
“Oh… oh no,” I whimpered. “Danny… Danny, what happened?”
It was only then that the boy turned towards me, still crying – except the expression on his face wasn’t one of remorse. He was grinning from ear to ear like a loon, foamy saliva dripping from his mouth. I looked down and saw the piece of glass in his hand, either from one of the beakers or the window behind me, it didn’t matter – all that mattered was what he’d done with it. What he’d been forced to do by the fucking Rot.
Because his neck was covered in the stuff, like he was wearing a scarf – tracking up one side of his face to his hairline, into one of his eyes and sending it blind, though it was still shedding tears like the other one.
“Danny… no,” I breathed.
His grin became a snarl and, still sobbing, he began towards me. I backed away at first, retreating into the chapel – and then into one of the pews, my old bed, which I fell over. Danny followed me, letting out the most tremendous wail. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that this was the boy we’d had breakfast with that morning. Worse even than when we’d first found him, the Rot racing through the kid now.
I scrambled to my feet, shotgun up again and pointing at him. “Stop… please Danny. I don’t want to…” But part of me did, God help me! Part of me wanted to blow his head clean off for what he’d done. I had to keep reminding myself that it wasn’t him, it was our old enemy returned. It had somehow found a way to defeat our…Kim’s serum, to take back what we’d stolen from it.
Danny paused, cocking his head. Maybe some part of him recognised me, or understood what I was saying – understood what had happened here. Because his brow furrowed, and I swear the tears that came next were genuine. Just before he took that piece of glass and tore into his own face, raking down the side of it like he was trying to cut away the Rot, ending with a flourish across his throat, blood jetting out across the chapel floor.
Then came the rumbling sound, the crack in that floor. The cracks up the walls of the chapel – which caused a section of the roof to cave in where Danny was standing. I didn’t see anything else for the dust, just got out through the front doors again, watching as the main part of the chapel collapsed, like St August’s had done so long ago.
I stood there for a few moments, then dropped to my knees – as I had that day as well. I’d lost so much more this time, though. And I still had the shotgun in my hand. Even put the barrel in my mouth, placed my finger on the trigger.
But I knew what would happen if I pulled it. Knew that it would probably just click uselessly, knowing my luck, deny me my end; the serum failing. Eventually, I threw it aside and burst into tears, not even testing that theory.
Took me all my strength to pull back from that one. But I’m a survivor, like Mum was… Like Kim was.
I’m a survivor, and this is what happened next.
Stop.
Record:
Sorry, I needed to get myself together properly to tell you about afterwards.
It wasn’t just a survival instinct that got me going, it was also a craving for revenge. I’d finish up the bomb, detonate it and—
Didn’t take me long to realise that wasn’t going to happen. Even if I exploded it, the serum clearly didn’t work – or didn’t work permanently. I don’t know whether it was just that something was wrong with Kim’s formula, or whether she wasn’t really immune at all – perhaps it had got to her in the end as well, I have no way of knowing. Hell, maybe I’d given it to her? Not even going to go there again, because I’ll find some way of ending myself without the need of a shotgun – and I have to carry on.
Didn’t matter, it was pointless. Ground zero would only buy some time, but then what? Without Kim, there was no way of refining the treatment; she was the brains… the brains behind all this. Had been the true Godsend. Kim, my love.
But the injection would buy me some time, to maybe find someone else who could continue her work. At least find somewhere that might be unaffected. I picked my way through the rubble of the church, but everything was pretty much destroyed. I stopped when I started to see limbs in there, but by that time the Rot had taken hold of the site anyway.
Luckily, there were still some stocks of serum in the Volvo – we’d placed spray-packs in the boot in case of emergencies. And the car was still working… for now. So, I’d revert to my previous plan – but instead of crop dusting, I’d begin my search.
I found a plane I could use and treated it, which would keep it going for a while. My travels had taken me the length and breadth of this country, so I’d make the hop abroad and begin there.
And that’s what I’ve been doing ever since…
By air at first – damn, I miss flying – then by land, by whatever transport I could find, I searched and searched. When my stocks of serum ran out, I attached what was left of the SKIN – one of the few things that had survived the chapel – to the hull of a boat and navigated waters I once swore I would never attempt. I’ve survived, and I’ve seen sights you could not possibly believe.
Rivers of melting people, flowing into each other because of the Rot. Snow and ice infected with the stuff, turning from white, from clear, to brown and purple-grey. Mountains cracking up the middle, split in two and tumbling to the ground. Whole cities the size of which we could not even imagine at home, flattened, having succumbed to the Rot, before sinking into a massive crater in the ground.
I might have taken more days than Fogg did, but I made it around the world all right, just like I did when I was backpacking; as the skies above me turned from blue with fluffy clouds to drab and bleak, mirroring the Earth itself. I gave up trying to find a cure and instead focussed solely on my secondary objective, spurred on by stories told by those who were still able to speak, even if they could do little else – the Rot having left their minds last after ravaging their bodies. They spoke of somewhere sacred, a tiny part of this globe that the Rot hadn’t been able to ‘change’. Maybe it was just a myth, just hope, but I had to know for sure…
I…
Stop:
Record:
And now I’m coming to the… edge… no, to the end of all this; coming to the end in more ways than…
Foot…found the first signs of it on me earlier this water…week. Might have been with me from the start, or might have been down to the muck I’ve been farm…forced to living off – which, come think… to think of it I ran through in… ran out of later…long ago. Can’t remember who…when. The Rot has been take me piece by…spreading that me, eating away me…
But must case… carry on. Need to… there is still house…hope. You know what, it might be the…the Dad…disease talking to me, but realised something. We were rotting long before it came along. Us, people…the plug…the planet… what we’d done to the gift we’d been given… Might bo… bo…be better now… keeping me alive… fuck!
NO! There… I see it. I can… Green, I green see. Right there, can’t yet…you…?
Trees, flowers… a cool, clear road…river… An… an Eden.
Home… hope.
Trying to… to get there, it’s not eend…easy… my legs… they… Need to… It’s so, so beautiful… Can… can you hope…hear me…? Is this still re…r’cording… Ha ha… cording… I think, I think I lost the corder back in… Did I ever have…? My aren’t lips eel…even… mmove…
I’m… I’m… I can… Kim, Kim you would have later…loved this so, so much. I love…
Love…look… look at that sky up there, it’s… Ah… and… and I’m flew…flying now…how can be flying…me? Doesn’t mu…muc…Mum…matter… does it? Does it mu…? Does this any of—
I’m flying again. Oh God how I missed… The blue, the clouds…
Oh I God how …
Oh God…
God… oh—
End recording.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A huge thank you to Graeme Reynolds at Horrific Tales for his interest in my work, and for wanting to publish this tale – proof that a conversation late at night in a convention pub can lead to some very interesting things… My thanks to Ben Baldwin for yet another cracking cover, and Tim Lebbon for the brilliant introduction.
As usual, hugs and big thanks to all my friends in the writing and film/TV world, for their continuing help, advice and support. You know who you all are. A very special thank you, though, to people like Clive Barker, Neil Gaiman, Stephen Jones, Mandy Slater, Amanda Foubister, Alexandra Benedict, Christopher Fowler, Stephen Volk, Nick Vince, Barbie Wilde, John Connolly, Pete & Nicky Crowther, Simon Clark and so many more there isn’t the space to list here; I really wish there was. I never take any of you for granted.
Last, but never, ever least, a big words are not enough thank you to my supportive family – especially my wonderful, wonderful wife Marie. Love you all more than anything.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Paul Kane is an award-winning writer and editor based in Derbyshire, UK. His short story collections include Alone (In the Dark), Touching the Flame, FunnyBones, Peripheral Visions, Shadow Writer, The Adventures of Dalton Quayle, The Butterfly Man and Other Stories, The Spaces Between, Ghosts and Monsters. His novellas include Signs of Life, The Lazarus Condition, RED and Pain Cages. He is the author of such novels as Of Darkness and Light, The Gemini Factor and the bestselling Arrowhead trilogy (Arrowhead, Broken Arrow and Arrowland, gathered together in the sell-out omnibus edition Hooded Man), a post-apocalyptic reworking of the Robin Hood mythology. His latest novels are Lunar (which is set to be turned into a feature film), the short Y.A. novel The Rainbow Man (as P.B. Kane), the sequel to RED – Blood RED – and Sherlock Holmes and the Servants of Hell from Solaris.
He has also written for comics, most notably for the Dead Roots zombie anthology alongside writers such as James Moran (Torchwood, Cockneys vs. Zombies) and Jason Arnopp (Dr Who, Friday The 13th) and for the Seraphim/Madefire Motion Comic adaptations of The Books of Blood. Paul is co-editor of the anthology Hellbound Hearts (Simon & Schuster) – stories based around the Clive Barker mythology that spawned Hellraiser – The Mammoth Book of Body Horror(Constable & Robinson/Running Press), featuring the likes of Stephen King and James Herbert, A CARNIVÀLE of Horror (PS) featuring Ray Bradbury and Joe Hill, and Beyond Rue Morgue from Titan – stories based around Poe’s detective, Dupin.
His non-fiction books are The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy, Voices in the Dark and Shadow Writer – The Non-Fiction. Vol. 1 & 2, and his genre journalism has appeared in the likes of SFX, Fangoria, Dreamwatch, Gorezone, Rue Morgue and DeathRay. He has been a Guest at Alt.Fiction five times, was a Guest at the first SFX Weekender, at Thought Bubble in 2011, Derbyshire Literary Festival and Off the Shelf in 2012, Monster Mash and Event Horizon in 2013, Edge-Lit in 2014, plus HorrorCon, Liverpool Horror Fest and Grimm Up North in 2015, as well as being a panellist at FantasyCon and the World Fantasy Convention, a judge of Sci-Fi London’s Flash Fiction Competition 2016, and co-chair of the UK arm of the Horror Writers Association.
His work has been optioned for film and television, and his zombie story “Dead Time” was turned into an episode of the Lionsgate/NBC TV series Fear Itself, adapted by Steve Niles (30 Days of Night) and directed by Darren Lynn Bousman (SAW II-IV). He also scripted The Opportunity, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, Wind Chimes (directed by Brad “7th Dimension” Watson and which sold to TV), The Weeping Woman – filmed by award-winning director Mark Steensland and starring Tony-nominated actor Stephen Geoffreys (Fright Night) – and Confidence, starring Hellraiser and Nightbreed’s Simon Bamford. You can find out more at his website www.shadow-writer.co.uk which has featured Guest Writers such as Dean Koontz, Robert Kirkman, Charlaine Harris and Guillermo del Toro.
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