Hi mum it's Leighton. Shan and Zeke ok. TB if well, we are coming to the farm soon.
It vibrated in his hand {message sent} appeared to Leighton's wonderment. The phone clicked over to four percent and flashed a warning to plug it in. He pocketed it in his breast pocket where he would be able to feel a reply come in if it were to. He hoped that something would come back before the battery died.
Tariq had slept straight through for around four hours before he woke up needing to relieve himself. He climbed out of the sleeping bag to find that it wasn’t anywhere near as cold as he had thought it would be. He thought he could easily sleep out without the bag at all. He urinated a little way away from where he had slept, ensuring it was both downhill and downwind. Once back in his covers he struggled to sleep well and tossed and turned with dreams of being visited by the corpses, of having to kill for himself and of being terminally injured and unable to find help.
After the fourth time waking up from one of his nightmares, he decided that he had rested enough and needed to move on regardless of the ill-slept tiredness that ached his bones. He was not recovered enough, but he felt as though he may never be again. As he was packing up his sleeping bag, he noticed a lot of individual hairs in the hood of it. He flicked them out and rolled the bag into its pack. He thought about the hair again and ran a hand over his head. Glancing down at his palm he saw a load more and when he ran fingers through his hair, it caught a larger clump and he shuddered as he felt it come out easily. He felt around his head for any bald patches or injury, but it felt normal except for a touch dry and he saw dandruff flick into the air. It was just another thing that would have to go to the back of his mind as he continued.
He walked on a little way, occasionally having to stop himself from checking his head every few minutes for more hair loss. It would only make it worse if he didn’t leave it alone. Eventually, he noticed a car park open up in between the trees to his left. He scanned around it suspiciously as he went past. It looked as though it was an activity centre of some kind and the thought of finding a bike in such a place occurred to him. He guessed by the sight of just a single car residing, that it was unlikely to have been open at the time of the nearby town’s destruction. After a short walk around the buildings of the complex he found one that judging by a quick glance through the window contained a row of mountain bikes. He leant away from the side and clenched a fist in joy. He much preferred cycling to walking, especially as he didn’t know how far he may yet have to travel. He just needed to get in and procure one.
He walked around the building twice in order to judge the sides for any easy access points and realised one of the side doors was screwed in to the outside. He thought of the tools in his bag, he could try and – rust permitting – unscrew the entire door and walk in. It was a Yale lock on the door which he would stand no chance of picking or forcing open too easily otherwise. Then it dawned on him that it would open easily from the inside and eyed up the single glazed window. It was not long before Tariq started rooting around for a brick or tool by which he could smash the glass in. He came up trumps with a shovel that lay not far from a dirt jump on a track and he flung with all his waning strength at the glass which shattered much easier than Tariq expected, nearly resulting in the shovel going straight in. Tariq needed a little more use from it before he was done. He smashed a remaining piece of glass and then went about chipping all the small but deadly shards along the bottom of the window frame. The whole window was more than large enough to fit through, but instead he poked his head all the way in and realised that the inside of the lock was within reach and the door opened heavily outwards on its hinges.
The individual bikes were not locked down inside the building and he went along trying to find the one that looked best and had wheels that spun as smoothly as possible. He ended up finding one without a saddle on it at first, but it was a fast job with the quick releases to put one in as high as Tariq could secure it. He was also grateful for finding a row of identically coloured helmets, causing him to express out loud his thanks as he fitted it on his head. He felt as though a touch of completeness had returned to him. He was going to make much faster progress this way and it would make him feel much safer being able to make a quick move if it became necessary.
Chapter 34
A creak of beams sounded above him. A thought dawned on Leighton that the building might not be stable. The flash blindness from looking at the phone left plenty of rectangular red and purple marks in the centre of vision and he stumbled to reach his rucksack and rice. Another creak sounded and Leighton froze, hunkered down over his bags. Again, it came, then a pause. Leighton remained still, he lifted his bag onto one shoulder and the other hand grasped the large bag of rice. Leighton was blinking rapidly trying to clear the spots on his vision. A door opened and torch light poured out, he dropped his head lower, hoping stillness would stop him from being noticed so readily. The torch light moved methodically around the edges of the room. It was too late to hide any better and the beam of light dazzled Leighton, pausing on him for a moment without further reaction.
“Thief,” spoke a man's voice confidently. “What are you doing in here? Where the bleeders did you come from?” Aggression came through with the smell of stale tobacco smoke.
Leighton refused to speak. He was shocked at seeing an adult that wasn't Shannon. He remained still.
“Hey! Can you hear me? I can see you, put that stuff down.” The man's voice, coming from behind the torch homed in on him, seeming worn and old. The man clanged something against a metal shelf, a noise that reverberated through the small shop with vigour. “Are you mute? Talk!” He practically barked the last word.
Leighton lifted his head and tried to see past the light while he searched for something useful to say. “Look, I've got a wife and a young baby. We are camping in the woods away from town. I'm not taking much. We are struggling and need just a bit to get by.” He spoke softly to induce calmness in the man, but his words came out ineloquently and rushed.
“Too much. I worked all my life for this shop, now put them down.”
“You have plenty here.” Leighton forced a laugh. “If we come and join you we can work out what to do once the surplus runs out.”
The man paused, the torch light wavered. Leighton let go of the rice and reached his right hand into his jacket pocket slowly. He remained hunkered down.
The man spoke again, “That doesn't fit my plan. I am sorry. Just put the stuff back and you can leave. I don't want this either. When the troops come in, I can speak German well enough that they won't react too badly to my surrender.”
A bin fell outside and the torch light flashed towards the shuttered window for a moment before blinding Leighton once more. Leighton caught a glimpse at the man in the interim. He had the beer belly of an older man than himself and he wielded a baseball bat uneasily in his right hand. The cause of the loud clang earlier.
Leighton felt his heartbeat rise again suddenly and his chest felt instantly tight. Images flickered in his mind of his possible ways out, so rapidly that he could barely grasp a single solitary idea of what could – or should – come next. His hands were starting to shake. The man in front of him was clearly as edgy. A cornered animal was unpredictable. Both men were cornered and they both knew so. The pain in his ankle throbbed, the intensity of the distraction rising and falling rhythmically.
The man took a few slow paces towards Leighton before he spoke again. “This is your last chance, put the rice down and get out.” He leant forward with the baseball bat to push the bag of rice away from Leighton's hand. Leighton reacted to the sudden encroachment into his space, remnants of fear still blocking his mind from clarity. He threw the rucksack off his shoulder, grabbed the hot torch bulb and ran his thin blade straight under the rib cage of the man, who yelled out loudly in pain. He pulled the blade out. The man gasped heavily, struggling to react. Leighton pushed the blade back in again nearly in the same spot, the force of the thrust taking bot
h men to the ground. The heavy landing forced a sharp exhale from the man’s lungs. His whole body tensed underneath Leighton as he tried to throw himself back, his breathing sounded forced and raspy.
The baseball bat struck down feebly against Leighton’s back, which did nothing, but to remind Leighton that he needed to make sure the man who would now have a great deal of vengeance against him did not get up off the floor and be able to enact that vengeance on his attacker. He drew the blade out and stabbed again, this time feeling much more resistance and a slide of the blade as it went in between two of the man’s lower ribs.
Leighton continued to hold himself close to the man to be near enough that any retaliation would not strike with full force. None came. He stabbed a final time for certainty. The man convulsed, but nothing more. Leighton simply ignored the tepid liquid that had poured over his hand. He pushed himself back and turned the discarded flashlight onto the man’s face. Blank eyes met his. Clearly no longer a threat, he spun the light away quickly and lit around the edges of the room and fought to get his breath back. A constant pounding seemed to fill his chest cavity, threatening to tear his ribcage apart and for a moment he felt his vision wavering. Not a time to pass out. He let his legs give way and dropped to the floor, leaning up against a cabinet. The body left only just out of hands reach.
“Fuck,” he said aloud. “What just happened to me?” His breath was ragged and deep as he wiped the dagger off on a rag left on one of the counters. He got back to his feet, picked up the bag of rice and stepped out through a fire exit into the hazy morning light. Looking down at his jacket he nearly fainted again. More expletives left his mouth and he tried to pat the blood away with his sleeve. He felt his eyes start to haze over and he filled his mind with an image of Shannon. He breathed in as deeply as he could and consciously pushed down on his diaphragm to steady his breathing.
Feeling a vibration in his pocket, he pulled the phone out, catching the first few words of the return message before the phone screen blanked out for good,
Hello Leighton. Not quite sure what is happening atm. We are very much looking forward to seeing you though. Is Zeke alr-.
Chapter 35
Grace and Mina were both in the kitchen enjoying the security and additional range of motion that a plaster cast offered Grace’s leg. It made a hollow sound when tapped, just like a real one and as far as either of them could tell it was as good and as strong. Grace was weak from the wastage of her muscles that days of immobility had induced. Even if she couldn’t focus on the cast wrapped leg, she wanted to get herself moving and be able to support herself better. Grace spotted the high stool in the corner and asked Mina to pass it over. Grace planted it in front of her and found she was easily able to use it like a walking frame, such that would normally be shuffled around behind by the old and frail.
Mina watched on anxiously and after one slight slip on the hard floor, she decided on finding some rubber for the feet. She wandered around the house for a few minutes before noticing the door mat at her back porch and took to cutting the corners off the rubber backing and superglued them to the bottom of the chair legs. This helped with her stability significantly and Grace was quickly confident in hopping around the kitchen and living room across the ground floor.
Once Grace was tired out and throbbing under the cast with the blood building up near her injury, they both sat in the living room. Grace lay back in the sofa that she had previously been confined to and read her book. Mina was curled up opposite flicking through the medical book for anything else she could find on healing broken bones.
“You’ll be alright, you know, love,” Mina said, breaking the silence.
“What do you mean?” Grace replied.
“I reckon by this that it is just a part fracture.”
“Just a fracture. It bloody hurts, you know. Fracture makes it sound like I am over exaggerating.”
“No, a part fracture. It’s still broken, but instead of being clean through the bone it is just part way through. I think your leg would be far more deformed than we can fix ourselves if it was a clean cut. It would never heal.”
“That’s a gross and horrifying thought.” Grace squirmed. “Stop it. Actually, how long is it going to take to heal then?”
“It’s hard to say,” Mina said, pondering and flicking back between two different pages held accessible by fingertips shoved between them.
“Well, roughly?”
“Well, it kind of implies that potentially it could take maybe around or up to about four months or so. Hard to say.” Mina looked up to gauge Grace’s reaction.
“Four actual months. Shit, dude.”
“Okay, it’s quite shit. On the sunny side of the street, you are alive. -And you’re wearing a cast so that will help dramatically; especially at protecting from further injury.”
“I see your point, Mina, but it is still four fucking months!”
Mina shied away a little from the anger in her friend. “I know, I know,” she said. “Look, we’ll be alright, we are together. We are in this together and we will do what we need to do.”
“I’m sorry for snapping,” Grace said sullenly, shaking herself back into control.
“It’s fine, you are in a lot of pain, it is to be expected.” Mina spoke her words with dismissive finality as though an apology would not be necessary next time.
Deep breaths, muscles ravaged and clothes gripping his body with sweat, Leighton arrived back at the tent.
“Honey,” Shannon called from inside the tent. “Are you ok?”
Leighton dropped his bags and started ripping off his clothes to resist the onset of heat exhaustion. The midday sun was beating down. Shannon saw him and passed a bottle of clean water and Leighton gulped the lukewarm water in abundance, stripping completely down to his boxers. Shannon saw the bag of rice lying on the ground and her jaw dropped. She draped her arms around his neck, his sweat tacking their skin together. Leighton restrained from putting his arms on her back, continuing to drink over her shoulder.
“Well done, I'm so proud of you. Zeke has been feeding non-stop this morning, breast milk doesn't seem enough for him.” Shannon straightened her arms to consider Leighton's eyes.
“I need a wash,” he said.
“Aren't you pleased?”
“It's fucked up. I'm going down to wash. Come or don't come.”
“What's up? This haul is great. Did you get anything else?”
“Yes, but I need to wash myself,” he repeated.
Shannon looked over his full rucksack and clothes sprawled over the ground. “Let me get these together and Zeke. I'll wash them for you now. You deserve clean clothes for this. And maybe a little more,” she said, lowering where her hand was positioned on his back.
“Now is not the time, Shannon, seriously. I need a minute to get myself together.”
A murmur of a cry came from inside the tent. “Wow, how are you still hungry, Mr Whingey?” Shannon turned and picked Zeke up. Leighton turned and leant his head against a tree trunk, arm over his eyes.
“What's that on your hand, Leighton?” Shannon’s voice wracked with concern. “Leighton. Talk to me. Something happened down there. I can see it in you.”
Leighton stopped still, his shoulders threw themselves up briefly, but he staved off the sobbing. He gestured down at the jacket and Shannon noticed the hard, darkened brown stains on the side pockets.
“What the fuck?” She asked, her face settling from the exuberance of knowing they had food. This was no feast, no party. “Who?”
“A guy was left there.” Leighton struggled to speak, his body shivered, yet no breeze passed.
“Was he injured? Why the blood?”
“Fuck.”
“Did he die while you were there?”
Leighton breathed in deeply, but raggedly and held an index finger aloft.
“Ok, ok. I’ll leave it.” She exhaled loudly. “Tell me after we eat. I bet you're starving.” Shannon retired from the questions, t
he distress of her husband was too much for her to continue the inquisition and she forced herself to withdraw into herself and distract herself with the new options for lunch.
It was a long time before sunset that Tariq had to stop for the day. He eventually felt his legs turn to jelly and once he had started slowing he couldn’t find the strength to regain the speed. He turned into the soft verge, dismounted and pushed his new bike into the tree line. He found a cut tree stump and dropped the bike as he squatted to sit on it. He pushed his legs out in front of him to stretch them out. He knew he would not get going again until tomorrow and that he was going to sleep right there. He was happy with himself with how far he had come on a heavy, low-seated mountain bike, but he didn’t know how far exactly. He had at least moved quickly at first and the land around him seemed higher and hillier than where he had left from.
Tariq forced himself to eat, which didn’t make him feel any less wretched. He was starting to get bored of dry nuts. He may have been tired, but he didn’t feel restful. His body felt as though it was shaking him to death. He lay inside his sleeping bag, in between his bike and the tree stump. Against the light sky and the feeling of perpetual motion, he remained awake for some time. He told himself over and over that rest was as good as sleep. He would be okay if he didn’t move and eventually he would find sleep.
Shannon talked incessantly to Zeke while they washed at the river. Leighton, his clothes, Zeke and his clothes all got washed. Leighton remained silent, enduring the cold of the river as it diverted around his submerged, goose pimpled skin. On their return to their resting place, he was finally convinced to carry Zeke and he held his son tightly. His sleeping son’s head rested on his shoulder and he drew from the boy’s presence what strength he could. His mind was numbed. His vision seemed as though through a thick fog. He had no time to collapse and fall apart. He was a ship carrying his family in the deepest of waters. What good was an incomplete boat? Zeke's hair tickled his cheek, but he refused to let go of his embrace to scratch it.
Ousted: A thrilling debut novel of survival and humanity Page 18