by Luke Duffy
Marcus swallowed hard. He felt silly admitting it to himself, but the sound of the door in the otherwise still air unnerved him. His imagination was beginning to get the better of him.
'Get a grip,' he whispered to himself inside the mask.
The door fell open, revealing only blackness, like a wall before him. He felt his shoulders tense as he attempted to see into the darkness. He gripped his pistol in his right hand, held at waist height with the barrel pointed into the room. His left hand began fumbling for the torch attached to his waist.
"Stephanie…?" he hissed into the room.
There was no reply.
"Stephanie, answer me. Are you still alive in here?"
He pictured Stephanie lying on the floor, her skin bubbling from the blisters caused by exposure to the radiation, vomit and excrement surrounding her as she lay close to death.
Another vision soon haunted his racing imagination. A blackened bloated corpse, her flesh peeling away from her bones as she reached out for him in the darkness. He gripped his pistol tighter in his hand, his trigger finger ready.
He heard movement.
A sound, like feet scuffing against the bare concrete floor, reached his ears through the layers of clothing and plastic covering his head. Finally, he had the torch free from his belt. Without taking his eyes from the darkness before him, he thumbed the switch, illuminating the ground at his feet as the bulb burst with light. He raised the beam upwards, quickly sweeping the small room. The shaft of light revealed nothing but an empty space, a pile of sacking in the centre and a white bucket.
Marcus squinted, involuntarily moving his right index finger from the trigger guard of the pistol and onto the trigger itself, squeezing lightly and taking up the first pressure. He stooped slightly, allowing flexibility in his knees should he need to leap from the doorway or into the room.
He focussed the light on the pile of rags in the centre of the cell. It was too small and did not hold enough mass to be the body of Stephanie, even if the months of captivity and near starvation rations had caused her to lose a drastic amount of weight.
'Where the fuck is she?' he thought to himself.
He swept the room with his light once again and saw the glint of metal as the beam bounced off the chains that they used to restrain her. In the far corner, Marcus saw a patch of wall that was darker than the rest of the room. With a moment to focus his eyes through the restrictive lenses of the safety goggles, he realised that it was indeed the body of Stephanie standing there.
The once large and bulky frame of the intimidating woman was gone, replaced by the broken and slumping form of a human being brought to the edge of despair. Her head sagged forward with long strands of greasy matted hair covering and obscuring her features. At her side, her arms dangled limply from sloping and withered shoulders. Her skin had turned the same shade of pasty grey as the rags of clothing still clinging to her shrivelled body, and her chained bare feet, blackened with filth and infections, stood planted in pools of human waste.
For a fleeting moment, Marcus felt a pang of regret for having subjected her to such torture. He wondered if it would have been better just to shoot her in the head at the beginning.
"For fuck’s sake," he mumbled to himself, "she's turned."
"Fuck you, limp dick," a defiant voice rasped from inside the room.
Marcus almost jumped with shock. He had already been reaching for the door handle to close it behind him and return to the basement.
"Jesus, you're alive."
"No thanks to you bastards." The voice had turned to more of a whimper. "Why have you done this to me? What is happening? Are you going to let me go?"
Marcus blinked, unsure of what to say in reply, but then decided to ignore her questions completely.
"How are you feeling, Stephanie?"
"Please," she continued, "I promise, I will go far away and you will never see or hear from me again. Please, just let me go. I'm sorry, Marcus."
He took a step backwards, unsettled at the fact that after all this time, and despite the layers of plastic he wore to protect him, she knew exactly who he was. Until that moment, he felt a degree of detachment, but now she unravelled his suit of indifference.
"How do you feel, Stephanie?" he repeated.
The room was silent for a moment.
"What do you fucking care?" she spat from the darkness.
Suddenly, she sprang forward. Marcus raised the pistol, ready to fire into her, but before he could take aim, she disappeared from sight with a screech and a flurry of arms. The chains snapped taut, causing her to slip in the urine and excrement coating the entire cell floor. Marcus shone the light down onto her as she flopped and squirmed in her own filth, trying desperately to climb back to her feet.
"You fucker," she growled. "You fucking cunt, I'll kill the fucking lot of you. You bunch of fucking cunts."
Marcus watched as she slowly made her way to her feet. She stood in the centre of the room, the chains extended fully from the bolts that held them in place. She stared at him with wild eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the room. Her chest heaved up and down as she breathed through clenched teeth with white foam spilling from the corners of her mouth.
"You see, Stephanie," Marcus began to point out in a calm voice, "it's those kinds of comments that are delaying your parole. Now, please tell me, how are you feeling, chuck?"
Stephanie erupted.
"I'll fucking kill you," she howled, waving and thrashing her arms and once again, losing her footing and colliding with the floor and filth.
Marcus stepped forward and brought his fist down into the side of her head. She let out a squeal and her knees gave way as she collapsed under the impact.
"You threaten me or my family, and I will take it very seriously, Stephanie. You have already proven that you are willing and capable of it. So I suggest that you refrain from making further threats, or I will put you down for good," Marcus growled at the semi-conscious bundle at his feet.
Stephanie rolled over onto her back. Her eyes rolled in her head as she slowly regained her composure.
She looked up at Marcus standing over her and spat. "Go ahead, fucking do it. I'd rather be dead than stuck in this room."
"Well," Marcus crouched down, his voice sounding more agreeable but his hand firmly clutching his pistol, pointed at Stephanie. "That’s what I've come to talk to you about, Stephanie. I have some questions for you."
She shifted and attempted to sit up. Her expression changed to one of eagerness and her eyes lit up with hope.
"You, you mean…," she stammered, "you mean you will let me go?"
"Maybe," he replied with a nod, "it all depends on how much you cooperate."
She nodded back at him. She tried to smile to show her willingness, but in the gloom and her condition, it looked more like a grimace. Her teeth were black and the multitude of sores around her mouth and nose cracked from the stretching of the skin and oozed with blood and pus.
"I'll do anything you ask, I promise. You will never see me again, Marcus. You can be sure of that." Her voice had risen in pitch with the anticipation of being set free.
"Okay, firstly, how are you feeling?"
She looked at him, confusion showing in her eyes, but she felt urged to comply with him and avoid jeopardising the possibility of freedom.
"I feel like shit, if that’s what you mean, Marcus." She looked around at the squalor of her cell and then raised her pleading eyes back to his. "I've been here for God knows how long. I'm sick and weak, and no threat to you anymore, I promise."
Marcus shuffled his feet, moving back from her slightly. "Sick, how do you mean sick?"
"How do you think I mean? I am covered in my own shit. I've been living on scraps of food from your kitchen and I haven't seen daylight in a long time."
"What about headaches, dizziness, or vomiting, any hair loss or skin irritation?"
She looked at him quizzically; she could not understand his sudden con
cern. There was something else about him; something that she could not quite make out. Then she realised. He was dressed strangely. Her failing eyesight and delirium stopped her from noticing his clothing until now.
"All the fucking time," she remarked. "Why are you dressed like that and where is everyone else? What's happened?" She was hungry for information, something she had been deprived of for so long.
Marcus did not know exactly how to explain the situation to her.
"Uh, a bomb was dropped some distance to the south of us, a few days ago."
"A bomb, what do you mean a bomb?" She was not sure if her hearing was also deteriorating.
"The 'nuclear bomb' kind," he replied. "It looks as though someone has come up with the great idea of dropping bombs on the cities. We moved everyone to the cellar to avoid fall-out radiation."
Stephanie nodded and looked down at her hands as she realised what was going on.
"And you’ve come up here to see if it is safe?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"Well, I don’t feel any worse than I did a week ago, if that helps," she said in a resigned voice.
"That helps a lot actually, Stephanie," Marcus said as he shone the torch beam over her body, studying her for any signs of radiation sickness.
She was a mess, but he did not believe it to be related to any fall-out. He stood up and began to edge his way back towards the doorway.
"I'll discuss your release with the others and arrange some food for you."
Stephanie turned to look up at him. She was about to say something when he held out his hand.
"Quiet," he ordered. "Do you hear that?"
She shook her head and was about to ask about her freedom when Marcus suddenly bolted through the door. She was left in the darkness and stinking filth, listening to the sound of his footsteps as his boots pounded down the narrow corridor, away from her and towards the door that led in to the cellar.
Gary and Steve remained stood at the foot of the stairs for the entire time that Marcus had been up on the surface. They watched the door at the top of the steps expectantly, hardly speaking a word and lost in their own thoughts. Neither of them said it, but they both feared the worst. They expected Marcus to return, describing the effects of the radiation on Stephanie and confirming their fears.
Gary's words regarding the fact that the cellar would only buy them a matter of days, seemed to endlessly rattle around in Steve's mind, and with each passing moment, their impact increased. He shuddered at the thought of Sarah suffering from the effects of radiation sickness. He had seen enough movies and documentaries to know how terrible a death like that could be.
The door at the top of the stairs flew open with a bang, causing Gary and Steve to jump backwards with the sudden shock. The black silhouette of Marcus paused for a moment in the doorway, the light behind him obscuring all but the strange looking dark insect-like outline created by the layers of black plastic.
They could hear him shouting but were unable to make any sense of his muffled words as he began to race down the stairs.
Gary saw that the door behind Marcus remained open.
"Marcus, the door, close the door," he began to holler, but Marcus ignored him and continued down into the basement.
He bounded past Steve and Gary and over to the corner where he had stored his weapons and equipment. He began frantically rummaging and fumbling with his assault vest and trying desperately to free something from one of the pouches.
Steve and Gary looked at one another in alarm. More people were beginning to take notice, including Jennifer.
"Marcus," she said in an unnerved and anxious voice, "what is it? Is she dead? What are you doing, Marcus?"
Her questions went unanswered as Marcus continued to struggle with his kit. Finally, he stepped back. He held a green case in his hand, no larger than a bar of chocolate, and began to remove items from it as he made his way back to the stairs, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.
"Marcus," Jennifer screamed loudly, bringing her husband to a dead stop.
She was terrified and had no idea what was going on. None of them knew what was happening and the lack of information was bringing them all to the verge of panic.
Marcus turned to her, resting one foot on the bottom step of the basement and looking as though he was about to bolt for the door. He glanced at the others as they stood watching him in fear and anticipation.
"Marcus, what the hell is happening? Are we contaminated, is Stephanie alive?" Jennifer asked the questions demandingly.
She had had years of practice with it. She knew all too well that when Marcus had something urgent to do, it took a lot to gain his attention, and her screaming voice had snapped him out of his zone.
He said something that was almost inaudible and pointed up the stairs, holding out the green packet in his hand. He realised that no one could understand what he was saying and began to tear at the makeshift respirator from around his face. He ripped the dust mask and goggles off, feeling the cool air of the cellar on his skin. The fresh air assaulted his lungs and almost sent him dizzy but he fought hard to remain coherent, knowing he had little time to waste.
"A helicopter, I heard it," he gasped and began to run back up the stairs.
Immediately, hushed voices began repeating the word 'helicopter', and asking one another questions as they attempted to confirm for themselves that they had heard Marcus correctly.
"Marcus, wait," Steve shouted from below, "what about radiation? Is Stephanie alive?"
Marcus did not stop.
"She's fine. I think you'll be okay to come up," he called over his shoulder as he bounded through the door and into the main building.
On the roof, Marcus began loading the mini-flares from the green case and into the firing mechanism. At the same time, he fought desperately to focus his hearing and identify where the helicopter was.
He could hear nothing. The aircraft had passed them by without him having the chance to signal them.
"Fuck," he snarled.
He then remembered that Jennifer had delayed him in the basement, demanding to know what was happening. If she had not held him back, he may have been able to attract the helicopter pilot's attention.
"Stupid bitch," he growled, then immediately he regretted even thinking it. Jennifer was not to blame.
Steve and Jake appeared on the rooftop, closely followed by Helen and Gary. Soon, more were spilling out through the doorway, eager to investigate the phantom helicopter that Marcus had reported hearing.
"Where is it, then?" Lee asked as he shielded his eyes and began scanning the sky.
"Did you see it, Marcus?" Helen asked.
She watched him as he stood looking out over the park, still holding the mini-flare in his hand.
Marcus shook his head. "It's gone. It must've just flown straight over us."
He sighed and turned to head back inside.
He paused and turned to Steve. "Good news is though: I don't think we need to worry about radiation. I don't think it…"
"Wait," Jake called, "everyone, be quiet." He cocked his head and squinted.
Marcus heard it too. The steady thump of helicopter rotors, but it was hard for them to tell which direction the noise was coming from.
The sound was getting louder.
Marcus ran to the lip of the roof on the north side of the building.
"Lee, Jake, keep your eyes on the south. Gary, Helen, watch the east, it's coming closer."
He checked that the flare was securely screwed into the firing mechanism and the spring was pulled back; ready to release the firing pin. Soon, the swish and thump of the rotor blades was joined by the high-pitched whine of the jet engines of the helicopter. It was growing louder by the second.
Marcus felt a sense of urgency surge through him. He did not know why, but he had to find the helicopter and attempt to signal it. The fact that they could give them some information and maybe some news on the counter offensive was how he ju
stified it to himself, but deep down he reasoned that it was because he spent too long being static at the park and maybe he became bored through the inaction. He wanted to go with Stu and Jim with the others, but convincing Jennifer of the importance of him being on the patrol was a battle he did not want to face at the time.
"Does anyone see anything?" he called back to the others.
The roof was now packed with the other members of the house. Carl and his family were there and so were Jennifer and the boys. Everyone was watching the sky.
"No, nothing," Helen replied.
"Can't see anything, but it's definitely getting closer, Marcus," Lee hollered from the south end of the roof.
"There," a small voice suddenly cried out.
Marcus spun to see Sarah, standing in the middle of the roof and pointing into the distance. She turned to Marcus and beamed.
"There it is, coming this way, I think."
Marcus followed her finger and saw the small faint shape of a helicopter just above the horizon. It flew low over the southeast area, beyond the park walls. The area that contained the junction that Marcus and his men had fought their way through and met Steve and Helen; the same junction that had guided them to safety when they had finally arrived from their long haul across the Middle East and Europe.
He raised his binoculars to his eyes and focused on the small silhouette as it travelled from the south, following the road that ran parallel to the Safari Park. The aircraft was flying slowly and no higher than twenty metres above the ground, as though studying something below.
"Well spotted, Sarah," Marcus smiled. "We should put you on lookout duty more often."
"Really, can I?" she asked excitedly.
Her mother, Claire, placed her hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. "There are two chances of that happening, Pumpkin; slim and none."
The others surrounded Marcus as he continued to eye the aircraft.
"What kind is it?" Lee asked.
Jake turned to him with a sour look on his face. "Does it frigging matter what kind it is? It's a fucking helicopter, Lee."