Like Rats

by Adam Watts

  ‘Not really. Proof that violence solves nothing.’

  ‘Now that’s not true. It solves some things pretty well, but never for long.’

  ‘That’s very deep, Stan. Sounds like something from a Michael Bay film.’

  ‘Who’s Michael Bay?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, reluctant to enter into the usual banter, lest he think this is all done with now we’ve had our little scuffle.

  ‘So… is this all done with now then?’ he says.

  ‘No Stan. This is not done with. Not unless you’ve got a Delorean and a case of plutonium stashed around here somewhere.’

  ‘Back to the Future,’ he says after a considerable silence.

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Honestly, Pres, if I could take all of this back, I would. I say we find Eve and you and her can talk –’

  ‘I looked everywhere for her. No one has seen her. So even if the thought of talking to her didn’t make me want to vomit, your idea is massively flawed,’ I say, laying down and resting my sore knuckles against the cool damp grass.

  ‘So… you think she’s hiding out somewhere, or… y’know… gone over?’

  ‘I checked everywhere. She’s not here. She could be half way to Luxemburg for all I know.’

  ‘She might come back. You never know,’ he says, the hopeful tone in his voice tainted by doubt.

  ‘I do know. She won’t come back. Not ever.’

  ‘Well then, you know what we need to do, don’t ya?’

  I make a deliberate meal of turning myself towards him, and fix him with a stare so rigid and cold that I shouldn’t need to say a damn word. If he suggests that we try and forget the whole thing by getting out of our minds of MIDS, it won’t be just the thinking chair that’ll be going up in flames.

  ‘Come on, Pres. You know we’ve got to.’

  ‘Got to what?’

  ‘We’ve got to get out there ourselves. We gotta find her and bring her back.’

  ‘This isn’t Super Mario Brothers, Stan. There’s no way we’re going over the fence on a rescue mission. How would we even find her?’

  ‘She lived in town didn’t she? Reckon that’d be a good place to start.’

  ‘Not sure it’d be that simple. Besides…’

  ‘Besides what?’

  ‘Who’s to say what’s out there. We could die.’

  ‘All the more reason to do it. If it is dangerous out there, do you really want Eve facing it alone?’

  I imagine her running, a horde in hot pursuit; hungry, unrelenting. I imagine hands tearing into her, the bleeding, the screaming. What could I even do to stop that?

  ‘Come on, Pres. If Wade can last six months out there, the two of us can do a few days, no problems.’

  ‘But that’s half the problem,’ I say, losing patience.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘You are! As if the idea of being out there isn’t bad enough, the idea of being out there with you is like getting kicked to the ground then shat on from a great height. I mean… let’s just say for arguments sake that we come across a horde of zombies. In all honesty, Stan, right now I would gladly hand them your soft and tender parts on a plate. I’d happily cover you in burger relish and push you into their gaping jaws. In fact, I’d serve you up to those fuckers with a choice of chips or a jacket potato, I really would.’

  ‘Fine, bring the ketchup, I don’t care. I say it’s still worth a try. You can’t let this be it. You said you love her. That’s a big statement coming from a pent-up little wad like you.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to find her. Maybe she’s better off gone,’ I lie.

  ‘Will you shut up with the self-pity, Pres? Come on, let’s get our shit together and blow this joint. It’ll be fun! Like a road trip.’

  ‘No,’ I tell him, closing my eyes, moving my sore hand to a fresh patch of grass.

  ‘Fine. I’ll go by myself then.’

  ‘You do that,’ I say.

  ‘And you can lay there wallowing in ten shades of your own bullshit, pretending you don’t care, not doing anything ever, just like always.’

  ‘Just go, Stan. You go and play the hero.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as heroes, you big twat. But losers… they definitely exist, and I’m looking at a prime example right now. He’s lying on my front lawn, pouting because his hand hurts and because somebody removed his genitals whilst he was napping.’

  ‘Say what you want. I’m not going.’

  ‘Last chance,’ he says, pulling himself up.

  ‘You go. I’ll stay here and burn your house down.’

  ‘Pres… come on. Get up and get moving. I’m not taking no for an answer.’

  ‘I… am not going anywhere, Stan. And that’s the end of it.’

  TWO HURTS A-PIECE.

  ‘This is the right thing to do, Pres. Absolutely certain of it,’ Stan says. We’re only half an hour into our journey and his espousal of how I’ve made the right decision and how I’m doing the right thing and how this is all so … right, has yet to cease.

  I grumble a response, which I’m sure will only cause a redoubling of his incessant reassurance (if in doubt… do it more). Though the jury’s still out on whether he’s reassuring me or himself.

  I’m still annoyed at myself for having done this, and as much as Stan seems convinced that we’re doing the right thing and that there’s nothing to worry about, I’m feeling uneasy. Stan was certainly right about one thing, though: once you’re over the fence, those imagined eyes amidst the shadows seem very real. The woods are quiet, and darker than I remember. I feel smaller here than I used to. Well-worn paths have become over-grown and hard to follow.

  ‘You know what makes me think this is the right thing to do?’ says Stan, hurrying ahead like a kid on an Easter egg hunt.

  I refrain from replying. Mostly because my mind still favours fire as the immediate response to any of his questions. The urge to burn him… or to be sick in his face. Oh my…

  Stan continues, oblivious to the macabre theatrics concealed by my blank stare. ‘The look on Harry’s face when he caught us sneaking through the hole in the fence. He was pissed. It was worth it just for the look on that thick fucking face of his. Egg all over that face. Wanker…’

  And indeed, Harry was absolutely furious at seeing Stan on the other side of that fence, and me – with my head in the woods and my arse in the village – just about to join him. He yelled and yelled and stamped his feet. And he yelled some more when Stan flipped him the bird. I couldn’t be bothered to argue, so I stood there and took it with an easy smile. He said not to bother coming back, that we were like rats deserting a sinking ship; which I found to be an odd choice of phrase. You have to wonder why he kicked up such a stink about our leaving given that he seems to hate us so much. Stan once hypothesised that it’s all repressed homosexual desire. I’d say it’s more likely that we’re both just massively disappointing to him. His parting shot was that Tuesday’s more of a man than both of us put together. A point I wouldn’t necessarily argue.

  ‘Shouldn’t take us too long to get to town,’ Stan says. ‘Maybe seven or eight hours if we keep going at this pace. We should be there with a couple of hours daylight to spare.’

  I want to ask where it is he plans on staying for the night, but I don’t. I probably wouldn’t like the answer and I’d end up punching him again. My hand is still throbbing from earlier.

  ‘The way I figure it, town’s not that big, and it’ll be empty. If Eve’s there, we should be able to find her pretty easily. Wha’d’ya reckon?’ he says, tramping down some brambles for me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, brushing past him.

  ‘If we yell loud enough, she’ll hear us. Voices travel pretty far when the streets are empty. It’s dead weird, Pres. You’re gonna be freaked out.’

  ‘Oh good,’ I say. ‘I’m so glad I agreed to this.’

  ‘You will be. You’ll get a taste for it. Like me. You’ll want to be out here all the tim
e once you see there’s nothing to be frightened of. Not unless you’re frightened by empty buildings and a fuck-lot of weeds.’

  ‘Mmm…’

  ‘Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re not even a little bit excited about this. Doesn’t this feel like a big deal to you?’

  I decide to keep my legs moving and my mouth shut. He’s right, this should feel like a big deal – being that I’ve not left the village in two years and I’m preparing to walk into a ghost town where thousands of people were eviscerated and cannibalised in the streets – but it doesn’t, it just feels unsettling. Mostly because this all feels a little too easy.

  Stan falls silent for a while. I savour it, because I know it won’t last long. It never does.

  Not far up ahead I see light cutting into the shade, and as we enter a clearing I feel a sense of relief that the sun hasn’t yet been consumed by whatever dark force must’ve wrenched me from the comfort of my home. Stan stops in the middle of the clearing. Though I’m glad to be free of the damp earth and clawing shadows of the trees, I still find myself scanning the edge of the clearing, looking for those watchful eyes. It’s like the woods are conscious of us – like they’re tricking us – and have brought us into the light so we might be struck down in full view of whatever lurks between the boughs.

  ‘What time are we on?’ Stan says.

  I shrug. I forgot to bring my watch. The first time in two years I haven’t worn it. It got a little bit out of sync but I learnt to set it by the times the sun rose and set. Frida showed me a book with the times in. It probably wasn’t all that necessary to have an accurate timepiece about me, but it was a nice watch (a gift from my parents) so it seemed right to keep it ticking over. Harry was the only other person in the village who bothered setting his watch.

  ‘You ok to keep going or you need a rest?’ Stan says, confidently surveying his surroundings like the seasoned bush-man he’s not.

  ‘Just keep going, I’m fine.’

  Stan watches me a little while. ‘This is the right thing to do, y’know?’

  I deliberately ignore his question. ‘Which way now, genius?’

  Stan drops his bag. ‘Are we going to have this out then?’ There’s frustration in his voice which I choose not to acknowledge.

  ‘Have what out?’ I say.

  ‘You know what! All this silent treatment is doing my head in. So can we please just be like normal boys and have it out?’

  ‘I thought we already had it out. You fucked Eve, then I burnt your chair, then I punched you in the face and nearly broke my hand in the process. By my reckoning that’s two hurts a-piece. Even Stevens.’

  ‘Even I know those sums don’t work, Pres. But I’m trying to help, aren’t I? I’m trying to put things right again by doing this.’

  ‘So this is all for my benefit, is it? I had no idea that you marched me into the woods out of the kindness of your own heart. Because I’m pretty sure this has all worked out exactly how you wanted it to. You got laid and you managed to get me out of the village, all within the space of forty-eight hours. Sounds like a plan well-executed.’

  ‘No, tit-face… what I wanted was an adventure, a break from the day-to-day, a bit of excitement. And you know what?’

  ‘What?’ I say, even though I’m not interested.

  ‘Exciting stuff’s really fucking boring when you’re by yourself, so I thought it’d be cool to have my mate along for the ride, share the good times, that was all. You think I wanna be out here under these circumstances? With all this shit hanging round my shoulders?! Right now I’d rather be almost anywhere but here, but I can’t think of much else to do to say I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well I apologise for ruining your road trip.’

  ‘Why do you have to be such an infuriating bastard? If I could take it back, I would. And I know it’s not an excuse, but the MIDS properly fucked with my brain. You really think I’d have done that with a straight head on? You think Eve would’ve?’

  That name from those lips. Like a dagger between the shoulders. ‘I told you not to take it. But you had such a raging hard-on for everything Wade told you, even though you knew what a piece of work he was. But he came back with his big stories about the wild blue yonder, and you swallowed it whole. You didn’t listen to your best mate, Stan. Even though you know I always look out for you. And you made Eve…’ My voice cracks at the thought of her popping those pills. How she changed.

  ‘Fine, yeah I should’ve listened. But for fuck sake, Pres… how many chances did you need with her? How many times did you have a chance and squander it? You gonna blame me for all those too?’

  ‘That hurts, Stan.’

  ‘Yeah, because it’s fucking true! Two years, Pres! Two fucking years and you didn’t make a move. Anyone would think you’re a bloody virgin or something.’ Stan waits for a response. His eyes widen. ‘No… please do not tell me that you’re a virgin...’

  ‘I’m not a virgin,’ I say through gritted teeth.

  Stan eyes me suspiciously. ‘You’d better bloody not be. I’m serious.’

  ‘Look… what do you want? You want me to say what you did was ok because I dithered when I should have acted? Because that’s a shitty way of looking at the world.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. Sitting on your hands and closing your eyes to what’s right in front of you is far better.’

  ‘Who’s sitting on their hands? I’m here, aren’t I? I may not be dancing through the underbrush, eyes full of wonder at the prospect of whatever delights you plan on showing me, but I’m still here!’

  ‘Fine. Point made,’ he says, shouldering his back-pack once more. ‘But when we find her, promise me you won’t fuck it up.’ He walks towards the trees.

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ I mumble.

  I hadn’t really given much thought to what I’d actually say if she suddenly appeared in front of me. The mere idea of seeing her puts the fear of God in me, let alone having to use actual words to convey actual feelings. What on earth could I say that wouldn’t lead to further dire consequence? Which I suppose begs the question of why I came out here. If I’m honest, I don’t know what it was that pulled me up off Stan’s front lawn and through the hole in the fence. I guess it was just compulsion; something to which I’m not normally prone. Fuck it, I thought. Nothing much left to lose. Odd that I didn’t question it.

  Ahead of me, Stan slips into the dark spaces between the trees, and I follow. We walk for ten minutes or so before we find the body.

  THE DEAD SHALL DEAD REMAIN.

  I’ve never seen a dead person before. I’ve never seen the light (if such a thing exists) fade from somebody’s eyes as they succumb to illness or injury. Even when my parents died they did so in a manner that spared me from ‘discovering’ them, or worse yet, having to identify them. I suppose it shouldn’t come as a shock to see a dead person – given the current social climate – and in a way, it doesn’t. What was most shocking, what really punched me in the guts, was Stan’s reaction, and the reaction he continues to have.

  He’d continued on ahead of me, turned a corner and then came running back, his face stricken and pale. Not for the first time in the last few days, I felt that burning surge of adrenaline course through me; fight or flight, ready to take on whatever lumbering horror might be coming our way. I asked him what he’d seen; he responded by throwing up in a bush, and once finished, told me that there was a dead girl round the corner and that she fucking stunk.

  In my mind, I pictured Eve. I imagined her dead, having taken off into the night, full of remorse and unable to deal with what had happened. Perhaps still under the influence of MIDS. Did she take her own life? Was she attacked? Did she get lost and succumb to exposure? I left Stan retching into the bush and went as close as I could. I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve – it was understandable why Stan threw up. That smell goes right for the back of the throat.

  It wasn’t Eve, and that’s all I needed to know. I rushed back to Stan and set a
bout retching into a bush adjacent to his. Whether this was a result of the smell or some kind of grim relief, I have no idea.

  ‘Holy shit,’ Stan said, his eyes watering. He took a drink of water and rinsed his mouth out. ‘I’m pretty sure she wasn’t there the other day.’

  I didn’t say anything to that. I believed him.

  We sat on the ground together, not saying anything, separately wondering what to do about the dead girl. And half an hour later, we’re still sat here.

  ‘How long do you think she’s been there?’ I finally ask, smelling my t-shirt and wondering if the stench of death has permanently bonded itself to me.

  ‘Don’t know…’ he says. ‘Long enough to stink, but not long enough to have gone rotten or got herself eaten by the wildlife.’

  ‘A couple of days then?’

  ‘Probably. I don’t know, mate, I’m not a doctor.’

  ‘No shit,’ I say.

  ‘We need to check her, though,’ he says, looking at me with expectation.

  ‘And by we, you mean...?’

  Stan turns white and shakes his head.

  ‘Some fucking adventurer you turned out to be,’ I say. ‘Why do we have to check her?’

  ‘Because that’s what you do. You find a body and you check it over.’

  ‘She’d dead, Stan. What else do we really need to know about her? Unless you plan on writing a eulogy based on the contents of her purse.’

  ‘We need to check if she’s been bitten,’ he says, like he’s addressing the most foolish man in existence.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if she’s been bitten then we need to double-kill her or something, you know? Bash her brains in, make sure she doesn’t rise up and follow us.’

  ‘She’s dead!’ I tell him, hoping that that word carries enough certainty to excuse me from checking her over.

  ‘But how do we know?’

  ‘Because, Chicken Little, she looks dead and she sure as shit smells dead. Plus, what’s with all this corpses rising from the grave nonsense?’