by Perrin Briar
“But you have no holes…”
“I thought it was better to do what they ask without fighting, without the drugs.” She turned away, ashamed of herself. “Maybe I was wrong.”
“You did what you had to to survive. We’ve all done the same.”
“Not exactly the same.”
Heavy footfalls thumped down the stairs behind them. Selena dried her eyes.
Stan ducked into the room, blowing into his hands to warm them up. He stopped, sensing the atmosphere. “I can come back.”
“No,” Selena said. “Come in, please.”
“Thank you. The mist’s really thick out there. Chilly.”
“I know,” Anne said, gesturing to the blank white porthole. “We saw it earlier.”
Stan sidled up to Selena and proffered his hand. “I don’t think we were formally introduced yesterday. I’m Stan.”
“Selena.”
Stan extricated a packet of crisps from a backpack. He screwed up his face in derision. “Cheese and onion.”
“Here,” Anne said as she tossed him another packet. “Ready salted.”
Stan opened the pack and munched. “How are you this morning, Selena?”
“Better, thank you.”
“Sleep well?”
“Like the dead.”
Stan raised an eyebrow. “These days I take that to mean not very well, then.”
Selena chuckled.
Stan frowned. “Your accent…”
Selena blushed. “It’s strong, I know.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. You have a beautiful accent. Where are you from?”
“I am from The Congo.”
“Good morning,” a voice behind them said.
Jordan, hair standing up haphazardly, crossed the room and slid onto the sofa beside Anne. He pilfered a crisp. “What time is it?” he asked.
“We have no idea,” Stan said. “There’s a thick mist outside and we can’t see the sun. My guess: early-morning. If the sun were any higher, the mist probably wouldn’t still be here.”
“It’ll clear up,” Anne said.
Jordan nodded. “Hopefully not too fast. If we hurry, we could go onto the mainland, shop, and be back on board without the Lurchers ever knowing. I was hoping to get everything we needed thrown into the bargain with Terry. Obviously that didn’t happen.”
“I’ll say,” Stan said.
“He’ll be after us,” Jordan said, opening a bottle of water. “He’s probably looking for us as we speak.”
Stan pulled a pen and scrap paper from a backpack. “We should make a list of the things we need today.”
“Food should be top of the list. And spare sailing equipment.”
“I know some about sailing,” Selena said. “My brother taught me.”
Jordan’s eyebrows knitted together.
“Her boyfriend was in the navy,” Anne said.
“That’s great. Do you think you can help us find the parts we’ll need? We’re going on a little trip to safer waters. To the Indian Ocean. You’re more than welcome to join us.”
“When are you going?” Selena asked.
“As soon as we can.”
Selena shrugged. “I have nowhere else to go. I’ll come.”
“Medicine,” Stan said, adding it to his list. “Books and some board games wouldn’t go amiss.”
Jordan nodded. “Yes, but that’s not a priority. If we see them, we’ll grab some. If not, never mind.”
“We could do with some new cooking utensils,” Anne said, thinking out loud. “The ones in here look like they’ll fall to pieces soon.”
“Fishing rods,” Stan said. “Won’t last long without them.”
Jordan nodded. “Good thinking. We’d best get going. This mist isn’t going to last forever.”
79.
The cool mist pressed against Jordan as he climbed the stairs to the deck. The sails were folded away, clinging to the masts like a baby to its mother. The sun was a large patch of blurred yellow in the sky. The broken figureheads of a dozen galleons stood proud in the mist like totems to the sea god. Gulls cried overhead and drifted in and out of view as if they were on strings.
“Blimey,” Jordan said. “You really weren’t exaggerating, Stan. It’s like we’re in a cloud.” He hopped onto the jetty, and then lifted Jessie down. The jetty stretched off into white oblivion. “Stay close,” Jordan said, taking his first tentative steps. “We don’t want to get lost out here.”
“Maybe we should have a code word,” Stan suggested, “in case we get separated.”
“I nominate ‘Marco’.”
“Vito,” Anne said.
“On what grounds?”
“Why do we need a code word? How about, ‘Where are you guys?’?”
“You’re no fun, Anne.”
Jordan looked back over his shoulder at their cat. It rocked steadily with the water, and melded with the mist that surrounded it, as if becoming a part of it.
Their feet met the cobbled streets of Great Yarmouth city centre. They were slippery and slick with condensation. Old fashioned boutiques with smashed front windows appeared from the fog like a thought popping into existence. There was a fluttering sound somewhere to the right. The group froze, instinctively forming a circle, looking out in all directions. The fluttering got louder.
“It’s coming from this direction,” Stan said, pointing down an alleyway. With his stick raised high, his knuckles white, he edged forward. Wings flapped from the mist. Stan jumped back in shock, his hand on his chest.
“It’s just a bird,” Stan said. “Looks like it hurt its wing.”
The pigeon fluttered about pathetically. The feathers stuck up like it had been hit by a car… or mauled.
“Let’s keep going,” Jordan said.
The cobblestones gave way to tarmac. They followed the yellow road markings on the street. Occasionally someone would say, “Hold up,” open a car door and search amongst the items inside. They found little of value.
The supermarket wasn’t particularly big – one of those inner city ‘express’ shops. The fruit and vegetables had turned to black mush. Swarms of flies swirled above their heads. They covered their mouths with their T-shirts to keep from gagging.
They grabbed two loitering trolleys and pushed them down the aisle.
“Let’s split up into two groups,” Jordan said. “Anne, Jessie and Stan. You go into one group. Selena and I in the other. We’ll meet you by the checkout.”
Selena approached a bargain bin. “Ooo. Buy one, get one free.”
Jordan smiled.
Selena picked up a tin of tuna and read the back. Jordan took it out of her hand and put it back on the shelf. “Trust me, you won’t want to eat more fish.”
Selena placed a dozen packets of rice in the trolley. “I wanted to thank you for rescuing me yesterday.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Anne. I would have left you.”
Selena shrugged. “Even so.”
They turned into the next aisle and stopped. Sprawled in the centre of the aisle was a remarkably fresh decapitated body. Tins of sweetcorn lay in the congealed blood.
“Huh,” Jordan said. He pushed the trolley around the body and through the blood, forming tracks.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Selena asked.
“I don’t know,” Jordan said as he shovelled cuppa soup sachets and bags of pasta into the trolley.
“My boyfriend had some weapons training, but he wasn’t as good as you. What were you? A Navy Seal or something?”
“That’s American.”
“Okay, the English equivalent.”
“So I can use a gun, so what?”
“That wasn’t just using a gun. You were a killer.”
“Those guards weren’t well trained.”
Selena paused. “How do you know that?”
“They’re dead, so they couldn’t have been very well trained, could they?”
“If it wasn’t for you,
Stan would be dead and Jessie and Anne and me would be locked in a cage.”
“If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have even been there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Seeing Terry was my idea. We could have just come onto the land in the first place and avoided him altogether.”
“Land is not safe.”
“Neither was Terry.”
Selena hefted a multipack of spam and loaded it into the trolley. “If anyone can get us to the Indian Ocean, it’s you.”
“I’ve got a hole in my life six years deep. We’re alive now because of luck. That’s all.”
Selena cowered slightly under Jordan’s glare. They walked on for a moment.
“We need a name for our boat,” Selena said. “It’s unlucky to sail without one.”
“Any suggestions?”
Selena thought for a moment. “How about ‘Hope’?”
There was the rattle of a trolley as the other group rounded the corner.
“Have you finished?” Jordan asked.
“We got some medicine,” Anne said, pulling the trolley to a halt. “Did you get everything you wanted?”
“Yes. Where’s Stan?”
“He’s still perusing the wine section.”
Jordan cupped his hands around his mouth. “Stan! Just grab the most expensive stuff!”
Jordan peered into Anne’s trolley. “A lot of sweets and chocolate, I see…”
Anne pointed to the statue-like Jessie. “Blame Jessie.”
Jordan shook his head in mock anger. “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie.”
“Coming! I’m coming!” Stan stumbled toward them, arms brimming with boxes.
“I know we said you could bring whatever you wanted, but that’s too much wine, Stan.”
“It’s not wine.” He dumped the board games and playing cards into the trolley, a childish grin on his face. “A lifetime’s worth.”
80.
A skeleton in a uniform sat at the checkout, her blonde hair hanging in ringlets, her hand laid out on the keyboard. They wheeled past it and cautiously approached the security gates.
“Wait,” Jordan said. “The last thing we need is for the alarms to go off.”
Stan looked up at the lights. “The power’s off.”
“Better safe than sorry.” Jordan pushed the trolley around the security gates. “I never understood why they didn’t build these things flush against the wall. You can just walk around them.”
They emerged out into the street. Their field of view had widened to include lampposts and burnt-out cars across the way. Amongst the near-demolished remains, a small picturesque boutique with English tourist souvenirs looked remarkably untouched, the way some buildings somehow avoided the bombs during the Blitz, yet the houses around it were all direct hits.
“The mist…” Selena said.
“It’s thinning,” Anne completed, looking up at the sky. “It’s the sun. We’d better hurry.”
The trolleys clattered across the cobbled streets, making a terrible racket. They stopped.
“We can’t take our trolleys like this,” Anne said. “They’ll alert every Lurcher within half a mile.”
Jordan threw up his hands. “Now what do we do?”
“We can carry them to the boat,” Selena said.
Jordan shook his head. “Too many trips.”
“Do you have any better ideas?” Anne said.
There was a pause.
Stan looked up. “Edith Winklemann.”
Anne frowned. “What?”
“Edith Winklemann.”
“Repeating it doesn’t make it any clearer, Stan.”
“There was this crazy old homeless lady on our estate who used to push a pram around. We all thought she had a baby. One day I walked past, peeked inside and saw it was full of food she stole from bins. She used it as a trolley because it was quieter and she could thieve at night without waking anyone.”
Jordan smiled. “God bless you, Edith. Let’s split into groups and look for prams. Let’s meet back here in thirty minutes – whether we find what we’re looking for or not. Don’t wander too far.”
81.
Selena and Stan crept down the street, heading farther into town. The mist seemed to amplify their footsteps on the tarmac. Despite the moisture in the air, Stan’s throat felt dry.
“Where can we find a pram?” Selena said.
“Mother care shops, day care centres. Places like that, I suppose. On the way to our boat a few days ago I thought I saw one.”
Mummy & Me was a small local mother care store. The windows had been whitewashed. Stan leaned up against it, cupping his hands over his eyes. He couldn’t make anything out. The security gate was in place, a latticework of steel rings. Stan moved in close and bent down to lift it up, but they had been bolted to the floor.
“We’ll have to find another way in,” Stan said.
Between Mummy & Me and the one pound store there was an alley. It was dark, deep and foreboding. There was a glimmer of light at the end like the glint off an onyx stone. It beckoned them.
A spring coiled tight in Selena’s stomach. “We can find another way.”
Stan looked at his watch. “We don’t have time.” He tightened his grip on the stick he carried, which now seemed woefully inadequate, and took a deep calming breath. “Stay close.”
He stepped into the darkness. With only a moment’s hesitation, Selena followed.
The brick walls seemed to press in on them from both sides. Stan’s breath sounded fuzzy in the darkness. He felt his way along a wall, hugging it close with his body. It was damp and slimy to the touch. He shuffled his feet along the ground so as not to trip on anything he could not see. The light at the end never seemed to get closer, only farther and farther away. Stan’s heart thumped so loud in his ears he was surprised Selena couldn’t hear it.
Stan’s feet met something, and he almost fell. It was soft and, feeling with his foot, he realized it stood about six inches off the ground.
“Selena, there’s something on the floor here. Try not to disturb it.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”
Stan stepped over it and immediately came to another object. It was easier this time. The object was smaller. Stan’s body shivered. It had nothing to do with the cold. He could see the floor of the alley as the light permeated the darkness. The light grew brighter. He could see his arms, legs, hands. He emerged into the light. He had the impulse to brush himself off, as if that would remove the evil he’d felt in the alley. When he took his hands off his shirt, he saw he had made red-handprints. He looked at his palms.
They were covered in a thick black-red goo. His shoes were smeared with it too. Selena had red on her cheeks from where she had scratched. They cleaned themselves up with the condensation on the glass of the delivery trucks and lorries, never uttering a word to one another. Stan peered around at their location.
They were on the shop back lot. There were oil stains on the concrete. The refuse bins were spilling over with baby clothes and broken items. They approached the back door that had Mummy & Me written across it in bright yellow plastic letters.
Stan tried the door. It was locked. He shook his head. “What makes people lock everything up the moment of the apocalypse?”
He went over to a skip and rummaged amongst the bent coat hangers and chipped table legs. He came out with a long metal rod that looked like it had once been part of a clothing rack. He jammed it between the door and the doorframe and leaned his weight on it. The door buckled and popped open.
“Old jimmy locks. Never did work well.” He tossed the pole aside, took up his stick, and stepped inside.
The shelves were lined up in perfect rows, fully stocked. Placards advertised two-for-one offers on selected baby food flavours. Muzak played over the speaker system. The floors were clean. The checkouts were arranged in organised rows, the chairs tucked neatly under their desks.
Stan and Selena exchanged a disconcerted look.
“How much longer do we have?” Selena asked.
Stan checked his watch. “Twelve minutes, minus five minutes to get back to the supermarket.”
“We’d better hurry.”
They walked down the aisles, following the location marker for strollers and prams. There was a small selection, but enough for their needs.
“You grab one,” Stan said. “I’ll take another.”
“Can I help you?”
A man in his late thirties, balding, with wire rim glasses and wearing a suit stood at the end of the aisle. He had a welcoming smile on his face.
“Uh, yes,” Stan said. “We need to borrow some of these prams.”
“Borrow? I’m afraid we don’t offer that service. You can buy them, try them and if they don’t meet your specifications, you can bring them back.”
“Buy them?”
“Yes. If you have a Mummy & Me store card, we can give you a five per cent discount.”
“Store card?”
“Yes, we offer a number of deals and offers every week.”
Stan looked the man over. He did not blink, his coat hanger smile never faltering. He looked at his name tag. “Mr Griffith.”
“Store manager.”
“Yes. Mr Griffith, are you aware of the events taking place outside?”
“Events?”
“Yes. Strange goings-on, perhaps?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. You’re referring to the fog. It is particularly thick today.”
“No, Mr Griffith. I’m not referring to the fog.”
There was a pause.
“Where are your employees, Mr Griffith?”
“They’re running late. It’s this mist. Plays havoc with the traffic.”
“And the customers?”
“Likewise.”
Stan and Selena exchanged a look.
Mr Griffith stepped closer. “If you like, I could show you the best models.”
“That’s okay,” Stan said, taking a step back. “We were just leaving.”
“You’re no longer interested in our prams or strollers?”