by David Moody
‘I don’t want to see this again,’ Andria told Jack. This wasn’t part of the dream usually. This was new. An addition as she took control. Jack didn’t answer her. Just because she had learned to speak out, it didn’t mean the others would respond. ‘I said, I don’t want to see this again.’ Andria wasn’t sure if she was being heard or ignored, but it didn’t make any difference. ‘Jack, please...’
Jack climbed out of the grave he had dug for himself and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
‘Don’t cry, Mum.’
‘How can I not?’
‘This is for the best.’
Andria knew Jack was right but it didn’t make it any easier.
‘Why is this happening?’ Andria asked, wiping her face clean of tears.
Jack shrugged. He had heard the news reports, like everyone else but, also like everyone else, he had no idea. Some people said it was a chemical attack, so-called eye-witnesses like Colleen Cassidy on Meridien News and Baylie Poller on Channel 5. Others - Christine Feldon and Frank Meyers - said people were just going crazy for seemingly no reason when they were interviewed. And then you had your crackpots coming out of the woodwork, Sammi Brierley and Helen M. Helton screaming about Judgement Day being upon us... Jack shrugged again. ‘I don’t know.’
‘There must be some other way.’
‘There isn’t. If I don’t do this...’ He stopped. He didn’t need to say the words. He knew he would attack her when he became one of them. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. He just needed to get this done before he bottled it or it was too late.
He picked the garden shears up from where they were sticking out of the hard mud. He looked at the tip of the blade. It wasn’t pin-prick sharp but it was sharp enough for what needed doing. He looked at Andria whose eyes were fixed upon him. She said nothing, but her body language screaming at him not to do it. Consequences be damned.
‘Can you go inside?’ he asked.
‘I’m not leaving you.’
‘Please, Mum, don’t make this any harder than it already is.’ She still didn’t move. ‘Please.’
‘I can’t let you do it.’
‘You don’t have a choice. Please... just go inside.’
She hesitated again but took a step back.
‘Please,’ he said again.
‘I love you,’ she said.
He smiled at her. He couldn’t remember the last time they had said that to one another and this was the only good thing about the dream; the fact Andria got to live this particular moment over and over.
‘I love you, Mum.’
‘Can I hug you?’ she asked as she took a step forward.
Jack held his hand out to stop her. It had been easy for him to catch whatever this was. He couldn’t risk a hug, no matter how much he wanted to. Andria understood.
‘I love you,’ he said again. He nodded towards the caravan, signalling that it was time for her to go in. She understood. She nodded.
‘I wish...’ She stopped a moment before continuing, ‘I wish things could have been different.’ And then, doing her best to display a brave face, she said, ‘I’ll see you soon.’
He smiled. ‘Hopefully not too soon.’
She turned away from her son and headed into the caravan. She gave him a final glance before she went inside. He was sitting in his open grave, looking down at the blade of the garden shears in his hands. He caught sight of Andria watching him.
‘Give me a bit of time before you come back out, yeah?’ The fear was evident in his voice yet Andria knew she wouldn’t be able to persuade him not to do it and she knew he’d refuse any help. He had to do it alone, even though he knew how hard it was going to be. It was for the best. He didn’t want to become one of them and he didn’t want to hurt his mum. ‘Love you.’ Kinder words than asking for more time. His mum smiled at him. Andria closed the door. Goodbye.
Jack looked back down at the garden shears. Would it be easier to slam his head - eye first - down onto the blades, or to bring them up and ram them through his eye with force. He swallowed hard. Nerves.
Inside the caravan, Andria dropped to her knees. More tears streamed down her face, and the single thought in her head brought her zero comfort: He’ll be at peace soon.
THE TWO OF US
Andria woke up crying. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain of being punched or the terrifying realisation she wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe it was the dream that had brought her tears? Getting to hear her son, as if he was still here with her, standing close and telling her he loved her... Maybe it was a mixture of all three: dreams, pain and fear?
She was tied to the bed. Fully dressed. Still wearing the same clothes she’d been brought to the house in. She tried to pull free from the restraints but it was pointless. She wasn’t going anywhere.
‘I was just resting my hand on the floor...’ Bob’s voice came from the corner of the room, making her jump. She twisted her head and saw that he was sitting on the floor just a few feet away from her. He wasn’t bothered that she was trying to pull free from the restraints, he was engrossed in something else... ‘This little spider came over and started crawling over my fingers. Look! Little feet tickling my skin and I can feel the web it’s trying to make on me... It’s almost as though he wants to be on me because he knows I will keep him safe from the evils of the world... The same way I’m going to keep you safe.’
Andria didn’t say anything. She didn’t dare. Bob got up and crossed the room to where she laid on the bed. He knelt down next to her and put his hand on her jumper. He waited patiently until the spider left him and started exploring her too.
‘See? In this world we need to look after each other. It’s us against them and the moment we’re not part of a team, we’re one step closer to becoming one of them... Us against them. Make sure you remember that.’
Andria watched as the small spider started exploring the fabric of her jumper, weaving its web as it did so. She hated spiders and desperately wanted it off her before it ventured onto any part of her skin or, even worse, her face. She didn’t tell him to remove it though. She tried to keep calm, fearing he might suddenly lose his temper again.
‘I’m sorry I hit you,’ he said.
She didn’t forgive him.
‘You were becoming hysterical. Sometimes, when a woman gets in that state, you need to just... you know... Put an end to it before it gets any worse.’
She still didn’t forgive him.
‘I hope your face isn’t too sore.’
She was giving him the silent treatment.
‘Listen. I know I said we could leave and that I would take you back to where you needed to be but...’ He paused a moment. Andria could see him desperately trying to weave his own spider web of lies. ‘I snuck out last night and they’re all around us. We’d never make it. We really need to stay here. It’s for the best.’
She shook her head but still didn’t dare question him.
‘What is it?’
This time she spoke. ‘Nothing.’
‘If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be shaking your head.’ His voice got sterner. Andria knew that she was going to be punished anyway, regardless of whether or not she spoke her mind. She was in a no-win situation.
‘They’ve managed to surround us and yet you still got back here okay?’
‘I’m good at sneaking around them.’
Andria didn’t know much about them but one thing she did know was they could smell the uninfected. Your smell told them you were different to them. They almost seemed to anticipate the taste you offered if they were to bite into you. There was no sneaking around them - certainly not if there was a big group.
‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked.
‘I’m not doing anything.’
‘You’re trying to drive a wedge between us. You’re trying to insinuate that I’m lying, that I’m a bad person. All I am trying to do is... I’m trying to help you. Us. I’m trying to help us.’
‘I’m not doing anything,’ she said again.
He leaned forward and pressed his thumb against the spider, squashing it dead. ‘If I’d wanted to I could have killed you. I could have left you to die. But I didn’t. I came to your rescue.’
‘I didn’t need rescuing.’
‘You were going to kill yourself.’
‘It was a thought I had, yes, but then I remembered my mum and my brother and I wanted to live. Now you’ve taken my life away from me...’
‘By offering you a safer one.’
He stood up. The sudden movement made Andria flinch.
‘What? You think I’m going to hit you again?’ He shook his head. ‘You really do think I’m a monster.’ He almost looked hurt. Without waiting for her to answer, he walked out of the room. The metal door clanged shut behind him. Andria didn’t want to be in the room and neither did she want to be restrained but, even so, she felt her body relax. She didn’t want to be here but at least she was alone.
Outside the door, Bob stopped. He needed things to work with Andria. He didn’t want to have to survive alone in this world. He wanted more than to just survive. He wanted a relationship. He wanted someone to love. He wanted happiness. He wanted Andria. His father’s words played through his head; a broken record on repeat, seemingly getting louder and louder and louder...
You’ll never find anyone. You’ll be alone right until you die.
You’ll never find anyone. You’ll be alone right until you die.
You’ll never find anyone. You’ll be alone right until you die.
‘Shut up. You know nothing!’ Bob hissed at his father’s memory.
You’ll never find anyone. You’ll be alone right until you die.
You’ll never find anyone. You’ll be alone right until you die.
You’ll never find anyone. You’ll be alone right until you die.
‘SHUT UP!’ Bob shouted as the drums continued to bang inside his skull. He ran down the corridor to his own room, not caring if Andria heard his outburst. The way she was being at the moment... so what if she had?
HARSH WORDS
Bob didn’t need to be asleep to remember. His memories came whenever he had a quiet moment to himself. It didn’t matter if he was awake or asleep – the memories, welcome or not, were always close.
Hank Greary swallowed the water down as his son carefully tilted the glass back. When he’d had enough, he coughed and spluttered the water back into the glass. Bob apologised and moved the cup away as his father rested his tired head back down on the soft pillow.
‘Well of course she left you,’ Hank hissed. A miserable old man despite the act he put on for the carers. ‘You’re like me. The apple never falls far from the tree, my boy. A worthless piece of trash. A bumbling idiot...’ His eyes fixed upon his pasty-faced, overweight son. ‘Look at you, you’re a disgrace. How you even managed to find someone in the first place is beyond me. Still, I don’t know why you stuck it out. It was obvious you wouldn’t have been good enough to keep her. You just set yourself up for this hurt...’
Wednesday morning. Bob had finally decided to tell his dad that his wife of two years was leaving him for another man. It was bad enough to hear your wife didn’t love you anymore but for her to leave because of another man... Somehow that made it that little bit worse.
‘I don’t need to know what he is like. Wouldn’t take much for someone to be better than you. I mean, look at you... you can’t even eat your dinner properly.’ Hank had noticed the orange spaghetti sauce stain down the front of Bob’s jumper. The spillage had occurred the previous night when he’d been eating dinner and until his father had pointed it out, Bob had clean forgotten about it. He’d just thrown it back on this morning because it had been close to hand. ‘You’re a mess, boy.’
Bob set the glass of water down on a little bedside cabinet at the side of the bed, then took his seat next to where his father lay.
‘Why do you always say these things to me?’ he asked. Even though Hank had only just found out his son had lost his wife, he hadn’t been a pleasant man to be around during their previous visits. The older he had got, the more venomous his tongue had become. He was an angry man. Angry that most of his friends were dead now and those that were still alive weren’t able to visit him in the care home. Angry that he was still alive, seemingly abandoned by God. Just angry about everything, and most of that anger was always steered towards his boy, the only person who visited him.
‘Because you’re stupid enough to keep coming back.’
Bob didn’t say anything. He wanted to snap back but it wasn’t worth it. He knew his dad was just bitter because of his age. He liked to pretend that, actually, his father was proud of him on some level and that cruel things he said were nothing more than lies born of frustration and his resentment of the world around him, not actually about him.
‘So I suppose you’ll be getting divorced next then? Your mother would have been so proud...’ Bob closed his eyes and tried to go to his happy place. He hated it when Hank spoke about his mother. She’d died during childbirth; another reason for his father to hate him. The only snippets he knew were from stories recounted by his dad, back in the days when he wasn’t an obnoxious old cunt or a pissed-up alcoholic. Back in the days when he pretended to be a real dad. Days long gone. ‘She’d be turning in her grave.’
‘Please don’t talk about Mum like that.’
Hank had become quiet for a moment. Only a moment.
‘You’ll be like me, you will. Alone. See you end up in a place like this with no one visiting you...’
‘You don’t have no one visiting you. You have me.’
‘Fat lot of good you are,’ Hank spat.
‘Why are you so cruel to me?’
‘Oh, what, are you going to cry now? Grow some fucking balls and get a grip. No wonder you’re alone. No one likes a pussy and that’s exactly what you are, a fucking pussy.’
‘Please, just shut up for once.’
Hank looked at him with an expression of half-shock and half-admiration. It was the first time he had spoken up to him in as long as he could remember. And Bob wasn’t done...
‘And anyway, I won’t be alone. There are plenty more fish in the sea. Just because one got away, it doesn’t mean no others will come along and...’
‘Oh, don’t be so fucking ridiculous, boy... Look at me... Your mother died and I didn’t find anyone else...’
‘Hard to spot them at the bottom of the bottle,’ Bob shot back, finally tired of his old man’s put downs. He had had plenty of opportunity to find someone else but had decided to squander most of his life drinking. How Bob hadn’t been taken away from Hank when he was younger, was something he’d never understood. Sometimes he had even lain awake at night and wished for someone to come along and take him away. Give him to a family that cared. No one came though... And, on rare occasions, Bob was grateful for that. For all his evils, this man was still his father and, deep down, there must have been some love from both parties. Although that feeling was all but gone now. As Hank became more vicious with his words, Bob was increasingly filled with more resentment and bitterness.
‘You’ll never find anyone. You’ll be alone right up until you die!’
‘Don’t say that!’
‘You’ll never find anyone. You’ll be alone right up until you die!’ Hank laughed, happy that he was getting to his son. ‘You’re going to die alone. Miserable and alone...’
‘Stop saying that!’ Bob jumped up and pulled the pillow from beneath his father’s head. Without thinking he put it over the old man’s face and pushed down hard. ‘Stop saying that! Stop saying that! Stop saying that!’ Bob repeated over and over as the old man’s limbs flailed around pathetically - too weak to get his overweight son off. ‘Stop saying that! Stop saying that... Stop...’ The old man’s limbs went limp just as Bob came to his senses. Despite knowing what he was doing, he didn’t move away. He stayed there, with his weight pressing down on the pillo
w. ‘Stop saying that,’ he whispered, knowing that his father could no longer hear him. Slowly, he pulled the pillow away. His old man’s expression was fixed in place - eyes open and mouth agape. He was dead. Bob felt no sadness. He felt nothing. Lifting his father’s head, he put the pillow back before sitting at the side of the bed once more. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there, looking at his father’s corpse.
Eventually he muttered, ‘I will find someone. I’ll find someone who will love me and we’ll be happy. And you’ll see, I won’t be alone, like you. I’ll make something of myself. I’ll have my little family.’ Before he even managed to finish the sentence, he was weeping.
AN EMPTY HOUSE NO MORE
Bob had hated going home to an empty house. His kid, his wife - both gone. He found the silence within those once welcoming warms almost deafening. Even turning the television on and cranking up the volume didn’t help bring any peace or give him any sense of ease. The strange thing was, though, for a while he’d almost wanted to be single. The constant arguments with his wife, the kid who refused to do what he was told... he thought it would be better to be alone. Now they were gone though, he wanted them back.
He sat on the bed he had once shared with her and put his head in his hands. Thoughts of his wife and child, and the final words his father had said all plagued him. Were they even alive still? He wasn’t allowed to try and contact them, after what he had done to her when she’d told him she was leaving. The restraining order meant he had to keep his distance, but were they still alive? Knowing the world has gone to hell, he wondered if the restraining order still stood? If the phones started to work again - dead since the black out - should he try her number? And what if they were okay and they wanted to come home? Better to be with him then alone with them. What would he do with Andria?
‘Why are you doing this to yourself?’ He shook his head. ‘She isn’t coming back. She isn’t even alive. They’re all dead.’ He paused a moment to let the thought sink into his head. ‘They’re dead but she isn’t.’ He stood up and walked down the hallway to the bedroom. She was his future now, she just didn’t know it yet. Or rather, she hadn’t accepted it. We’ll see, he thought. One way or another, he’d make her understand. He wanted to go back and talk to her about her options, or lack of, and make it clear that living with him really was her best option. He would treat her like a princess and keep her safe. He would do anything for her. She just needed to love him. It wasn’t much to ask.