by Matt Shaw
“Get the fuck on the bus!” a soldier barked an order from over my shoulder. I turned. He wasn’t talking to me. They were loading the bus with the men and women (mostly men) who were being sent back as punishment for either trying to escape from the camp, to start an illegal life in America, or for causing trouble. Whilst they didn’t want to stay in camp, they didn’t want to go home to slowly die of radiation poisoning either, or starvation - which ever came first. As a result, guns were pointed at them; the threat of being shot on the spot if they tried anything to get away.
All this time, I was the only one who was going back voluntarily and - even then - I had to fight for the placement on the bus. It was my life yet it seemed others felt they had more say in what I did with it by trying to get me to stay here and just ignore the fact I had a wife and child back in England, potentially only there because they were waiting for me. I can’t live the rest of my life wondering what happened to them. David - he might not have liked how he was pulled from England, at least he had closure.
A tap on my shoulder and a voice in my ear, “You too, we’re leaving.”
“Okay.”
David pulled me in for a hug. We stood there for a moment, locked in a brotherly embrace, knowing that this was quite possibly the last time we would ever see each other again. Tears were inevitable.
“You find them, yeah? You don’t stop until you find them.”
“I won’t.”
I pulled away from him.
“And you take it easy,” I told him. “She would want you to move on and be happy. Doesn’t mean you have to forget. Just… Don’t waste your life living with the past. Move on and be happy. When you’re ready to.”
“What if you can’t find her?” David asked the one question that I had been trying to ignore. The truth was, I didn’t know what would happen if I couldn’t find her. I guess, I’d keep going until I did or until I died. Like I said, I was trying to ignore the question. Don’t waste time or stresses worrying about it. Just get out there and see what’s what.
I answered David with a shrug.
“And you have to go?”
“You know I do.” I sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to. I wish she had shown up on one of the boats. If she had, she might have still left me but… Least I would have known she was okay. And even so, it’s not just her is it. My son probably doesn’t even remember me and that hurts.”
He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.
“We really need to hit the road,” the soldier pushed me.
“Just one fucking minute,” I snapped. I tried to calm myself down. “I’m sorry. Just… Just one minute, yeah?”
Thankfully the soldier realised the stress I was under. He had been dealing with me for a while now so knew my whole story. He was understanding. I’m guessing a family man himself. He stepped away, giving David and me some privacy.
“Can you do me a favour?” David asked, making the most of the last minute.
“If I can.”
“Bury her for me.” He was talking about Helen. “She deserves a proper burial. She deserves that much at least. Please. You want me to move on… She needs to be…”
I stopped him, “Okay. I’ll do it.”
David smiled. It was a genuine emotion. The first smile - proper smile - that I’d seen from him for years, “Be safe, yeah?”
I nodded, “You too.”
Another quick hug, exchanging mutual pats on the back, and I had to board the bus.
As the bus pulled away from the camp, I couldn’t take my eyes off my brother. He just stood there, in a small opening, watching as I disappeared from his life forever. I wiped my wet eyes with the back of my hands. He’ll be okay. I know he will be. He’ll move on, he’ll meet someone else, he’ll start a family. He’ll get his happy ever after. That’s my wish anyway. At least leaving him here… At least I know he is safe which is more than could be said for my own family. We turned a corner and - just like that - he was gone.
I’m coming home, honey.
“So - what? Got a death wish or something?” a bald guy sitting a few seats away was staring at me. There was a look of hatred in his eyes. I’m not sure if it was aimed at me or the situation he found himself in; being deported back to a slow and potentially agonising death. I didn’t answer him, turning my attention back out of the window instead. “What? You too good to talk to me?”
“Shut up back there!” one of the guards at the front of the bus called back.
“Fuck you!” the man spat back. He turned back to me, “You and them might be close but they ain’t coming with us and when we’re back in England - all in the same boat, fucker. We’re just the same.”
“I said shut up!”
The bald man laughed and looked forward, glaring at the soldier who was now looking right back at him. Again, I didn’t say anything. I just kept myself to myself. We had a long journey ahead of us and the last thing I needed to do was make enemies. Especially when - at the end of the day - the bald guy was right; we will be the same when we get back to England. He will no longer be being controlled by men with guns and I will no longer have them watching out for me. If I piss him off now, he’ll remember when we get to dry land in England and, possibly, he’ll turn on me. Shame to get that far just to get in a scrap as soon as we land. Won’t help with my end goals.
I I
Standing at the back of the boat watching the American coastline gradually getting smaller on the horizon. No turning back now, even if I wanted to. To be honest, standing here now knowing I have to see the decision through, I’m not sure how I feel about that.
The deck was quiet with just some gulls calling out, flying around the ship hoping for scraps of food to snatch up. The others from the camp aren’t allowed up here. Soldiers’ orders. They’re worried they might try and jump overboard and swim back for shore. I’m sure, when we’re far enough away, they’ll be permitted up here but - until then - they’re locked up like animals. Hard to feel sorry for them when they brought this onto themselves by playing up and causing issues.
I’m not sure why these boats keep going backwards and forwards to England. I’m not sure what they’re trying to achieve with their clean-up duties. I haven’t even bothered asking anyway as I know the answer already.
Classified.
I’m just thankful they’re letting me hitch a lift.
“Luke?” a female voice called from behind me. I turned to see a lady in a high-vis jacket approaching with a tatty rucksack in hand. “This arrived for you on one of the later buses.” She held the bag up.
“For me?”
She nodded, “Yes. From someone called David?”
I smiled as I took the bag from the woman. A leaving present from my brother.
“It’s heavy,” I said, surprised at the weight.
“Apparently he said he forgot to give it to you. Lucky there was another bus run to do.”
“Thank you.”
The woman didn’t wait to see what was in the bag. She about turned and headed back to her station. I knelt down on the deck and prepared to open the bag. God knows where he had found it but it had definitely seen better days. Pulling the zip open, I noticed the bag was filled with protein bars and bottles of water. No wonder it was so heavy. Where the hell had he got all of this from? At the camp - rations were strictly monitored.
Something else in the bottom of the bag caught my eye. I reached in and pulled out an envelope resting on a teddy bear. The envelope first; sealed and made out to Helen, his wife. I put it back into the bag. It wasn’t meant for me. I pulled out the bear; a yellow post-it note attached to it - Hope he likes it. I couldn’t help it; there, in the middle of the deck, I broke down in tears once more. Seconds later and I was vomiting.
I’ve never felt so torn in all my life. I’m walking away from someone who loves me, and whom I love, to try and find a child who won’t remember me and a wife who admitted to not loving me anymore. It was impossible to know whether
this was the right thing to do. If it wasn’t - there was no chance to turn back. I’d have to live with the decision I’d made.
Please let this be the right thing to do. Please God.
T O D A Y
Chapter Ten
I was parked up against the pavement staring at the building opposite me. That nervous stirring in my stomach was there again making me feel the need to vomit. The car’s engine was running. I didn’t have to stop here. I could just go. I could drive on to my house. I didn’t need to do this. It’s not as though David would ever know.
The funeral home looked untouched. A small business in a line of shops. A newsagent with a smashed window, an estate agent, the funeral home and a charity shop. The only two buildings that had been left untouched were the charity shop and the funeral home. One from respect and one because I guess there isn’t a need for second-hand when you can just steal new stuff from the shops. As for the estate agent’s - well I’m guessing someone was maybe looking for house-keys to their dream property? I don’t know. That’s weird, that one. Unless of course it was smashed just for the sake of it?
Stop putting it off. Quit stalling.
I opened the car door. The fresh air hit me. Been driving now for four hours straight. Nice to get out and stretch my legs - which is exactly what I did. I laughed at my first thought.
Fresh air.
Nothing fresh about the air; the invisible killer.
I leaned back into the car and reached for the rucksack. I pulled it out and put it on top of the car before rooting in it only stopping when I laid hands on the white envelope with Helen’s name scribbled across in David’s handwriting. The envelope is tatty but it’s still sealed. David’s words, still private. I slid it into my back pocket and tossed the bag back into the car - ensuring it landed safely on the passenger seat.
I stood there a moment listening to the surroundings. The beautiful silence again. The sun is back up in the sky, shining bright. No clouds. Funny that - how one minute there could be clear skies such as this and then - out of nowhere - heavy sheets of grey threatening a downpour. That’s why it is important to enjoy these moments; a blissful warmth stealing into my bones
You can’t care about the weather. You’re stalling.
The funeral home’s window display - a mock-up headstone with some flowers - looked faded from years of the sun beating down on it. Moss was growing up the side, covering the brickwork. A thick layer of dust on the window. It looked more depressing now than when it had been open, offering services to the families of the recently deceased. I guess what made it worse was knowing what laid waiting for me on the other side.
I slammed the car door shut. Not even an echo as metal slammed against metal. Weird. A life-time’s conditioning of checking for traffic, I looked both ways before crossing the road, nervously, towards the shop entrance. In my mind, rather morbidly I hasten to add, I was already starting to imagine how Helen might appear. And the smell. God.
I’m not prepared for this. I can’t do this.
I stopped by the entrance and reached for the handle - hand outstretched. My damned hand is shaking like a leaf. I clenched it into a fist and tried to squeeze the shakes from it. Stretched it out, clenched it tight. Stretched it out, clenched it tight. Stretched it out… Still shaking. I shook it up and down hoping that would sort it. I need to pull myself together. I need to sort this out. I made a promise to my brother that I would do this for him. It’s not fair to say yes and then not do it. Not when he counted on me. Not after he had managed to get me that rucksack somehow.
I sucked in the gut and tried the handle. Of course it was locked.
Another look over both shoulders to check no one was watching. It wouldn’t be the first window I had smashed in order to gain illegal entry into somewhere and I knew there were no police around ensuring crimes like this didn’t happen and yet - I could never not check. I guess there’s a guilt associated with it that my mind struggles to dismiss.
All clear.
I walked down to the newsagent on the corner and stepped in through the broken door. The fact it was broken suggested that there wouldn’t be much left in there for me to take as supplies but that wasn’t what I was after. I was looking for something else; a piece of the shop’s racking, or something like that. Something heavy to put through the window of the funeral home. God forgive me.
Heavy dust in the air of the shop. I couldn’t help but to cough. The place smells stale. I’m guessing it’s from where the elements have been getting in through the smashed window; puddles on the floor confirming the weather’s damaging presence over the years. It gets inside and rots everything from the inside out. I’ve seen many a building like this through my travels. They rot from the inside, the damp gets into the walls and - eventually - the ceilings cave in on themselves. Then it is game over for the building. No saving it then as weather continues it’s assault, giving the vegetation more ways to creep in, ripping the walls apart in the process. It’s scary how fast it happens.
Just as I had suspected - most things had been taken. I wonder whether it’s been ransacked by people sent back from the USA or whether it’s people like Morgan and Elise, trying to eke out their lives living in this mess.
Cleaning products line some aisles (guess they’re not in demand now there’s no power), newspapers are strewn across the floor with pages and pages of magazines mixed in with them but that’s about it. Sweets, drinks, batteries, cigarettes - everything like that has gone.
I walked to a large display unit and tugged on the shelf, pulling it clean from the unit it had been placed upon. It’s not especially heavy but it should do the trick. I carried it from shop to storefront. Another look over both shoulders.
Why?
It’s getting heavy now. Funny how it had started off light. Definitely getting heavier.
I heaved it through the funeral home’s window bringing down a rain of glass shards of all shapes and sizes, crashing down onto the floor - both inside and outside of the shop. Instantly I was hit by the foul stench. Oh God.
Helen.
Carefully, I stepped over shards of broken glass and entered the property. There’s always something creepy about going into buildings already. I think it’s the whole ‘life left behind’ kind of thing where you find yourself wondering if the occupants are still alive or whether they’re dead now. A glimpse as to how their lives had been before it was snatched away from them. Private moments and memories that you have no right in seeing. It’s even creepier when you know for certain there’s going to be a dead body in there.
To date, with all the buildings I’ve explored whilst looking for rations, I haven’t seen a dead body. I’ve seen fresh corpses - the end result of a mugging or general disagreement gone wrong. When they’re fresh, they’re not as bad. They just look pale. This time, though, I know it’s going to be different. I know they’ll be rotten.
I can smell they’re rotten.
And what makes it even worse - if it needed to be worse - is that it is someone I used to care about. Someone I still remember as living and breathing. Even the sound of her voice I remember, the last time we’d spoken was fuelled by alcohol and laughs – I don’t remember what we had all been celebrating just the sound of the laughter. Now I get to see that person as nothing more than a shell and it’s already haunting me before I’ve seen it.
It? Her. Before I have seen her.
I gagged at the smell. Festering flesh left to rot and peel away from bone? Or was it just the stink of a rotting building? I’m sure the flesh would have rotted off long before now so the smell is probably… Jesus. What am I saying? God only knows what she looks like. I wish I didn’t have to see. I wish David had never asked me to do this. I wouldn’t have come here of my own free-will. The place - outside - is like a cemetery anyway it’s so cold and dead, why can’t this be her final resting place?
Stop being an asshole. You promised your brother.
I covered my nose and mouth with my han
d. Unsure of whether it would be her or the building, I didn’t care to breathe any of it in. It didn’t get rid of the smell completely but it was better than breathing it all in, directly down into the lungs. Another bout of coughing and gagging, trying not to vomit, as I walked through the main foyer out towards the back and then - I froze.
In front of me - in the middle of the room, there’s a casket. Thankfully it is closed. A fancy looking coffin that must have cost David a pretty penny. I know it’s Helen in there because, to the side of the coffin - next to a row of seats, there’s a picture of Helen mounted on a large board. She’s smiling in the photograph - tastefully black and white - and staring directly at me. I couldn’t help but smile back at the picture. She would have loved this. Definitely had a dark sense of humour, that one.
Seeing her picture there - smiling at me - made me realise how much I miss her. All this time thinking about my own family, even David, and I had barely given her a thought. She’s smiling at me - eyes fixed upon mine. I feel like an asshole.
“I’m sorry.”
I sat down on one of the seats near the board. I know what needs to be done; the coffin needs to be opened, her body needs to… I stopped. I’m just going to sit here a minute. I’m just going to gather my thoughts and mentally prepare myself for this. What am I talking about? I can’t do this? I can’t open that fucking coffin.