I hated that I’d lacked the courage to leave my aunt’s sooner.
I hated that she’d stopped me every time I’d tried to leave.
I hated knowing she’d clearly not been looking for other survivors all this time, for whatever reason.
I hated my mother for leaving me. I hated Andrew. I hated the apocalypse.
The anger and resentment bubbled away inside me until I let out an ear-shattering scream at the sea. I picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it furiously into the water. Finding some other bits of flotsam, I did the same until the muscles in my arm began to pinch. It made me feel slightly better and distracted me long enough for my wraith to dissipate to a level where it was safe to be around another human again.
Of course, that human had been watching me the whole time. In the distance, I saw him, leaning against a tree on the edge of the beach, arms and legs crossed casually.
He was still afraid I’d disappear.
I started to walk back to him but quickened my pace until I broke into a run. As soon as I reached him, I jumped up and wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing him in short, urgent bursts.
“It’s okay if it’s just us,” I said, stroking his face.
He looked at me. “Yes, it is. But, you’re right.”
“Am I?”
He exhaled deeply and kissed my forehead. “We need to know. We need to do this.”
“What if we don’t find anyone?”
“Then, we don’t.”
Despite the determined expression on his face, I still felt unsure. “But—”
He touched his finger to my lips. “You are the only thing I need. As long as I have you, nothing else matters.”
More than anything, I hoped that was true.
****
Before…
Three months had passed since the outbreak.
The power had been off now for several days, leaving us nothing to listen to for information other than a battery-powered radio which only picked up two stations—the emergency broadcast frequency and some foreign station that played jazz music on a loop.
I’d always loathed jazz music; this really was hell on Earth.
Rebecca had taken to going to bed early with the assistance of sleeping pills and diazepam for her anxiety, wiping her out for twelve hours straight, sometimes longer.
I envied her ability to slumber her way through the end of the world because I hardly slept.
Morning saw me get up early to boil some water on the camping stove for my breakfast sachet of artificially flavored porridge. Hovering close to it, I warmed my hands on the fire.
We’d been blessed with a mild winter so far, although early mornings still brought a bitter frost. The cottage had an open fire, but we only lit it when absolutely necessary, so we wouldn’t use too much of the wood we’d chopped and stockpiled.
I’d just finished stirring the dry porridge flakes into the pot when I heard a car pull up outside the front. The sound of an unfamiliar engine surprised me. I.D.R.I.S had warned people to stay home and to avoid the major roads as they were gridlocked or closed. The army now manned roadblocks on every motorway in an effort to slow the spread of the virus, checking the passengers of each vehicle for signs of illness before being allowed through the barriers.
Not many people made it past. Instead, they were escorted off to make-shift roadside hospitals. Some people refused and quickly had their keys confiscated—often by force—while their vehicles got towed to the nearest embankment. A few desperate souls had tried their luck on the hard shoulder, building up speed to ram the barriers. It never ended well. Either their tires got shot out, or the driver’s brains were blown out over the dashboard, depending on how close they got to the barricade.
The media was fairly critical of these incidents, imploring the prime minister to take back control of the army from I.D.R.I.S, but it never happened. They were the ones in charge now, and they took no prisoners.
Curious, I turned off the stove and went out the side door, making my way down the iced-over path leading out to our driveway.
The sight of Andrew’s car in front of our garage instantly rendered me paralyzed, sending a cold sweat over my body.
How dare he come here! Why would he come here?
As he squared up on the driveway, his fingers lifted from the steering wheel in a gesture of acknowledgment when he saw me watching.
I steadied myself and tried to think calmly. Should I run back inside and lock all the doors? Or would he smash his way inside anyway? Calling the police wasn’t an option either because no one would come. Shit. What the hell did he want?
“I just want to talk,” Andrew said as he flicked the engine off and got out the car.
He didn’t look too good. His skin was white and gleaming with perspiration, his voice gruff when he spoke. “Please, Halley. I’m sick.”
I swallowed hard. “How did you get past the roadblocks?”
He shrugged. “The army left. It’s pointless. Everyone’s sick. We just have to be with the people we love now.”
I glared at him. It was almost funny. “Why the hell did you come here then?”
Andrew gave me a pleading look. “I was devastated when you left. You’re the only family I have, Halley.”
A laugh left my lips. “I am not your family. You need to go.”
He sighed. “Go where?”
“I don’t care!” I spat.
“Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”
“Go away, Andrew. You aren’t welcome here.”
His expression turned indignant. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”
“Yes,” I said hotly, anger matching my fear. “This is exactly what you deserve.”
He shook his head solemnly and started toward me with his hand out. “Please.”
As he edged closer, panic set in, and it was enough to get my body moving again. I quickly bolted past him and down the lane, away from the cottage. With Andrew, the only thing I’d ever been able to do was run away.
Once I made it to the crossroads leading to the main road, I stopped to catch my breath, my eyes searching for somewhere to hide. When I heard his car approaching, I started sprinting again, as fast as I could.
Of course, he quickly caught up, his car screeching to a halt just meters in front of me.
“Halley, love. Please,” he pleaded again as he slid from the driver’s seat. “I don’t want to be alone. I’m sick.”
For a second, one tiny second, I felt bad for him. But then, I remembered. My mind went back to that day in the car when he…
“Then hurry up and die!” I cried.
“Don’t be like this! I—” he whimpered, but a coughing fit stopped him from saying anything else.
A large splatter of blood quickly formed on his shirt, and he began to wheeze. He bent over with his hands on his knees and retched until a dark red, clotted mass spilled out of his mouth and showered down onto the asphalt.
I recoiled, horrified.
He managed to stand upright again and stumble toward me, gargling each time he sucked in a breath of air.
“Please,” he begged. “Help me!”
He unexpectedly lunged forward to grab my hand before his knees buckled and he fell face down on the ground with a heavy thud. I quickly yanked my hand from his sweaty, bloody grasp, and then backed away until the hedgerow swallowed me up.
I knew Andrew was dead when a thick pool of blood mushroomed out from his head and spread out across the road. A few streams of crimson oozed over to where I stood, stopping only inches from my trainers.
Still, I waited to see if he got up again. For a long while, all I could do was stand immobile, shivering as the blood puddle frosted over.
Eventually, when the cold wind was too much to bear any longer, I turned and hurried back to the cottage.
My aunt was up and making her breakfast in the kitchen when I returned.
“What have you done to yourself?” she asked, motioni
ng to my hand.
I looked down to see Andrew’s blood on my skin. “I…slipped,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice even despite the tightness in my chest.
I quickly went into the bathroom and poured bleach over my hand, scrubbing off the dried blood with a nail brush until my skin stung. After tipping a pitcher of cold water over my arm, I examined my flesh closely for any traces of blood I might’ve missed.
“Be more careful,” Rebecca said when I reappeared.
I nodded. “I might go back to bed for a bit.”
“Still not sleeping?”
“No,” I replied and headed to my bedroom.
I wasn’t feeling well. Perhaps it was just the shock of coming face to face with Andrew and then watching him suffer a horrible death. But, a few hours later, my skin dripped in sweat, and a painful ache gnawed at my bones. When my ribcage burned with every breath I took, I began to cry, knowing I’d finally caught the virus. And from Andrew of all people.
Because of him, in less than twelve hours, I’d be dead.
Chapter Eleven
After…
London. We’d go to London.
Nate spent a few days plotting our course on his map and marking places to avoid. He said there were bad things he didn’t want me to see, although he never disclosed what those things were. I told him he couldn’t possibly shelter me from it all. Besides, he’d no idea what to expect the closer to London we got as he’d never managed to travel that far.
I guessed he would rather not see those things either.
London was almost two-hundred-and-fifty kilometers from ‘Siren Bay,’ and Nate estimated we’d cover around thirty kilometers a day. By the time we left, it’d be September, a little cooler than the last few months, making the heat less of a problem. Even now, when the sun went down, a slight chill hung in the air, and I found myself reaching for one of Nate’s hoodies when we took our evening walks.
We’d both have to carry full rucksacks now, which would slow us down, but he suggested that we loot bicycles from somewhere if it became an issue. Unfortunately, the more southeast we went, the more uphill everything would become, making bikes of limited use.
I’d begun to think this journey was a bad idea, but Nate actually developed some enthusiasm for the trip, whereas my keenness had wavered. The thought of walking so far made me feel lethargic just thinking about it. I wasn’t sleeping very well either, one thing or another kept me awake at night—I worried about Rebecca, but I worried even more about Nate’s state of mind. How would seeing all that death again affect him?
Last night, I’d tossed and turned well into the early hours of the morning until my anxiety became so unbearable that I threw up repeatedly, leaving me with a perpetual headache that wouldn’t dissipate. Somehow, I’d have to find a way to put my anxieties aside before I drove myself mad.
We packed everything we’d feasibly need, keeping food provisions to a minimum. Nate didn’t seem to think there’d be too much of a problem finding something to eat each day—if we couldn’t loot something, he’d catch us a fish or a rabbit for dinner. He approached each potential problem with a cool, logical head, offering reassurance whenever I looked apprehensive. I guessed it was the doctor in him.
“We’ll go to London,” he’d said, with a grin. “At the very least, we’ll do a little sightseeing. Then we’ll head to Rebecca’s.”
Sure, why not? I’d always wanted to see the houses of parliament.
The evening before we were due to depart, I sat on the veranda, on a blanket, and watched the sun go down, taking mental photographs as though I was never going to see this place again—which was ridiculous—but, I still couldn’t shake the unease off.
I was grateful when Nate came outside with a bottle of expensive-looking champagne and sat down beside me. He popped the cork and then poured us a large glass each. A rush of bubbles tickled the back of my throat as I took a sip. I wasn’t a massive fan of champagne but figured it might help me relax enough to get some sleep.
“I don’t want to go.”
He gave me a dimpled grin. “Yes, you do.”
“I do, and I don’t.”
He laughed. “We’ll be back soon enough, and then we’ll have winter to look forward to. Trust me, it can get a little bleak here when it’s cold—not so picturesque. It’s not the paradise you think it is.”
“I didn’t come here for the scenery,” I said, giving him a wink.
He threw his head back. “What can I say to that? I hope you give me a favorable review online.”
“Four and a half gold stars,” I chuckled.
He frowned. “Why not five? I’ve kept up with your sexual demands, haven’t I?”
I almost spat out my champagne. “My demands?”
He licked his lips and smirked. “I blame myself entirely. I’ve created a monster.”
“Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes, and he kissed me before I could throw any more sarcastic comments his way. Minutes later, we were making love on the veranda.
This time it felt different. Perhaps because we were leaving tomorrow, and it’d be a while before we could do this again here. I’d really miss this place, but as long as Nate and I were together, we’d be okay. He was my home. Being with him reminded me that the world wasn’t all bad and we could still be happy, despite everything.
As though he savored every second, Nate moved his body in a way that felt like he was tempting me, drawing out each movement to the very edge and then gradually, deeply, bringing us together again. When it became impossible to hold back any longer, I moaned and held onto him as tightly as I could. Flushed and breathless, we fell away from each other.
“Nicely done,” I said.
He rolled over onto his side to face me and propped his head up with his hand. “Now do I get five stars?”
I glowered at him in mock indignation. “Fine.”
****
Reluctantly, we left the cabin behind.
A fine drizzle had begun to fall from an ominous gray sky just as Nate turned off the electricity and locked up. I dragged my feet a little as we walked through the wood, past the other caravans, but Nate took my hand and squeezed it in the reassuring way that he often did.
Feeling more positive, I put it down to Nate’s mood, which remained upbeat despite my misgivings. Maybe he did need to do this as much as I did.
“I would like to know what happened to them,” Nate said.
“What?” Lost in contemplation, I’d not heard much of the conversation.
“The other people who survived the virus,” he repeated, “I’d like to know what happened to them.”
“Didn’t you say there was a survivor at your hospital?” I asked.
Nate nodded. “Yeh. A woman. Right at the beginning, when we were still allowed to treat the infected.”
The Infected. Sounded very much like a zombie horror to me, only there were no ravenous, brain-eating monsters in this B-movie. Thank Christ.
Once the hospitals had become over-run with the infected, they’d been forced to shut their doors while they dealt with their current patients—or rather, while they moved the corpses taking up bed space. Nate had previously explained to me that once the virus was discovered to be airborne, I.D.R.I.S had stepped in and ordered the hospitals to deny admittance to anyone with the virus. Despite the extra precautions though, most of the medical staff got sick soon after, Nate included.
“An ambulance brought her and her kids in—three boys, all under five years old,” he continued. “She was the only one that pulled through. I had to tell her.”
“Bloody hell,” was all I could respond with.
Occasionally, Nate would come out with something truly harrowing. He really had seen the worst of it. Although, as a doctor, it probably wasn’t the first time he’d been the bearer of awful news or witnessed terrible tragedy. Maybe it was the very reason he’d been able to remain strong for so long.
“What happened to her?” I asked.
> “I.D.R.I.S moved her to an army hospital somewhere. I fought them on it though. She was too weak to be transported anywhere. They took her anyway.”
A chill traveled up my spine. “That seems wrong.”
“They were desperate to find out how to stop the virus,” Nate said, “But, yes, it seemed strange to me, her being spirited away like that. I tried to find out how she was doing, being my patient and all, but they wouldn’t tell me anything.”
I frowned. “But, if she survived, where is she?”
His tone was ominous. “Exactly.”
What had been done with—and to—the survivors? What lengths had I.D.R.I.S gone to for a cure? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
As we started up the slope leading to the cliff top, Nate shifted his backpack into a more comfortable position, the perspiration already forming on his forehead from carrying the heaviest bag.
“I heard rumors, you know,” he continued.
I cocked my head. “Rumors?”
“The hospital coordinator was a friend of mine. I dated his sister in college, and sometimes we’d all meet up for drinks after work. Brett Franklin, his name was.” Nate smirked as if he remembered something pleasant for a change. “Couldn’t hold his drink.”
“Anyway, it was his job to liaise with I.D.R.I.S. We had to send all our test results and blood samples off to them. As things got worse, we were all exhausted from working round the clock. One night, I found him in his office with a bottle of vodka; he was wasted. I tried to sober him up with some coffee, but then he started ranting. He said I.D.R.I.S had a cure but weren’t going to use it. I thought it was bull at the time—the drunken ramblings of a man stressed to his limits. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.”
I stopped abruptly, my mouth agape. “If they had a cure, why wouldn’t they use it?”
“That’s exactly what I asked him. Apparently, he’d overheard a conversation between one of the army commanders stationed at the hospital and an I.D.R.I.S rep. The commander was questioning why ‘certain plans’ had been delayed.”
“What plans?”
“Brett seemed to think I.D.R.I.S intended to infect the population with a survivable strain of the virus. He surmised that the virus had mutated in survivors, and infecting people with this strain was the only way to save them.”
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