The Human Condition a-4

by David Moody

  The Human Condition

  ( Autumn - 4 )

  David Moody

  The human race is finished. Mankind is all but dead and only a handful of frightened individuals remain. Experience the end of the world from thirty-five different perspectives. These people have survived through chance, not skill, and they are a desperate bunch; cheating lovers, work-shy civil servants, permanently drunk publicans, teenage rebels, obsessive accountants, failed husbands, first-time cross-dressers, disrobed priests and more. Part-companion, part-guide book and part-sequel, AUTUMN: THE HUMAN CONDITION follows the individual stories of these desperate survivors through the early days of the nightmare and beyond. The final book in the AUTUMN series.

  AUTUMN: THE HUMAN CONDITION

  DAVID MOODY

  BEFORE JAKE HUMPHRIES

  Eight months ago Jake Humphries and his family immigrated to Canada from the United Kingdom. A regional manager for a global finance house, Jake agreed to move his family overseas for a well paid two year posting. His wife Lucy and their two children settled quickly into their new surroundings. The people who found it hardest to adjust were those they left behind. Polly Humphries � Jake's well-meaning but highly strung and over-sensitive mother � still finds the distance between her and her son difficult to deal with. Mrs Humphries and her husband made their first visit to Canada several weeks ago. The trip did nothing to reassure the old lady. If anything it has made her more neurotic. Jake has grown to dread the weekly telephone calls from the UK. His mother usually phones on Saturdays. It is now the early hours of Tuesday morning.

  `Jake? Jake, is that you?'

  `Mum? Bloody hell, Mum, do you know what time it is?'

  `Are you okay, son?'

  `Apart from being tired because it's gone midnight and I'd only just managed to get to sleep I'm fine. We're all fine. Why shouldn't we be?'

  `Haven't you heard?'

  `Heard what? Christ, Mum, it's the middle of the bloody night. I haven't heard anything.'

  `There's no need for the language, Jake, we were just worried about you, that's all.'

  `Why?'

  `Are you far from Vancouver ?'

  `It's on the other side of the country. It's thousands of kilometres away, why?'

  `Because something's happened there.'

  `What do you mean? What's happened?'

  `I don't know. I don't think anyone knows. Your dad and I saw it on the news and...'

  `Look, Mum, I'm really tired. You're not making any sense at all...'

  `I'm sorry, love. It's just that you're all so far away from us here and we worry about you.'

  `I know, I know... Anyway, what time is it there?'

  `Just after seven.'

  `What are you doing up so early?'

  `Your dad couldn't sleep. You know what he's like, once he's awake that's it. And once he's up and about I can't relax. He woke me up with his shuffling and his moaning so we both got up and came downstairs. We were watching the news and...'

  `And what exactly is it that's supposed to have happened in Vancouver ?'

  `They're not sure. No-one's saying very much. No-one seems to know very much yet.'

  `So you've woken me up to tell me that no-one knows very much about what's happening in Vancouver ? Come on, Mum, I've got an important meeting first thing tomorrow and I can't afford to...'

  `No. Listen, son, something's happened there but they don't...'

  `Well give me a clue then. Has there been an accident or a bomb or...?'

  `I don't know. I heard something about a bomb but they've stopped talking about that now.'

  `So why have you phoned me in the middle of the night? This isn't little old England , Mum. This place is bloody huge. Just because something's happening in the same country doesn't mean it's going to affect...'

  `I'm phoning you because they've lost contact with the city, and all the places surrounding it.'

  `What? What do you mean, they've lost contact with it? Vancouver is a massive city for Christ's sake. There are thousands and thousands of people there. Millions. You can't lose contact with millions of people just like that...'

  `I know...'

  `You can't lose contact with a whole bloody city, Mum.'

  `I know, but they have.'

  `What channel are you watching? Are you sure it's genuine? Are you sure it's not just a film or one of those drama-documentaries about...'

  `Jake, your father and I may be getting on but we're not stupid. I know what I'm watching. It's the news and it's real. We're sitting in front of the television right now. Your father's next to me. I'm only telling you what we've heard, and I'm only telling you because we're concerned about you, Lucy and the boys.'

  `So tell me again exactly what it is they're saying.'

  `Your dad says put your TV on, son. You're bound to have some news where you are. You're much closer than we are.'

  `Okay, give me a second.'

  `What can you see?'

  `Hold on, that's strange.'

  `What's strange?'

  `Can't get a picture on some of the channels. Cable must be down. Sometimes this happens when...' `What about the radio? Try your computer. Try the Internet.'

  `Hang on, here's something.'

  `What are they saying?'

  `Christ, it's just like you said, they've lost contact with the area around... Hold on, you said Vancouver, didn't you Mum?'

  `Yes son, why?'

  `Because the station I'm watching here is talking about Winnipeg. That's miles away. And Seattle, and Portland. They're talking about a massive part of the country. Bloody hell, what's going on here...?'

  `Are they saying anything about what's happened, Jake? Do they know why...?'

  `Christ, Mum, they've put a map up. It looks like it's spreading out from the west. It looks like...'

  `Where are Lucy and the boys?'

  `Lucy's here in bed with me, the boys are asleep...'

  `You should lock your doors. Don't answer the door if anyone comes. Wait until we know what's...'

  `What's the point of locking the door? Mum, this isn't anything to do with...'

  `Jake...? Jake, are you still there? What's the matter, son?'

  `Nothing. Thought I heard something, that's all.'

  `What?'

  `Thought I could hear...'

  `Jake...? What's happening, son?'

  `Sorry, Mum, I'm going to put the phone down. Look, I'll call you back as soon as I...'

  `What's wrong?'

  `Something's happening on the other side of the river. There's a fire. It looks like something's gone into the front of one of the buildings on the waterfront by the... Don't know what's going on. I can't see much from here... Hang on a second and I'll try and... Shit, that's all I need, the kids are awake now. Bloody hell. Lucy, could you go and...? Lucy...? Honey, what's wrong?'

  `What's the matter, son?'

  `Lucy? Don't struggle, honey, lie back and I'll get you a...'

  `Jake? Jake... are you still there?'

  Over five thousand miles away, Mrs Humphries listened helplessly to the muffled sounds of her son, her daughter-in-law and her two grandsons choking to death. Within hours both Mrs Humphries and her husband were dead too.

  DAY ONE

  AMY STEADMAN Part i

  Amy Steadman is a twenty-four year old graduate who is the manager of the lingerie department in an exclusive women's fashion boutique located in a busy out-of-town shopping mall. She lives on her own in the town of Rowley in a small one bedroom flat above an antiques shop on a narrow road just off the main high street.

  It's five-thirty in the morning. Amy's alarm has gone off, and she's just dragged herself out of bed.

  This morning Amy ha
s to make her quarterly sales presentation to the company's senior management team. She dreads these presentations. She doesn't have a problem with standing up and talking to these self-important, vacuous, grey-suited people, she just doesn't feel comfortable with the way they stare back at her. They are smarmy, lecherous old men and she can feel them undressing her with their eyes. She hates the way they don't listen to anything she says, instead they just watch her. She knows that they fantasise about her. She finds their unwanted interest and their cheap, double-entendre laden conversation offensive and unnecessary but she puts up with it. It's all part of the job.

  In Amy's line of business appearance is absolutely everything. She walks the shop floor as a representative of the store and the numerous expensive labels it stocks. She knows that she must be perfectly coiffured and immaculately presented at all times. Customers directly associate her with the products she sells. The better she looks, she often thinks, the more chance she has of making a sale.

  After a quick breakfast (she doesn't feel like eating much this morning) and a lukewarm shower (she needs to get a plumber in), Amy dries her hair and sits down in front of the mirror to apply her make-up. An exercise in precision application, the make-up is crucially important to her. Far more than just another part of her perfect appearance, it is a mask. She is painting on her work personality and her customer-facing smile. In fifteen minutes she creates a character far removed from the real Amy Steadman who sits in front of the television most nights, eating chocolate and relaxing in old jeans and baggy jumpers. More importantly, perhaps, the face becomes something she can hide behind. The senior managers who stare and leer at her see only the fixed smile, the white teeth and the flawless complexion. They are unaware of the disinterest and contempt she keeps hidden from them.

  Less than an hour after getting out of bed, Amy is dressed, psyched-up and ready to go. She leaves her flat and crawls through the early morning traffic, arriving at work in just under fifty minutes.

  It is almost eight o'clock, and the store is just opening its doors to the first customers of the day.

  `These shoes are killing me,' Lorraine moans.

  `Well what do you expect?' I sigh. Lorraine (who's had more nips, tucks, false tans and hairstyles than the rest of us put together) is a total slave to fashion. `Bloody hell, girl, those heels would be enough to cripple anyone. Christ, you're virtually walking on tiptoe!'

  `You're all right, you've got the height you lucky cow,' she snaps back at me. `Short buggers like me need all the help we can get.' She stops talking and looks over my shoulder. `Oh, hang on, stand by your posts everyone, here we go again. Here comes the slime...'

  I turn round and see that our overpaid guests from Head Office are beginning to arrive. My heart sinks.

  `Morning, Mr Jackson,' I smile through gritted teeth as the area manager makes his entrance with his entourage. What a vile and odious little shit this man is.

  `Morning, Andrea,' he grins, getting my name wrong as he does every month. `Looking more beautiful than ever!'

  `And you seem to be more of a fucking creep than ever,' is what I want to say back to him but, of course, I don't. Instead I just smile politely, force out a little laugh and then relax when Maurice Green appears at my side to take Jackson through to the back offices.

  `Excuse me, Miss,' a quiet little voice says from behind me. I turn round and look down and see an elderly man clutching a negligee, looking more than just a little bit uncomfortable. An odd choice of nightwear unless he's a transvestite or he's married to a gold-digger. I watched a programme on television a while back about women who marry decrepit and desperate men for their money. I can understand why they do it. Most of the men I've been involved with over the last couple of years haven't had any redeeming qualities other than the size of their wallets.

  `What can I do for you, Sir?' I ask, looking around for Lorraine who's suddenly disappeared as she always manages to do when customers need serving. This isn't fair. I have to get to my meeting. I haven't got time to be dealing with customers today.

  `I bought this for my wife's birthday last week and she doesn't like it,' he croaks. Judging by the age of the customer in front of me, if his wife isn't a gold-digger then she's most probably somewhere between sixty and eighty years old. Can't imagine I'll want to wear underwear like this at that age.

  `I see,' I say, taking the negligee from him and holding it up. There isn't much of it. Definitely not to be worn in the winter. `Didn't she like it? Do you want a refund or...?'

  He shakes his head.

  `No. Actually I was wondering whether you had it in any other colours,' he says as his face turns lobster pink with embarrassment. He's taken me by surprise. `She doesn't like black,' he explains, `says she'd rather have red.'

  I can't be late for the meeting so I'll have to hand the old gent over to a colleague. Typically there's no-one about. I'm about to lead him over to the customer services desk when I stop. Something's caught my eye over by the main doors. I can see Gary Bright, the area finance director. He's crouched down on all fours and he looks like he's choking or being sick. He's dropped his briefcase and it's open and there are confidential papers blowing all over the shop. I run over to try and help him. I call for Jenny Clarke who's the duty first aid officer. Christ, someone else is down now. A woman just to the left of me has collapsed against the customer service desk. Bloody hell, she looks like she's suffocating. Her face is red and her eyes are bulging. She's holding onto her neck and... Shit, Shirley Peters from sportswear is lying on the floor at the bottom of the escalator. She looks as if she's just...

  Oh my God. What's that?

  I can feel something at the back of my throat. It's like I've got something trapped. I keep trying to clear it but I can hardly swallow. Something's tickling and scratching the back and sides of my throat and I keep coughing to try and clear it away. I need to get some water. It's still there. It won't go. Stronger now. Christ, it feels like someone's got a hand round my neck. Need to get help. Jesus it hurts. It's stinging and burning. Bloody hell, I can't swallow. I can't breathe.

  Slow down.

  Oh God, I can taste blood in my mouth.

  Don't panic. Slow down. Try and breathe. Try and...

  Starved of oxygen, Amy fell back into a rail of expensive designer dresses, pulling half of the display down on top of her. She gagged and retched as blood seeped and dribbled down the inside of her inflamed throat. Unable to focus, she was momentarily aware of frantic, terrified movement all around her.

  Quickly suffocating, she clawed at her neck and then began to thrash about as the remaining oxygen in her blood stream was rapidly used up. Already numb and unresponsive, she felt no pain when her flailing arms and legs smacked against the hard marble floor and the metal display units around her.

  Her mouth and chin now covered with blood, she tried to stand but couldn't. The world became dark and the screams around her became muffled and then silent. The terrifying, claustrophobic panic which filled her mind disappeared.

  Less than a minute after becoming infected, Amy Steadman was dead. JIM HARPER

  Fucking hell, I'm in big trouble. I can't believe I've been so stupid. Christ, I'm never going to get out of this one.

  There are mistakes and there are mistakes. There are small mistakes and minor indiscretions that you can brush under the carpet and there are fucking huge mistakes that you know are going to cost you big time and haunt you for the rest of your life. This is a fucking huge mistake. It was a moment of madness. It was a really bloody stupid thing to do.

  I'm in a hotel room. It only took me a couple of seconds to get my bearings after I woke up. I'm here on a course from work. This is day two of five. The way things are going it could be my last day in the job. It's a quarter to eight and the first session of the morning starts in less than an hour. I've missed breakfast but that doesn't matter. I couldn't eat anything. I feel sick to my stomach. The problem is, this isn't my hotel room. My room is next door and I s
houldn't be here.

  I'm keeping as still as I can, lying on my side and looking out of a crack in the curtains at a dull and rainy morning outside. I'm trying to work my way back through the events of last night to try and remember everything that happened. We're here for the week � Monday morning through until lunchtime Friday. There are seventeen of us here from different outlets up and down the country. We had a formal meal last night to break the ice and to get to know everyone, then we moved into the bar. And that was where we stayed. I got talking to a couple of lads from up north, and then I ended up with two girls who work in my area. I'd met one of them before, but I didn't recognise her friend. Turns out she was Helen Hunter � the daughter of Bill Hunter, my area director and one of the hardest, most unforgiving and ruthless bastards you could ever have the misfortune to come across. My missus, Chloe, works in his office.

  And here's where things begin to get really, really complicated and unpleasant. I haven't plucked up the courage to check yet, but I'm ninety-nine percent sure that this is Helen Hunter's bed. And I'm equally certain that Helen Hunter is in it with me. Whoever it is that's lying next to me, she's just wrapped her arm around me and now she's started kissing my neck.

  Keep calm. Just try and keep calm and get things into perspective. Am I sure it's Helen? I'm having trouble remembering last night clearly. I remember sitting in the bar with the two girls, drinking heavily. I was starting to get to the stage where you really know you've had a few drinks and your body starts to try and tell you to stop. Sometimes the beer plays tricks on you � the alcohol sort of waits for a while and then creeps up and rushes you all of a sudden. I'd been fine all night but suddenly I could feel myself going and I knew I'd reached the point where having another drink would have been a mistake. I know I stopped in the bar for at least two more pints after that. One of the girls finally got up and went to bed and I remember being left there with the other. It was definitely Helen. The rest of our group were long gone and we were the only two left in the bar. We were having one of those conversations where you start discussing things you know you shouldn't be talking about. She started telling me about her relationships and then moved on to her sexual likes and dislikes (concentrating more on the likes). I started to get more and more uncomfortable and, at the same time, more and more excited. She was flirting with me (okay, I was flirting with her too) and I remember thinking that I was going to have to try and be a bit more distant in the morning because we have a whole week to get through together and I didn't want to give her the wrong impression. Problem was that by that time I'd already done more than enough.