Doomware

  He finished drying himself and hurriedly dressed. When he went through to the boy’s bedroom he was standing at his window, clearly excited by the sight of a working vehicle.

  “Look: Tarot found one!” he cried. “Can we go to the seaside now? Can we?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Can I go down and look at it?”

  “In a minute. I need to talk to Tarot first.”

  He put on a denim jacket and slipped an extendible baton, the replacement for his rolling pin, into the inside pocket. He didn’t hurry making his way downstairs.

  Outside it was gloriously sunny, without a cloud in sight. Tarot was wiping blood off the front of the vehicle with a rag like a proud new owner. On the bonnet was the name Land Rover.

  “I hit some of ‘em,” Tarot said matter-of-factly. “What do you think?”

  David nodded, hands on hips as he looked the vehicle up and down. “Where did you find it?”

  “In a lock-up somewhere; I think it was Swiss Cottage. Look.”

  Tarot went to the back of the vehicle and opened the boot. Inside were several metal cans.

  “What’re they?” asked David.

  “Fuel. And it’s already got a full tank.”

  David nodded. “A bit small, isn’t it?”

  “Small? Look at the room in this boot – it’s huge.”

  “If we had something bigger we could sleep in it. We couldn’t sleep in that.”

  Tarot closed the boot, eyeing him as he did so. “If I’d found something bigger you might’ve said it was too big, yes?”

  Damn Tarot. There was no accusing tone in his voice, but the implication was there: he was making excuses. And damn him for being right. He probably would have said a larger vehicle was too big and would end up getting stuck somewhere. Besides, they both knew they could sleep in the Land Rover if they had to.

  “Look how warm it is today,” Tarot said; “when summer comes this whole city’s gonna stink like hell.”

  “It stank last year.”

  “It’ll be worse.”

  “So what?” David knew he was being childish, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “You want to live surrounded by decomposing corpses?” asked Tarot.

  “There are decomposing corpses everywhere. It’s gonna stink everywhere. I don’t want to live like it, but that’s the way it is. You think it’s gonna be better anywhere else?”

  “The boy’s never seen the sea,” Tarot said flatly, as if it were all the reason he needed for leaving.

  “He’s got plenty of videos in his head of every sea on Earth, for God’s sake.”

  “That’s not the point. He’s never seen one with his own eyes.”

  “Well, it’s convenient for you that he’s never seen one, isn’t it?”

  Tarot stared, silenced by the sarcasm and the insinuation.

  David walked off. “I’m going to the grave,” he snapped over his shoulder.

  At the walled garden he sat on a bench by his mother’s grave, hunched forward, biting a knuckle. Birds sang and the pond’s water trickled as he wrestled with his thoughts. He felt angry with Tarot for finding the vehicle and forcing this dilemma on him, and angry with himself for taking such a cheap shot about the convenience of the boy’s inexperience with the sea. Was he wrong? Wasn’t it better to stay where they were, where he knew he could protect the boy? Or was he just afraid of the unknown? Whatever rational arguments he came up with against leaving were eclipsed by the simple fact that he just didn’t want to leave his home. And he didn’t want to give in to Tarot’s demands like some simpering spouse.

  “What should I do?” he asked the grave under his breath. “Tell me. Please.”

  A while later he heard the iron gate open, making him reach for the baton. He relaxed when he saw it was Tarot. He relaxed further still when he saw the expression on Tarot’s face. He exuded calm and understanding, and his anger towards him dissipated. He knew Tarot wouldn’t argue; neither would he force him to do something he didn’t want to do. Tarot took a seat on the bench beside him.

  “I’m just not ready to leave,” David said, his eyes lowered.

  “Okay,” said Tarot.

  CHAPTER 35

  D + 450

  David woke up and looked at the clock. It was early. He recalled having the flood dream again. He hadn’t mentioned it to the others, but it was getting to be virtually every night, completely supplanting his nightmare about the incident at the church. He rubbed his eyes, wondering what it meant. It seemed to represent a fear of becoming infected, but without a cybernetic brain such a thing was impossible. Maybe it’s transferral, he thought. Maybe it represents a fear of the boy becoming infected.

  He examined his right hand. Against Tarot’s advice, he’d cut the cast off the night before. His fingers ached dully. The scanning function of Tarot’s glasses couldn’t pick anything up, and they seemed to be working fine, so he figured they had healed without any major problems.

  It was too soon to rise, but he needed the toilet so he decided to get up anyway. Drawing back the curtains, he saw that a dense early morning mist was obscuring everything, conditions which always reminded him of the first day of the virus. His eyes sought out the Land Rover, just a nebulous outline in the grey haze. He’d been compelled to check it every morning since Tarot had found it two weeks ago, telling himself he was making sure zombies hadn’t tampered with it during the night, but part of him secretly wishing they’d torn the thing’s engine out. It looked fine as far as he could see.

  After visiting the bathroom he drew back the curtains in the living room and stood watching the windows of number 11, the neighbouring flat Tarot called home. He’d slept in his own bed last night. He wondered if he was up yet. Probably not.

  On the kitchen countertop he found a note in Tarot’s handwriting weighted down with a key he recognised as belonging to the Land Rover. The note was only six words long.

  I will come back for you.

  David stared at the note, frowning. Back from where? His mind refused to accept what the note implied. He went back to his bedroom and looked out the window again. Yes, the Land Rover was definitely there. He peeked into Shawn’s room, reassured by the sight of the boy curled up, fast asleep.

  Across the landing he found the door to Tarot’s flat open. His weapons and the lion’s share of his personal possessions were gone. He stared, unable to take it in. Tarot had left. In the middle of the night. Without telling him.

  He returned to the flat and sat down in the living room. Why would he have done such a thing? He’d thought that the decision had been made to stay – at least for now – and that was that. Tarot hadn’t so much as hinted at leaving since the day he’d found the Land Rover. And why leave without it, on foot? He would have thought it was to get at him in some way if he hadn’t believed Tarot was above such things.

  He felt confusion and a diffuse kind of anger. His mind wouldn’t focus on any one thing. He almost felt tricked. There had to be a reason why Tarot had felt the need to sneak off in the night. What was he so keen to find further south? As far as he was concerned the world had gone to shit and it was time to count your losses, not to endanger everything by wandering the country. He didn’t doubt that Tarot intended to return as the note promised, but when? How long would he be gone?

  And what if he didn’t return? He wasn’t infallible; he was only human. What if a zombie got the better of him while he was out there on his own? He and the boy would be waiting here in vain, waiting for a reunion that would never happen. An indescribable terror seized him, making his hands tremble uncontrollably. The note he was still holding rattled and he dropped it onto the coffee table. He had the terrible feeling he was never going to see Tarot again. Slowly, as the fear crept over him like gooseflesh, the terrible feeling became a terrible feeling of certainty. He couldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t! The guy had saved his life, for God’s sake.

  He threw on a jacket and a pair of shoes and made his wa
y downstairs as quickly as he could. His only option was to take the Land Rover and head south. He’d take the route Tarot was most likely to have taken: the motorway. It split into minor roads as it neared central London, but he just had to hope he’d catch up with him before it became too much of a maze. The morning mist wasn’t going to help, but there was nothing he could do about that.

  When he settled onto the cream leather of the Land Rover’s driver’s seat, he realised he’d never driven a vehicle this old before. The dials and buttons were bewildering, but the actual driving couldn’t be that different, he told himself. He looked at the pedals. Three of them? Oh yes, the thing had gears. He pressed the ignition button and the engine roared into life. He tested the pedals and the gears and pressed a few buttons.

  The Land Rover pulled away jerkily. He muttered to himself nervously under his breath as he drove. He’d never particularly enjoyed driving, and had often only done it to prove to people that he could, computer-less brain be damned. Even so, the only car he’d ever owned had spent most of its time driving around on automatic. A moment passed before he realised that he wasn’t bound by the rules of the Autoroad system any more: he could drive on the wrong side of the road or the wrong way down a one-way street – anything was possible now. He took a circuitous route in the direction of the Tube station. After a few minutes’ driving he got the hang of the gears and the heavy, sluggish way the vehicle handled. His confidence grew, and he gradually increased the pressure on the accelerator.

  He tried to avoid running over bodies, but avoiding them completely was impossible. The squelch of flesh and crunch of bones under his tyres made him grimace and groan with revulsion. Occasionally he saw zombies, their grey figures blanched even greyer by the all-pervading mist. He watched them chase after him in the rear-view mirror, forgetting about each one as soon as it was lost in the haze.

  He took the quickest route, almost hitting a running dog as he made a sharp turn onto one of the motorway’s exit slipways. He drove south along the northbound carriage of the motorway, weaving in and out of vehicles that were facing him head-on, a huge mental effort required to reassure himself that every single one of them would remain stationary no matter what. At the first opportunity he crossed over the central reservation onto the southbound carriage. Here he picked up speed, continually checking the hard shoulder, where he assumed Tarot would be walking, as he dodged cars and buses and lorries.

  He didn’t know how long he drove for. It felt like a long time. When the motorway came to an end he gritted his teeth and took the most obvious route straight ahead, ploughing on into London. The mist didn’t let up; it was a uniform mass that obscured everything beyond it like a veil – a veil that refused to lift except with close proximity. His eyes kept searching for the familiar figure of his friend. How long should he keep going? Maybe Tarot had never even taken the motorway. If so, there were so many minor roads he could have taken that finding him would be next to impossible, even with a vehicle. It would be a lost cause. Not to mention a waste of precious petrol. He thumped a clenched fist against the steering wheel in frustration. He could almost taste the futility of the search. His foot twitched on the accelerator. He ought to turn around and go back. Now, before something happened to compound the situation.

  No! Damn it, no!

  Instead of easing up on the accelerator, he pressed down on it. One more mile, he thought. Just one.

  Half a minute later Tarot materialised out of the mist. He was standing looking in his direction; he’d obviously heard the Land Rover approaching. David gasped as relief flooded through his body. He brought the vehicle to an angry, screeching halt and killed the engine. He might have burst into tears, had it not been held back by a dam of righteous indignation.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he leapt out the Land Rover.

  Tarot eyed him calmly, unmoving, looking identical to the night they’d met: sunglasses, cap, gun, equipment strapped everywhere.

  “Huh?” David prompted him, his voice seemingly amplified by the still morning air. “Walking out in the middle of the night? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me,” Tarot said evenly.

  “Why’d you go without telling me? Are you punishing me for not wanting to leave?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why? Why go now?”

  “You’re not ready to leave; I accepted that. I figured you’d change your mind if I actually found the Promised Land.”

  David snorted. “The Promised Land?”

  “Yes. You can mock it if you want, but I believe it’s out there somewhere.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  A frown furrowed Tarot’s brow. He turned and started walking in the direction he’d been heading in.

  “Where are you going?” David called after him.

  Tarot didn’t stop. “I told you.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” David said, hurrying to catch up with him.

  “You’re welcome to try and stop me if you want,” Tarot said in his slow, amiable voice, hardly needing to point out his personal armoury of weapons.

  “We can’t talk about this?”

  “We can talk when I get back. I know you won’t be going anywhere.”

  They walked along in silence for a moment.

  “But you can’t just go,” David blurted out, his anger giving way to desperation.

  “Why not?”

  “Because … What am I gonna tell Shawn?”

  “Tell him the truth.”

  “The kid’ll miss you like hell. It’s not fair on him.”

  “The kid’ll miss me,” Tarot echoed, a gentle half-smile playing about his lips. “And you accuse me of using the boy as an excuse?”

  “Okay, I’ll miss you, for Chrissakes,” David said, gesticulating wildly, his voice rising. “Is that what you wanna hear? You want me to beg? Christ! I’ll fucking beg. I can’t face this shit-pile of a world without you. I don’t wanna face this shit without you.”

  The last sentence was wrenched out of him, resonant with emotion like an overdue oath of contrition. It brought them both to a halt. Tarot looked at him head-on. David could feel him searching his face from behind his sunglasses.

  Then, without a word, Tarot turned and strolled off towards the Land Rover. David watched him, stunned.

  “You want me to drive?” Tarot said over his shoulder.

  * * *

  When they got back to the flat they found the boy on his bed, in pieces. He’d woken to find Tarot’s note, both of them and the Land Rover gone, and had assumed the adults in his life had abandoned him again. David held him on his lap, rocking him to and fro while kissing him and uttering an avalanche of apologies, but the boy was inconsolable. He filled the flat with ear-splitting, howling sobs. David had never felt so guilty in his life. Tarot looked on helplessly, similarly ashamed, but it was David who’d left the boy sleeping alone, without a thought for what he’d think when he woke up.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” he said to the boy. “Guess what, little man? Guess what? We’re going to the seaside.”

  The boy’s face was bright red and contorted by sobs. The howling stopped, but he kept sobbing and rubbing his eyes.

  “That’s right,” David said. “We’re leaving. You’re gonna see the sea with your own eyes.”

  “Really?” the boy sniffed.

  “Yes, really,” David said, giving Tarot a meaningful look. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Can Tom come too?” the boy asked in a quivering voice.

  “Of course Tom’s gonna come.”

  After a while the boy’s excitement about leaving took over. He returned to his normal self, seemingly forgetting he’d ever been distraught as he set about deciding what to take.

  “So you mean it?” Tarot asked David.

  “Yes,” David said. “Tomorrow.”

  “You’re sure?”

  David nodded. He’d never felt so sure of anythi
ng. He’d almost lost Tarot. He’d upset the boy. For what? There was nothing for him here any more. His parents weren’t here. His mother wasn’t in the grave he treated like a shrine any more than she he’d been in the body that had tried to kill him. His old life was gone, and a new one awaited him somewhere else. He didn’t know why he’d been unable to see it until now, but the blind spot that had concealed it was well and truly gone.

  “You knew I’d come after you, didn’t you?” David said.

  Tarot shook his head. “I hoped you might.”

  “Why’d you come back?”

  The reply was unhesitating. “Because you gave me a reason to.”

  * * *

  That afternoon David went to the walled garden. The morning mist had burned away and it was a pleasant, sunny day. He sat by his mother’s grave listening to the birds singing and the pond water trickling.

  Then he laid some fresh flowers on the grave and said goodbye.

  CHAPTER 36

  D + 451

  They left early. David was surprised to find he didn’t have an emotional response to leaving the flat behind. If anything, he felt glad to be going. The city itself he felt a little differently about. Goodbye sad old London, he thought as the streets swept by. They’d decided to stick to the motorways to begin with, so they drove out of the city to the M25. The cat mewed in its box for a while, but soon settled down and was quiet.

  While discussing which direction to go in, Tarot said, “I think we should let Shawn decide. Which one do you want: the English Channel, the North Sea or the Atlantic Ocean?”