Year of the Zombie (Book 2): The Plague Winter

by Hawkins, Rich

  Sam eyed him over the biscuit at his mouth. ‘What will you do when you finish your whiskey, Grandad?’

  Eddie wiped coffee from his lips. ‘I’ll sort something out. Your grandad’s a wily old dog.’

  Sam looked down at his food. ‘I miss dogs.’

  ‘They’ve all gone wild now,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘I know.’

  The front door rattled from three knocks.

  They looked at each other. Sam was the first out of his seat. Eddie went to get the pistol.

  ***

  Eddie checked the rounds in the pistol. ‘Go to your room, Sam. Stay there until I tell you to come out. Don’t come out for anyone else.’

  ‘Can’t I stay here, Grandad? It could be someone who needs help. Someone like us.’

  ‘Go to your room.’

  ‘Please, Grandad.’

  ‘Do as I say, Sam.’

  The boy began to walk away, then turned back and he looked at Eddie. A movement in his mouth, but he said nothing. Eddie sent him on his way.

  ***

  Three knocks again. Weak and slow. Eddie pictured a frail hand upon the door. Through the frosted glass panes, a slight figure, like a manifestation of sticks and feathers.

  Eddie turned away and went to the back of the house.

  ***

  Eddie quietly opened the back door and stepped outside with the pistol in his hands. He shivered in the cold and the thin rain, listening to the sound of rushing water in the trees. He crept along the side of the bungalow and peered around the wall.

  Turned towards the door was a short, scrawny man in an oversized raincoat and boots clogged with dirt and dead leaves. He was side-on to Eddie, and from under the sharp hood of the coat was the profile of a thin face with a long beard dripping with rainwater. Stooping, as vague as a shadow. The edges of his body lost in the large waterproof. A visiting ghost in filthy garments.

  Eddie stepped around the corner of the house and levelled the pistol at the visitor. The man turned, and raised his hands when he saw the pistol. Fingerless gloves. Eddie could smell him.

  Small dark eyes regarded Eddie from beneath the hood. A flat mouth within the raggedy beard; and when it opened, Eddie saw a glimpse of dulled teeth. Scabbed lips. The skin of his fingers was calloused and gnarled.

  Eddie sighted the pistol on the man’s chest. ‘What do you want?’

  The man let out a breath that was damp and rattling. ‘Thank God. I thought I was alone out here.’ He glanced at the pistol. ‘I’ve been wandering for months. My name’s Yost.’

  ‘Yost?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Strange name.’

  ‘It’s just a name.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  Yost exhaled. Sniffed. Swallowed. ‘I saw the light in the window so I thought there might be someone living here. I just need to get out of the rain for a while.’

  ‘There are plenty of trees to shelter under.’

  Yost coughed wetly, then went to wipe his mouth, but thought better of it and kept his hands raised. ‘You look like a good Christian man. Won’t you help me?’

  ‘I was raised Catholic,’ Eddie said. ‘And none of that matters now.’

  ‘I just need somewhere to stay for a little while, until the weather clears up.’

  ‘There are a few abandoned houses around here. They’ve been looted, but they’ll give you shelter.’

  Yost shivered in the rain; Eddie wondered if it was deliberate, to elicit his sympathy. ‘There might be infected in them. It’s dangerous out here. There’s nothing but the infected and packs of wild dogs.’

  ‘I can’t let you in.’

  ‘I’m not dangerous.’ There was a note of pleading in Yost’s voice. ‘You have a gun and I have nothing.’

  ‘You have nothing,’ Eddie said. ‘What’s in the bag?’

  ‘Just some old memories. Nothing that would concern you, my friend.’

  ‘I’m not your friend.’

  ‘We could be the last ones left,’ said Yost. ‘There’s no one out there. The infected are everywhere. Would you send me back out there to die? Would you do that to another man when you had the chance to save him?’

  Eddie took one step forward. The rain fell like punishment. ‘You’re nobody to me. Leave us alone.’

  Yost looked at the muddy ground around his feet and the slump of his shoulders was more pronounced. When he looked back at Eddie his face was forlorn and full of such misery that Eddie considered using the gun to release him from his miserable existence.

  ‘Us?’ Yost asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said ‘leave us alone’.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  Yost stepped back and almost slipped on the wet ground when Eddie moved towards him. Eddie stood less than two yards away and aimed the pistol at his face.

  ‘I will shoot you. Don’t think I won’t. I will shoot you in the fucking face and that will be that. Do you understand me?’

  Yost nodded, shaking in his ill-fitting clothes.

  The sound of the front door being unlocked made them turn their heads, and when the door opened Sam stood behind the threshold and stared out at the men with fearful eyes. The shape of his mouth was like a bloodless wound.

  ‘Please don’t shoot him, Grandad. You’re not a bad man. You’re not supposed to kill people.’

  Eddie moved away from Yost and towards the house, but Sam had already stepped outside in his coat, blinking at the rain sloping against his face.

  ‘I told you to stay in your room,’ Eddie said.

  ‘I know, Grandad.’

  ‘Hello,’ Yost said to the boy.

  Eddie turned to Yost and raised the pistol. ‘Don’t talk to him. Don’t say a word to him.’

  Sam touched Eddie’s free hand and looked up at him. ‘It’s okay, Grandad.’

  ‘Get back in the house, Sam.’

  ‘You said we would help people.’

  ‘What?’ Eddie didn’t take his eyes from Yost.

  ‘You said before that if we found other people we’d help them, because there aren’t many of us left. Were you lying, Grandad?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why can’t we help him?’

  ‘Because he’s a stranger.’

  ‘If you kill him, you’ll be a bad person.’

  Eddie turned back to the boy. He was so tired and aching, and he felt utterly useless, soaked and wilting in the rain.

  ‘Please,’ Yost said, and his voice was pathetic and slow. Cowed in the rain like a man at the end of all things. ‘I’ll die out there. I’ve got nothing left. You’re killing me.’

  ‘We don’t kill people, do we, Grandad?’ Sam looked up at him with pleading eyes. Eddie felt something crumple in his chest and then he was nodding faintly. He lowered the gun and looked at Yost, who was staring at the ground.

  ‘Okay. You can stay, for a little while.’

  Yost raised his head and his mouth trembled. A look of utter gratitude and disbelief in his face. A brief, tearful smile, and then he sniffed, wiped his eyes.

  ‘Really?’

  Eddie nodded.

  Yost was close to tears.

  Sam gently squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you, Grandad.’

  Eddie looked at him. ‘Don’t thank me yet, lad.’

  ***

  The rain upon the windows and the doors. Eddie made Yost empty his pockets and the plastic bag and then walked him to the spare room at the back of the house. Sam followed, asking questions that Eddie ignored, while Yost said nothing and bowed his head. Rainwater dripped from their clothes.

  Eddie opened the door and showed Yost inside. Yost looked at him and complied. The dim daylight revealed the room. There was a bed in one corner, covered in a dusty blanket. No other furniture. Featureless walls.

  Eddie kept the pistol in sight. Yost sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. Sa
m stood outside the doorway and peered into the room. Eddie frowned at him.

  ‘I’m going to lock the door,’ Eddie told Yost. ‘I can’t let you walk freely around the house.’

  Yost nodded slowly, a dull lustre to his eyes. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’ll bring you some food and water soon.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Eddie left the room and turned the key in the door to lock it. Sam watched him. Neither of them said a word on the way back to the kitchen.

  ***

  After giving Yost a cereal bar and a cup of water, Eddie looked over the man’s belongings on the kitchen table. A wallet and a dead mobile phone. A plastic cigarette lighter without any fluid and a pocket edition of the Common English Bible with a tattered spine and creased pages. Various trinkets and keepsakes. Some old coins and two pink buttons. There was a pencil worn down to little more than a nub half the size of his little finger. Eddie opened the wallet and pulled out a photo of a red-haired woman whose expression intimated her reluctance to the person behind the camera. Scribbled in blue biro on the back of the photo was: Selina, 17/6/12.

  He ran his thumb over her face. Who was she? A sweetheart. A lost love, maybe.

  Eddie put the photo back. There was nothing else in the wallet except two ticket stubs for an old film and a single earing shaped like a teardrop. He held the earring up to the window and watched the light move through the glass then when he was done with that he put everything in the plastic bag and left it on the table.

  Sam looked at him. ‘When will you let him out, Grandad?’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Eddie placed his hands on the back of a chair and tapped his fingers.

  ‘See what?’

  ‘We have to see if Yost is a bad man.’

  ‘I don’t think he is.’

  Eddie snorted. ‘Bad people can hide how bad they are. You should know that. Remember what you’ve seen, lad.’

  Sam frowned, glanced at his feet.

  ‘Do you think I’m cruel?’

  Sam didn’t answer.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m being careful.’

  ‘Being careful,’ Sam said.

  ‘That’s right. Better to be careful than reckless.’

  ‘Okay, Grandad.’

  ‘And I don’t want you going near his room. Do you understand?’

  Sam raised his head. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Okay. What if he needs help?’

  ‘We’re already helping him.’

  ***

  It was late afternoon when Sam said he’d glimpsed an infected person in the fields. Eddie took the binoculars and glassed the countryside from the living room window.

  Nothing moved out there but wind-blown treetops and crows picking at the ground with their black beaks.

  ‘Are you sure you saw someone?’

  Sam wiped his nose. ‘I think so. It was a man. He was in rags. I saw him grab something from the dirt and put it in his mouth.’

  Eddie did one last sweep of the fields then lowered the binoculars and looked at the boy. ‘He’s probably far away by now. Just another infected scavenging for food, I expect.’

  ‘Okay, Grandad.’

  ‘Go and play with your toys.’

  ‘Yes, Grandad.’

  ***

  The light began to fade from the sky and the wind grew from a frail breeze to a desolate howl. Eddie went around the inside of the house and checked the doors and windows. And after he finished with that daily task he lit a candle and took it into the living room, where Sam was enacting a battle between some plastic soldiers and a Darth Vader action figure. Eddie watched the boy for a while and sipped at his flask as late afternoon dimmed into evening and the darkness beyond the walls covered everything except for this little house hidden amongst the barren slopes and fields. He thought of Yost locked in the back room and wondered what he would do with him when the time came to let him out. He thought of all the bad people he’d encountered since the world ended and how they were all probably dead along with everyone else. The bad people he had killed to protect himself and Sam. Especially Sam. Because he would spit in God’s own face to protect his wonderful boy.

  Within the lowing wind, a high-pitched shriek rose from beyond the house then died into nothing. Sam looked up from his battle, concern on his face, a breath caught in his throat. The glimmer of fear in Sam’s eyes pulled at Eddie’s heart.

  ‘It’s okay, lad,’ Eddie said. ‘It’s okay. It won’t hurt you.’

  Sam returned to his toys; the brave soldiers defeated Darth Vader and put him in a prison made of old shoeboxes. Eddie listened to the world outside, but there was just the rattling of brief rainfall against the walls.

  ***

  They were eating dinner when Sam looked up from his bowl of baked beans and rice. ‘Can we give some food to Yost?’

  ‘I’ve already given him some food.’

  ‘It wasn’t very much. He must be really hungry.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Is he our prisoner?’

  Eddie frowned, swallowed a lump of soggy rice. ‘What?’

  Sam scratched the side of his mouth. ‘Prisoners are locked up. Would that make us the guards?’

  Eddie gathered food on his spoon. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

  Using the spoon and his finger, Sam separated his food into two halves in the bowl.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m saving some food for Yost.’

  ‘Eat your food, Sam. All of it.’

  ‘It’s my food, so I can give some to him if I want.’

  Eddie put down his spoon, rested his elbows on the table and placed his hands under his bearded chin. ‘If you don’t eat your food, you’ll get weak. You need it to stay strong.’

  ‘I’m not strong, Grandad.’

  ‘Eat your food.’

  ‘Is that why you’re not giving Yost any food? So he stays weak?’

  Eddie glared at the boy and once he saw the reaction in the boy’s eyes he felt guilty and had to look away. When he looked back Sam was separating the beans into two piles in his bowl.

  He sighed.

  ‘Okay,’ Eddie said. ‘If I get some food for Yost, will you eat all of yours?’

  Sam looked at his bowl, pursing his lips. Then he smiled at Eddie and nodded. ‘That sounds agreeable.’

  Eddie snorted. ‘Agreeable? Where did you hear that word?’

  ‘In one of the dictionaries in the living room. On that shelf you think I can’t reach.’

  ‘I see. Clever boy. Finish your dinner.’

  ***

  Eddie carried a small tray of food down the hallway to Yost’s room. With the tray in one arm he took the key from his pocket and turned it in the lock to open the door.

  Yost was asleep in the bed and his waterproof jacket had been thrown on the floor. His soaked boots were placed together at the end of the bed. His face told of bad dreams. The ticking pulse in his throat. He had the look of disease about him, like a junkie wasting away in a Bristol bedsit. There was a smell like stagnant water and black toadstools. The reek of bad things left to decay.

  Eddie breathed through his mouth, shut the door behind him and placed the tray on the floor.

  Yost did not stir.

  Eddie took the pistol from his belt and checked the rounds in the cylinder. Looked at the gun in his hand and then at Yost. Where was he from? What had he seen? If he had survived this long, he was either very lucky, or very good at staying alive. And what had he done to survive? There was still shame in Eddie’s heart from the things he’d done to keep Sam alive. To survive while others died.

  Eddie put the pistol away while he watched Yost. It would be relatively easy to smother or strangle him and tell Sam that he died suddenly in his sleep.

  Yost woke with a sharp intake of breath and his eyes found Eddie and they were livid with panic. He looked around the room, breathing hard
, then drew his legs to his chest and backed into the corner.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Eddie said. He held out his palms. ‘I’ve brought you some food.’

  Yost was trembling, saucer-eyed and pale. His Adam’s apple worked in his throat while his hands clutched at his chest. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and glanced at Eddie. He was still wearing the fingerless gloves. A miasma of stale sweat and piss and sulphuric breath steamed off of him.

  ‘Thank you,’ Yost muttered. He sank the water in one movement and then he was at the bowl of beans with the plastic spoon and the wet sound he made as he pushed the food into his mouth made Eddie wonder when he had last eaten anything more than scraps and leavings from looted houses.

  When Yost finished, Eddie took the plastic bag with his belongings inside and put it on the bed. Yost glanced at him and nodded, handing him the empty bowl and cup upon the tray. Eddie turned away and left the room, and made sure to lock the door.

  ***

  Eddie put down a sleeping bag and blankets in the living room for Sam, because he didn’t want him to be alone in his bedroom while Yost was in the house. Sam didn’t protest and when he settled under the blankets with his comics and a reading light he told Eddie it reminded him of sleeping over at a school friend’s house.

  In the distance, a shrieking wail drifted across the fields.

  Soon afterwards, Sam fell asleep, snoring gently. Eddie rose from the armchair and took the Spider-Man comic from his hand and kissed his forehead. Then he returned to the armchair and put a blanket across his legs and took a last swig of whiskey before sleep.

  He stared at the wall in the darkness and realised he had forgotten the faces of his dead mates.

  ***

  Eddie woke from a bad dream and muttered lost names in the dark. A vague sense that something wasn’t right in the room. When he switched on the torch and directed it at the floor, Sam’s sleeping bag was empty and the blankets had been pushed aside. Eddie climbed from the armchair and said Sam’s name, but there was no reply.