After the Fall

by Stephen Cross

  “That should do it.” He reached over for the rucksacks and began packing the items. “We can put the rest of the stuff in when Arthur gets back. He’ll probably want to move on now you’re better.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m better Adam, but yes, I’ll be able to move on if that’s what everyone wants.”

  “Arthur thinks it’s too exposed here, too obvious.”

  “I suppose he’s right,” said Harriet, thinking about the big bright petrol station, with its enticing primary colours and bold lettering.

  “I’ll go and check the shop again, see if we’ve missed anything useful,” said Adam. He got up and left the room.

  Harriet touched the bandage. It was tight, didn’t allow her shoulder much room for movement, but it felt good, safe. She was lucky to have found Arthur; his strength, his training as a nurse. And Adam of course with his joy and hope; as important, if not more so, than any material skills.

  Adam ran back into the room and said one word, his face creased with urgency, “Cars.”

  “What?”

  “Cars!” he shouted. He grabbed two of the rucksacks, Arthur’s and his.

  Harriet pushed herself up with her good arm. She felt dizzy.

  “Hurry,” said Adam, taking her rucksack and putting it next to her.

  “Ok, ok, I’m hurrying. Did you see them?”

  “No, I heard them.” He looked to the door as if he expected a group of bandits to burst through at any second.

  Harriet stood up, her limbs heavy and aching, stiff. Her shoulder throbbed in time with the blood rushing through her body. Her leg was sore, swollen, but able to bear weight. She picked up her rucksack which wasn’t too heavy, thankfully.

  “We going out the back?” said Harriet.

  “Quick,” he said and ran to the door. Harriet limped after him as fast as she could.

  The staff room opened up into a corridor with a fire door at the end. Adam was already there. He slammed down on the opening bar and pushed the door open. A draft of cold air breezed through the corridor as Harriet limped to the door. The rain was now a gentle drizzle. She heard the engines.

  “They’re close,” she said, scared.

  The back door led out into a thin courtyard with a tyre inflation station and a manual wash pump. It was backed with a high fence, and beyond it lay a field with light tree coverage.

  “Come on, this way,” said Harriet. They ran to the fence. The sound of the engines ran heavy in the air. Harriet’s ankle cried in pain, but she ignored it. She thought about all the times before the Fall when a small headache or a stiff neck had stopped her functioning.

  They got to the edge of the fence and Adam scooted round it. Harriet glimpsed behind her, a green truck was pulling into the forecourt. There were more behind, but she didn’t wait to see how many.

  Adam tucked in behind the fence. It was slatted diagonally and Adam positioned himself so he could look through the gaps.

  “Come on, let’s go,” said Harriet motioning towards the wood.

  “We have to wait. If they stay, we have to warn Arthur,” said Adam.

  He was right, they couldn’t run. She nestled in beside Adam, laying flat on the ground, spying through the bottom of the fence. They had a view of the back of the petrol station, a one storey wide whitewashed building, and a thin sight of one side of the forecourt. Harriet saw the bonnet of one green 4X4, a jeep. An army jeep.

  She listened carefully to the sound of the engines. One drop in frequency, then another, a third and then only one engine left, before silence.

  Four jeeps.

  “Are they army?” said Adam.

  “I don’t know, could be, or just people with army trucks,” she said. She glanced at Adam. Behind the fear in his eyes, was excitement. She knew what he was thinking - could one of them be his Dad?

  The sound of doors opening and closing, a multitude of empty metal clangs. Boots stomping on the floor.

  Voices.

  She only caught the odd word, the wind blowing the speech in and out.

  “…get some fuel… quick sweep of the… if we can get to…,” and then one final shout of, “Keep it tight gentlemen!” She froze in fear, she knew that voice. It was Lieutenant Dalby. The last time she heard it, the owner of the voice had been pointing a gun at her, threatening to shoot her.

  Thankfully, Arthur had saved her, and left Dalby behind for the dead.

  How had he survived?

  She felt a hand against her arm and looked down to see Adam mouth ‘Dalby’, with a look of distaste.

  She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Maybe they’re just passing through,” she whispered.

  The rain started up again, a sudden drive from above, the last few million gallons the gods had forgot. The cold water stung Harriet’s head in time with the melodic patter of the heavy raindrops on the surrounding foliage.

  The soldiers were still talking, but the rain killed any chance of hearing.

  Her and Adam lay still, holding hands. She wondered were Arthur was, hoping he wouldn’t walk back into the middle of the forecourt. Surely he would see the trucks first.

  A solider passed into view. He held his gun up, sweeping it in a broad circle as he turned. He was looking, searching for something.

  He turned to face the fence that Harriet and Adam were hiding behind. Harriet focused on keeping all her muscles stock still. Every tiny movement in her body felt as if she was doing a jumping jack. Adams’s hand tightened around hers.

  The soldier stared straight at her, from only ten yards away. He looked into her eyes, then looked through them. His gaze went to the top of the fence and then he turned away. “Nothing here, sir.”

  Harriet let got a large breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

  The soldier disappeared from view.

  “They looking for us?” said Adam.

  “Probably, if they’ve searched in there, they’d have found the empty tins, food wrappers. The stuff Arthur used to take out my bullet.”

  The rain eased again. At typical schizophrenic British autumn day.

  “You find anything?” shouted Dalby, still not visible, thankfully.

  “Nothing sir. Looks like they’ve gone,” said an unknown voice.

  Another voice, “Trucks are full sir.”

  There was the sound of a truck door opening. “Ok, Anderson, you-” the wind gusted, obscuring the next command.

  More truck doors opening, closing, boots stamping, and engines revving into life.

  “They’re going,” said Adam, moving to get up.

  “Wait,” said Harriet. “Let’s just be sure.”

  The truck in sight reversed, then pulled on to the road, followed closely by two more.

  “One more,” said Harriet. “There was four, only three have left.”

  “What do we do?” said Adam.

  “I don’t know,” said Harriet.

  Arthur put one foot in front of the other, thump thump against the hard tarmac of the road, each step vibrating painfully through in his thigh. But he kept going. He came round the last bend in the road that revealed the garage, two hundred yards away. He ducked off the road and kneeled by a hedge. A rev of engines resonated through the still sky. Three trucks pulled off, one after another. He had seen four in the village.

  He climbed through the hedge into the field. Empty and overgrown, bounded by a dry stone wall about a hundred yards away. Beyond that as a wood that lay to the back of the petrol station.

  Holding his baseball bat tight he ran towards the wood.

  “What do you think that soldier’s doing?” said Adam.

  They had been lying still in the same spot for the past ten minutes. No sign of the soldier, but he was there somewhere.

  “I don’t know Adam. No idea what he’s bloody doing.”

  “Shall I go have a look?”

  “Not a good idea. What if he sees you?”

  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” said the young boy, with a smile on the s
ide of his mouth. Harriet wondered how he managed to enjoy the most life threatening of situations. She liked that about him. She wondered what his Dad was like.

  “Ok. I’m not happy about it, though,” she said.

  “I’ll be back in five minutes,” he said getting up.

  Harriet put her hand on his, “For God’s sake, be careful Adam.”

  “Don’t worry,” he smiled and jogged along the length of the fence.

  Chapter 11

  Arthur was in the woods behind the petrol station. Before him stood a wooden boundary fence. The petrol station’s tall flat forecourt roof rose beyond the fence like an ugly robot’s hat.

  He crept through the woods, brushing wet branches to the side, keeping his movements slow and purposeful. He winced as a branch cracked under his boot.

  He reached the edge of the tree line. He scanned the fence carefully.

  Harriet.

  She was lying by the fence, looking through the slats. Three rucksacks were by her side.

  Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, they had got out.

  Or at least Harriet had got out, where was Adam?

  He was about to part the trees and call to her, but something happened.

  There was a shot. A dry crack in the air. Everywhere at once for a second, followed by a shout, indecipherable in the wind.

  Harriet jumped up and screamed Adam’s name.

  Arthur ran through the trees, towards Harriet as she ran to the edge of the fence. He grabbed her from behind, wrapping a hand around her mouth. She let out a muffled scream and squirmed in his arms. He turned her round to face him.

  “Harriet,” he said in hushed but urgent tones. “It’s me, It’s Arthur.”

  She stared at him with wide lost eyes, like a toddler staring at a jigsaw.

  “That’s right, it’s me. Where’s Adam?” He let go of her.

  Harriet made to run, “We have to get Adam!”

  Arthur grabbed her arm and held his finger to his lips, he had heard a shout. There it was again, almost lost in the wind.

  “I’ve got the boy!” came the shout. “Dalby’s looking for you. If you don’t want me to hurt the boy, you better come out.”

  Harriet pulled against Arthur’s arm, “Let me go, we have to get him.”

  “Wait,” said Arthur. “We go out there and he’s got us all.” He thought for a moment, the seconds ticking away. The soldier called again.

  “You got ten seconds, or I shoot him in the knee.”

  He started to count down.

  Harriet stared at Arthur, desperation.

  “You go that way,” said Arthur, “Keep him busy.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Just keep him busy.”

  Harriet ran to the forecourt.

  “Four, three, two…” said the soldier. He stopped counting as he saw Harriet.

  He was standing by the jeep with one arm holding Adam, his gun pointing at the boy’s head.

  “Is this Allen’s son?” said the soldier.

  Adam tried to turn to look at the soldier, but was roughly forced back to looking down at the ground. Adam let out a small yelp.

  “Let him go,” said Harriet. She was ten yards away from the solider. The jeep was parked in between the shop front and the nearest petrol pump. The soldier and Adam stood in front of the jeep.

  Rain hammered on the forecourt roof.

  “Answer me, is this Allen’s son?” said the soldier. A young man, like all the soldiers she had seen. Tall and thin, with glasses. She never imagined soldiers wore glasses.

  “I don’t know who Allen is,” she said.

  The soldier let out a small laugh. “Dalby has told us to keep and eye out for you. A woman, some big black fella, and a ten year old.”

  There was slow movement behind the soldier, a figure at the far side of the forecourt. Suddenly a burst of speed as it moved in behind the far pump. Arthur. The sound of his movement dampened by the metallic patter of rain on the roof.

  Harriet tried hard not to let her eyes follow Arthur. She stared at the soldier. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. This is my cousin. We come from Bristol. He was visiting when the Fall hit.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re from Bristol.” The soldier pulled Adam closer. “I think you’d better both come with me anyway.”

  Arthur was creeping up the side of the jeep. Moving slowly, he held his baseball bat high in the air. Anxiety turned her stomach into a twisted rag.

  “Take us where?”

  “To see Dalby. We have a base now. Even if you aren’t who he’s looking for, you might be with that lot from the farm. Can’t let you warn them about us.”

  Harriet shook her head, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The soldier smiled an unpleasant smile. “Just get in the fucking jeep.” He motioned to the door with his head, then quickly did a second take behind him, and stared straight at Arthur.

  Arthur brought down his baseball bat. The soldier flung Adam to the side and raised his gun to shoot, but the baseball bat met with his wrist. A heavy crack signified a broken wrist, and his arm dropped. There was a second crack, this one the sound of a bullet. The shot went harmlessly onto the forecourt ground, sending up a cloud of concrete.

  The soldier dropped the gun to the ground and let out a cry in pain, his wrist hanging at a limp right angle to his arm.

  Arthur looked at the gun for a second too long.

  The soldier charged at him and the two men tumbled to the ground.

  The gun lay on the ground a few feet away. Harriet ran forward and grabbed it. There was grunt as the soldier head-butted Arthur.

  Arthur rolled and pushed the soldier onto the ground.

  Harriet raised the gun, pointed it at the solider and pulled the trigger. There was a vibration through her arm and a loud flat bang. The solder let out a cry in pain.

  She’d shot him.

  Shot a person.

  The soldier rolled on the ground, grabbing his stomach. His hands turned red, blood pouring out like a wellspring, a thick red puddle liked spilled paint forming on the concrete.

  Arthur climbed to his feet and stared at the man, then at Harriet.

  Adam ran over and pulled off his t-shirt. He pushed it against the soldier’s wound, it turned red almost instantly.

  Harriet dropped the gun.

  The soldier lay on the ground, his fast breaths laboured and strained. He let out low moans. He raised his head and looked at Harriet, his eyes were wide open. ‘You shot me…” he said, blood spilling out of his mouth. He looked down to his stomach, where Adam was sat with his T-shirt helplessly trying to stem the blood. The soldier let out a cry, a mix of fear and surprise. “Help, can someone help me?”

  Arthur leaned down by the soldier and eased Adam away. He pushed on the wound. “What’s your name?” he said.

  “Scott. I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

  “I’m a nurse,” said Arthur. “Let me have a look.”

  The soldier laughed. “A nurse? A fucking nurse! I need a fucking surgeon not a fucking nurse!” He yelled in agony and his body spasmed, his back arching, forcing his torso high into the air.

  Adam let out a cry and ran to Harriet. He buried his face in her and she hugged him tightly. She couldn’t take her eyes of the soldier.

  Everything was like a dream. A strange distant clarity as if viewing in a high definition not available to her normal sense. The scene made of crisp and clean rays of light, every sound as sharp as a knife, every feeling felt to her soul. She paused.

  There was something else.

  Something in her spine twitched.

  The same feeling she had back in the farmhouse, when the zombie had nearly killed Arthur. This time though much clearer, much stronger. Almost painful.

  Arthur pulled open the soldier’s shirt. Underneath his white skin and hairless chest sprouted a red ribbon of blood from a perfect hole just below his rib cage. Arthur was talking to the
soldier, but Harriet couldn’t hear anything, a white and throbbing noise had taken over her hearing. It was part of her, but still foreign, like a radio in her brain.

  “We have to go,” she said.

  Arthur looked up at her. “What?”

  “We need to go, now.” She looked around, panic from nowhere gripping her tightly. Her head snapped quickly from left to right.

  They were coming, lots of them.

  “We have to go,” she repeated, walking towards their 4X4.

  “What do we do with him?” said Arthur, standing up.

  The soldier pushed up onto his elbows, obviously in great pain and started shouting at Harriet. She couldn’t hear him. All she could see was the truck, as if the rest of the world had lost its focus.

  “Can we save him?” said Harriet.

  Arthur looked at the solider, then back to Harriet. “Not with what we have here.”

  There was a muffle of an agitated and desperate sound. The soldier, crying, shouting.

  “We have to go,” said Harriet.

  “What’s going on Harriet, we can’t just leave him,” said Arthur. He almost sounded angry.

  “We have to-” began Harriet.

  There it was, the moaning, the hissing, and the clicking. A walking chaos of noise from behind the garage, from the woods, from everywhere. There must have been hundreds, thousands of them. Branches breaking, feet trampling.

  A sharp pain struck Harriet in the base of her spine. It shot up her back to the bottom of her brain. White light flashed in front of her eyes.

  “Now!” she screamed.

  Arthur’s mouth hung open, staring past her, then to the sides of the garage, where hundreds of bodies had appeared; walking, dead bodies. Rotting, desperate, vicious, needful. Hungry.

  Arthur ran over to Scott. He picked him up from under his arms and, ignoring the soldier’s cries, dragged him into the army jeep.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Drive, if you can.” He closed the jeep door.

  Harriet got in the driver’s seat of their 4X4 and started up the truck. Adam jumped in beside her, and then finally Arthur.

  The noise was tremendous. The hoard moved as one, like a terrible ooze pouring from the woods - a zombie lava flow.

  Harriet pushed the accelerator hard and the wheels squealed, fighting for traction, before the truck lurched forward.