Everything Dies [Season One]

by T. W. Malpass

  O.B. shook his head. ‘No. Errm, I wasn’t.’

  ‘I ain’t offended, kid. I haven’t had a cock in me for about twenty years. Besides, you ain’t exactly John Stamos yourself.’ With that, she gathered up the canned meats and fruits from the bottom of her cart, dumped them into a plastic grocery bag, and began climbing into the sewer duct, leaving a stunned O.B. clutching the blankets she had thrust upon him. ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Your ass might just about fit through.’

  Fearing he could not safely climb down using only one hand, O.B. decided to open out both blankets and tie them around his waist like a skirt. The pipe was even wetter and grimier than the factory. With each rung, the ladder got slimier. He felt drops of water fall onto his head and roll down the back of his neck. The drain below seemed to reach on forever. Occasionally, he lost sight of the woman in the shadows, and then she would reappear, contently splashing through the obnoxious sewer flow with her shopping bag as if she were returning home from a trip to the supermarket.

  She set the bag down when she reached a fenced area. The small space was shielded from the damp and a mattress lay next to a freshly built campfire. She sat down next the fire and grimaced, reaching down to scratch her thigh and pointing to the blankets around O.B.’s waist with her other hand. ‘You can use them to sit on if you want.’ She started to rummage around inside the bag, tossing cans of peaches and cured pork aside to get to the bottom. ‘God knows why they locked up those freaks in the school. Maybe the townsfolk did it, or the soldiers before the evacuation. I got no idea. Either way, you and your buddy walked right into it.’

  ‘He was my cousin.’ O.B. sat down on the blankets and hung his head. Every muscle in his body ached.

  ‘Gotcha!’ The woman found what she had been looking for and held it up to her face. ‘You don’t know how long I’ve been searching for one of these. Some of the houses had electric ones that ain’t worth shit now, but a lot of ‘em didn’t have any at all. I guess those idiots packed them before the soldiers shipped them off to the concentration camps. They probably thought it was gonna be like one big family holiday, huh?’ She grinned at her own comment and her coveted prize – a plastic and metal can opener. She shuffled about and tilted her head like a curious dog, her attention drawn to the type emblazoned across the front of O.B.’s shirt. ‘What in hell is The Vandals anyway?’

  He kept his head in his hands, squashing the fat of his cheeks. ‘A punk band.’

  ‘That why you got all that shit in your hair?’

  ‘Kinda.’

  ‘My name’s Darla – Darla Peatree. What do they call you?’

  ‘O.B.’

  Darla shifted her head again, every movement resembling a nervous twitch than a deliberate motion. ‘You ain’t telling me you were christened that? Must be short for somethin’.’

  ‘Oswald Benedict.’

  Darla gave a throaty cackle, so explosive that she almost fell backwards onto her mattress. ‘What kind of faggotty name is Oswald Benedict? It sounds like a communist fucked a monk.’ She continued to laugh until she was doubled over.

  O.B. finally lifted his head – too weary to take issue with her derision. ‘I was named after my grandfather.’ He put his hands to his face again, this time so he could weep into them. He cried so hard that his whole body jiggled.

  ‘Jesus. What’s wrong with kids today? You should really learn to have thicker skin by now. I’m surprised someone with your ass wasn’t bullied at school.’

  ‘They used to call me beef trust. My skin’s thick enough. They killed my entire fucking family. They climbed into the car and ate them alive. My mum, my little sisters. Renata was just a baby.’

  Darla’s expression soured. ‘I suppose this is the part where you expect me to be the wise old shoulder to cry on. Well, save it. I had a mother who did a better job of nursing a bottle of vodka than me, and a daddy who liked to hold me a little too close, if you know what I mean. At least you had a family that loved you for as long as they did. Shit happens, kid.’

  O.B. tempered his emotion and rose with a steely glare in his eyes. He headed back along the drain to the access pipe.

  ‘Hey, where you goin’?’

  ‘Away from you. I would have to be desperate to cry on your shoulder. You fucking stink.’

  ‘At least stay the night. It’s one extra day you’ll be alive.’

  O.B. kept on walking and Darla got to her feet and went after him. ‘Look, here’s the deal. I’m goin’ back out there anyway. You help me do some more rootin’ around and I’ll shout you a decent meal. I guess you’re always hungry, right?’

  Back in the deserted streets of Posen, O.B. hung back, watching Darla scamper from house to house, collecting any extra food and odds and ends she could find. After a few minutes, he noticed another pile of missing posters for Simon Cunningham tumbling by on the breeze.

  Over in the next street, a male police officer was lying face down in the road. Darla approached the corpse with interest, immediately stooping down to get underneath the body so she could lever it over onto its back.

  As much as O.B. felt like walking away, his stomach was groaning and aching with hunger. Against his better judgement, he wandered over to where Darla was struggling to flip the body.

  ‘Give me a hand with him, will ya?’

  O.B. got to his knees and pushed the officer at his hip. Their combined strength did the trick. He then got up again and stepped back, alarmed by the bullet entry wound at the centre of the man’s head.

  Darla paid it no mind and proceeded to check his duty belt. His sidearm had already been taken; the magazine pouches were also empty, and his radio was gone. But to her delight, she did manage to retrieve a pair of handcuffs, pepper spray and an auto-folding knife from one of the back pockets of his pants. She searched his front pockets, but there was nothing of any use in them.

  ‘What are you looking for exactly?’ O.B. said.

  ‘Whatever I can get,’ she said.

  He caught a glimpse of the wood finished handle of a Colt 38 poking from the back of her waist band. ‘You already have a gun,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t hurt to search for another one.’

  ‘Do you have any ammunition for it?’

  ‘Same amount I had when I found it.’ Darla got up and wiped the sweat from her blotchy forehead. ‘See, me and them got sorta an understanding. I don’t get up in their business and they keep their noses outta mine, except when two idiots walk straight into ‘em and get ‘em all riled up.’

  ‘Bruno wasn’t an idiot. He only died because…’ O.B. looked down at the specks of blood on the toes of his shoes.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, kid. Most people are still breathin’ at someone else’s expense. That’s just the way things work now. Hell, that’s pretty much the way it’s always worked.’ Darla dumped what she had salvaged into her grocery bag and moved on.

  ‘So you lived on the streets before it happened?’ O.B. said, following after her.

  She sniggered. ‘What’s it look like? I hung around on the sidewalks of Chicago with the rest of the degenerates before this – goin’ on twenty years. I look like I’m in my sixties, but I’m a lot younger.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘None of your fuckin’ business.’

  ‘You were in Chicago?’

  ‘Until those things started appearing. I was smart and got out early. The bums were the first to go. Exposed in the city at night, we started goin’ missing one by one. The cops didn’t give a shit. They never did. Then I found one of my buddies in an alleyway one mornin’ – what was left of her anyways. Decided to move on before I ended up the same. I got as far as this place and then the main power grid went down and the army showed up. It’s stayed pretty quiet so far. Just the way I like it.’

  ‘My dad was in Chicago when it happened, but we lost contact with him. That’s where I’m going – to try and find him.’

  Darla sniggered again and gazed through the
broken window of a convenience store. ‘If your daddy stayed put, I wouldn’t hold out much hope for him. If he had any sense, he would’ve made for the coast. That’s what all the city folks were talking about doing before I left. Trying to get to the water and hire themselves a boat – steal one, if needs be. If your daddy’s still alive, that’s where he’ll be.’

  ‘Then I’ll go to the coast,’ O.B. said.

  Darla blew through her teeth. ‘Good luck with that.’

  ‘Then come with me.’

  ‘Why would I wanna do that?’

  ‘To find somewhere better.’

  ‘I’ve already found it. I have everything I need right here. Don’t really fancy the idea of gettin’ ate or shot up running a fool’s errand for your sorry ass.’

  ‘How long are you gonna last before there’s nothing left to scavenge in this place?’

  ‘Shhh.’ Darla’s ears pricked up. She held one of her scrawny hands to O.B.’s face and waited.

  Sure enough, one of the dead stumbled around the corner, dragging its broken left leg behind it. The fractured bone created a bloodied bulge beneath its pants. It had yet to see them, and Darla intended to keep it that way. She shoved O.B. across the street in the direction of Posen’s modest fire station. She kicked him once in his ass and then he entered through the open rolling doors of its entrance. They both crouched down and peered from behind the wall to watch the creature pass. As it was still in view, they were alerted to a new sound approaching from the road into the village. The grumbling tyre tracks of the heavy vehicle got louder, and soon they saw the robust shape of an armoured infantry carrier with five soldiers marching alongside it.

  The men didn’t seem to be concerned about the creature heading towards them. When it realised there was a chance of fresh meat nearby, it reached out its hands and started to growl softly, but the personnel carrier ran straight over it, mangling its brittle bones between its tracks, crushing it flat.

  O.B. smiled and began to rise from their hiding place. Darla reacted swiftly, yanking him back into position. ‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare,’ she whispered.

  ‘What do you mean? They’ll take us in. Take us to one of the camps.’

  ‘Make one peep, and I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in you and leave you to bleed out.’

  ‘What is wrong with you? They’re obviously looking for survivors,’ O.B. said.

  ‘I don’t deny that.’

  ‘Then what the hell?’

  ‘Just be patient, fat boy.’

  Once the patrol reached the centre of town, the vehicle stopped. One of the soldiers got on the radio, but O.B. and Darla were too far away to hear what he was saying. Darla pulled O.B. behind the wall of the station as the patrolmen scanned in their direction. They seemed to be hanging around waiting for something – perhaps orders from their central control.

  The soldiers suddenly raised their weapons in response to a noise coming from a house close by. A woman emerged from it, dirty and dishevelled, and holding a blanket around her neck. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she shouted. ‘We thought no one would come for us.’

  ‘Calm down, ma’am. You said we?’ A soldier replied.

  ‘Yes. My son. He’s inside. He has a bad wound on his leg and he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know how much longer he would have lasted.’ The woman’s voice was strained, overcome by emotion and relief.

  ‘We’re not gonna get another chance to let them know we’re here,’ O.B. whispered.

  ‘Just wait a minute,’ Darla said.

  ‘So there’s just you and your son. You’ve not seen anyone else?’ the soldier asked.

  ‘No, we’re the last.’

  No sooner had the woman answered the soldier aimed his rifle at her head and opened fire. The single bullet cut into her skull and she collapsed into the blanket she had been holding.

  O.B.’s instinct was to shout out, but Darla remedied that by cupping her hand over his mouth.

  The soldier who had gunned her down signalled to two of his colleagues and waved them towards the house. They shuffled along the perimeter, covering each other as they went, and entered through the side door.

  Thirty seconds later, Darla and O.B. heard two shots and saw the flashes behind one of the windows. When the men rushed back into the street, the radio operator got on his device again, and they soon began to leave Posen along the same road they had come in on.

  ‘They executed them. Shot them down in cold blood,’ O.B. said.

  ‘You’re catchin’ on,’ Darla said. ‘You might just live a little longer after all.’

  O.B. watched the flickering flames of the campfire and slurped back the last of the juice from the canned peaches he’d eaten. He lay on the double blanket and rested his head. It wasn’t exactly comfortable; he could still feel the hard, cold concrete of the sewer floor, but he trusted Darla when she said that they were safe from the dead. He shut his eyes and tried desperately to block out the echo from the dripping pipes. In the darkness, he saw the clamouring hands tearing back the flesh of Bruno’s scalp, and jets of blood splattering the interior windows of his mother’s station wagon.

  He sat up with a jolt and noticed that Darla’s eyes were still open. ‘Those pictures never disappear. You just start to remember ‘em in less detail after a while,’ she said softly. Even within the harsh croak of her voice, he sensed some semblance of empathy.

  ‘I don’t want to forget – ever,’ he said.

  ‘You might change your mind ‘bout that.’

  O.B. rolled over, pulling the edge of one of the blankets around his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll tag along with you – as far as the coast,’ Darla said. ‘If we’re gonna stand any chance, we need to find a ride.’

  ‘I can’t drive.’

  ‘Just as well I can then, idinit?’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. The next time he closed his eyes, he was too exhausted to fight the images that flooded his brain, so he fell asleep to them instead.

  Darla turned on her mattress and opened out the fabric drawstring pouch lying next to her – the kind a young girl would use to store her costume jewellery. She held the pouch upside down and three off-white rocks fell out of it. Darla pushed the rocks around on the mattress with the crusty end of her index finger. She leaned over them and breathed in, taking in their chemical odour through her nostrils.

  Episode Four

  Rich Man’s Burden

  1

  The controlled hiss of hydraulic brakes brought the truck to a stop. Salty and Raine peered through the mud-stained windshield at the car wreck blocking the road ahead. The car had slid horizontally across the road, preventing anything from getting past. There were dents and scratches across its bodywork, and both windows on the nearest side to them were shattered.

  ‘This happened recently,’ Raine said.

  Salty concurred. He’d also noticed the plumes of steam rising from the hood that had been popped open by the impact. ‘Whatever. Let’s go move the goddamn thing.’ He slipped the truck into park and jumped out onto the tarmac, hatchet in hand.

  Raine sat staring at the wreck for a while longer, trying to see if there were any bodies inside it. When she felt Salty’s eyes on her, she grabbed the assault rifle they’d obtained from the dying soldier and got out.

  Salty walked around to the back of the truck and popped his head inside. The Grahams and the two young men waited in anticipation to find out why they’d stopped. ‘Nothing to worry about, folks.’ Salty made the remark with the nonchalance of a bus tour guide. ‘Just a slight blockage in the road. We’ll have it shifted and be rolling again in no time. Stay put.’

  When he walked back to the front, Raine approached the wreck, inspecting the skid marks beneath her feet. ‘Obviously spun out of control and hit the road barriers,’ he said.

  ‘Obviously.’ Raine got closer, but she still couldn’t see inside on account of the steam from the hood. Bending down, she squinted through the broken front window. Both seats were empty
. A thick pool of blood had collected, and was mingling with the shattered cubes of glass at the footwell of the driver’s seat. She shifted her attention to the back and heard a chewing sound over the hiss of the ruptured engine.

  The driver’s body had been dragged into the back seat. The flesh of his right shoulder and neck had been gnawed down to the bone and he was rocking slightly, as if he was still breathing. Before Raine could reach inside, the dead one that was feeding on the corpse sat up. A half-eaten piece of muscle hung from its rotting jaws.

  The creature leapt forward and pushed one of its arms through the window, grasping the assault rifle. Raine refused to let go, struggling back and forth and trying to prise the weapon away from it. She tugged so hard that the creature slid out. As it did, the jagged shards of glass still lodged in the window track pierced the fragile skin of its stomach and sliced all the way down to its waist.

  Raine fell with it, finally releasing the rifle so she could brace herself for the landing. The meat bag stood up, the weapon in its hands. It let out a slow groan of delight. Its serrated flesh flapped open, and its oedematous bowels and intestines slid past the lining of its stomach and splashed onto the asphalt. The stringy mess didn’t steam. It was stone cold, but the stench that exuded from it was no less putrid for that.

  She scrambled across the road with no regard for what might be behind her. The creature lifted its head to observe the haze from the sun. Then it fixed its eyes upon Raine. Before it managed to get more than a yard towards her, a hollow sound rang out as Salty buried his hatchet deep in its skull. Its eyes rolled back and it fell to its knees before tipping over completely onto its face.

  Salty placed his foot on the small of its back in order to yank the hatchet free and plucked the assault rifle from beneath it.

  As Raine dusted herself down, he was there to meet her. ‘I don’t pretend to know what all this silent brooding shit is. That’s your business. But if you want to see your way past this, you better shape up, darlin’.’ He forced the flat of the rifle against her chest and she snatched it away from him.