by Sam Kates
Yes, she would gladly sail with Howard across the Irish Sea to get away from the man. She would attempt the Atlantic Ocean in a bath tub rather than spend another night in his vicinity.
The duvet she slept under was thick and cosy, but Colleen had kept her leggings and tee-shirt on. The Pope himself couldn’t have persuaded her to undress with Clint in the room.
Pulling back the duvet, she swung her legs to the floor. Immediately, her skin began to crawl as the sensation of being observed returned. She glanced at Clint, but his eyes remained closed. She picked up the golf club; she always felt more secure with that in her hands.
“Off to play a round again, my beaut?”
Clint’s eyes were fully open and the smirk sat on his puffy lips as if it belonged there.
“Going for a pee,” she muttered, sitting back on the mattress to pull on her boots. “I don’t go outside without it. And I’m not your beaut.”
“Well, ma’am, you might want to start treating me a bit sweeter. We could be the last two people left alive of child-producing age. I think yonder Howard is past it.” He sniggered.
Colleen stood and tugged on her pullover. Then she shrugged on her coat. Gripping the club tightly, she stepped over the slumbering form of Howard and made for the door. As she passed Clint’s bench, she leaned a little closer and whispered, “If we are the last two child-producing humans left alive, the human race is fucked.”
“Don’t know ’bout that,” Clint drawled, “but you might soon be.”
Colleen glanced back before opening the pub door. For a heart-stopping moment, she’d thought that he was going to lunge for her there and then, but he hadn’t moved from the bench. Cursing herself for a fool to risk riling him, she stepped out into the morning air.
A light drizzle fell from a low, leaden sky. A dog lapped at one of the containers of water that lined the pavement outside the pub across the road. It looked up as Colleen approached and bared its teeth.
She brought the club down to clatter onto the surface of the road. The dog jumped and skittered away from her. She brought the club down again and the dog took to its heels.
Colleen strode forward, grabbed a sloshing pan and went inside to perform her ablutions.
When she re-entered The Quays, five minutes or so later, Howard was awake.
“Morning,” he said. “I was just asking Clint if he’d like to rustle up some breakfast while we pay a visit to the supermarket. I noticed cartons of long-life fruit juice last time we were there. Some O.J. will go nicely with beans and ham.”
Colleen didn’t like long-life juice, but rubbed her stomach and forced an enthusiastic smile to her face.
“Mm. Sounds good,” she said.
Clint was sitting up. The cowboy boots and Stetson were back on. A fresh cheroot had appeared in the corner of his mouth. He scowled. “I ain’t much of a cook,” he said.
“That’s okay,” said Howard cheerily, “because we don’t have much in the way of cooking equipment. Just a couple of basic camping stoves. All you’ll need to do is open the tins, chop the ham and heat the food up. You can chuck it all in the same pan. It goes down the same way.”
Howard had already donned his shoes. He looked at Colleen. “I’ll take my case. I need to check out the pharmacy section to see if they have any powdered antibiotics.”
“Why d’you need your case to do that?” Clint’s eyes narrowed.
“If they stock antibiotics in powder form, I need to collect as much as I can. Infection is one of the greatest dangers we face in this new world.”
Clint considered for a moment. “I can see that. But you didn’t answer my question. Why d’you need to take your case? You can bring back whatever you find in anything.”
“Ah, but I can’t. Not without risking spoiling them. You see, my case has special storage compartments for powdered drugs that ensure they are kept airtight and bone dry.”
Clint considered again. “All right,” he said. He smiled. It was difficult to tell in the gloomy interior, but Colleen didn’t think the smile reached his eyes. “I’ll follow you two out. I have morning business to take care of.” He winked at them. “I’m a regular twice-a-day guy.” He lifted the leather jacket from where it hung on the end of the bench. Puffing his cheeks a little with effort, he zipped it over his sagging stomach.
Still clutching the golf club, Colleen turned and stepped back out of the front door. The two men followed her, Howard carrying his suitcase-sized doctor’s bag. The drizzle had become a little heavier and Colleen pulled her jacket closer as she and Howard set off in the direction of the supermarket. Before they disappeared around the corner, she glanced back. Clint was standing in the middle of the street, watching them.
“There a multi-storey car park near the university?” Howard said in a low voice.
“Er, yeah. On Drury Street. Why?”
“Do you know the way?”
“Yes. Why?”
Howard led her in a half-run across the road and up a side street.
“This isn’t the way to the supermarket,” said Colleen.
“I know. And keep your voice down. Take us to Drury Street, but we need to circle around and avoid Temple Bar. I’ll explain as we go, but we need to hurry.”
Colleen felt a rush of excitement.
“We’re leaving now?” she said in a stage whisper.
Howard nodded. “Still too loud.” They had reached the end of the side street and he glanced back. “We must be quiet. He’s probably already looking for us.”
Colleen thought of the switchblade and her stomach gave a lurch.
“Drury Street’s just over there,” she said, nodding to their left. Then she pointed ahead. “But we could go past the castle, then double back on the other side. If he is following us, maybe he’ll think we’ve gone into the castle.”
“Okay. He will come after us.”
“How do you know? He might be back in The Quays making breakfast as we speak.”
“He had no intention of making breakfast. He didn’t ask where we keep the food. Not even where the tin opener is. I think he only had one thing on his mind.”
Colleen drew in a sharp breath and grimaced.
“Let’s be away from him, then,” said Howard. “Lead on.”
They set off once more. Colleen was aware that her strides, with her long legs, were greater than Howard’s, but he kept pace without apparent difficulty. As they ducked down side streets, walking briskly but stepping as quietly as they could, Howard started to explain in a low voice.
“While you were across the road this morning, I talked to Clint, or whatever his real name is—”
“Dermot. Dermot Ward.” Colleen reached into her pocket and extracted a battered leather wallet. “I saw him patting his jacket last night. Checking something was still there.”
“And you took it?”
“I spoke to him as I went out this morning and the jacket was just hanging there. I could see the pocket and. . . .” She shrugged. “Couldn’t resist. I meant to replace it as soon as I got back, but we came straight out again.”
“So his name’s Dermot?”
“Yep. There’s a staff ID photocard. It’s him, all right. He’s a night watchman at an electrical goods depot.”
“Ah. He’ll have noticed it’s missing.”
“He must have known we were onto him. All that bullshit about being a personal bodyguard in Wyoming.” Colleen sighed. “Only three people alive in the whole of Dublin so far as we know, and one of them’s a feckin nutjob.”
“He was obsessed with you. You were only gone a few minutes and he must have mentioned you half a dozen times. Full of innuendo. And each time with a look that gave me the willies. I knew that we had to get away from him without delay.”
“What was all that about the antibiotics and your case?”
“I needed to bring my case.” Howard frowned. “I don’t know why. I mean, every doctor’s attached to his case, but there’s nothing in here that c
an’t be replaced. Yet I needed to bring it. . . . That was a load of crap about the special compartments for powder.”
“He seemed to buy it.”
“Hmm. I’m not so sure. A pity we couldn’t bring the sack that you carried for me. It’s full of sterile dressings. I couldn’t think of a feasible excuse. Never mind. We can always get more.”
“If we ever need them.”
“We will. I don’t know how I know that, but I feel with absolute certainty that we’ll need them. And soon.”
Colleen came to a halt to get her bearings. She glanced behind. The rain was heavy enough to limit visibility, but there was no sign of pursuit from Clint. She began to cross the road.
“If we turn off just a little farther on, we can skirt around the castle.”
A large rat scurried across the road in front of them. Colleen tightened her grip on the club but the rodent ignored them.
“Why the car park?” she said.
“To be sure of escaping Clint, we need transport. I assume you have no idea how to hotwire a car?”
“Nope.”
“Me, neither. So we’d have to find one with keys. Time consuming, but not our biggest problem.”
“And that is?”
“Dead batteries. The cars in this city haven’t been used in weeks. The odds of finding one with keys and a battery juiced enough to start it are, I’m afraid, slim to none.”
“So why are we making for a car park?”
“We’ll need to bump start the vehicle, which means it needs to be on a hill.”
“Dublin’s a fairly flat city,” said Colleen, at last seeing where this was going. “But a multi-storey car park has lots of ramps.”
“Exactly. And as soon as I thought of a multi-storey, I remembered Brian’s car.”
“Who’s Brian?”
“My next-door neighbour. Retired bachelor. Nice chap. He came to my house in a right state. Eyes streaming. Coughing. Could barely stand. Said he’d parked in a multi-storey near the University, but had come over so ill he’d left it there and caught the bus home. He said the light was hurting his eyes so badly, he just needed to lie down in a darkened room.”
“The light did hurt,” murmured Colleen. “Sinead couldn’t stand it.”
“Like someone practising acupuncture on your eyeballs.”
They walked the next few yards in silence. Colleen turned to the left and they began to walk behind the western end of the castle grounds.
“Brian only stood at my doorstep,” said Howard. “He wouldn’t come in. I offered to examine him, but he refused. He handed me his car keys and asked if I’d fetch his car when I had chance. He had a haunted look in those streaming eyes. As though he knew he was a goner, but felt he had to go through the pretence of acting like he’d recover. I put the keys into my jacket pocket, but never came to fetch the car. I was a little distracted. My own family had fallen ill by then.”
Colleen shifted the golf club to her other hand so she could reach out with the one nearest Howard and give his arm a squeeze. He glanced at her and offered a wan smile. His cheeks glistened, but with rain or tears she could not tell.
“Brian’s car,” she said. “It’s still there?”
Howard pulled a hand out of his coat pocket and held up a set of keys. “Been carrying them around with me for weeks. I’d completely forgotten about them until last night. Yes, the car should still be there. Between us, we should be able to wheel it to one of the down ramps and I can gain enough momentum to bump start it.”
“Better hope he didn’t park on the ground floor.”
“That thought had occurred to me. And another. Let’s hope the exits aren’t blocked by a wreck of some sort.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Colleen looked to their left. They were now passing in front of the castle. “Drury Street’s not far.”
They fell silent. A pang of anxiety twisted deep in Colleen’s stomach. She cast the occasional glance behind, but there was still no sight or sound of Clint. If he was following, she hoped he would think they had sought refuge in the castle. If he could find a way inside, it might take him hours to discover that they weren’t in there.
At last, they turned a corner and entered Drury Street.
“Thank the Virgin Mary,” muttered Colleen.
The road was empty. No abandoned vehicles or wreckage or rotting bodies. Not even any rubbish. Apart from the silence and complete absence of people, this might be what Drury Street had looked like when everyone was up in Croke Park for the Gaelic football final, or watching Ireland play New Zealand over at Lansdowne Road.
They hurried forward and reached the entrance to the car park. It was clear. Colleen breathed a fresh sigh of relief. The breath caught in her throat as she heard the sound.
Not as crisp as the last time she’d heard it, probably due to the muffling effect of the wet streets, but instantly recognisable nonetheless.
Click-clop . . . click-clop. . . .
* * * * *
Tom opened his eyes as something warm and damp pressed against his cheek. Dusty was nuzzling him.
“Gerroff,” Tom muttered, pushing him away. “Daft bugger.”
He didn’t mean it. In pensive moments, he looked at Dusty and wondered whether he, Tom, would still be alive if he hadn’t found the dog. Nursing him back to health had given Tom a focus at a time when his mood was black and was likely to have ended with him swallowing the sleeping pills he had collected from neighbours’ medicine cabinets. Man and dog had grown stronger together, and the yawning pit from which Tom’s dead mother beckoned him in the dark had receded.
Tom glanced over at Ceri in one of the single beds across the huge room. She was fast asleep. He decided to let her sleep on.
He started to slide out of bed and Dusty jumped to the floor with a soft thud. He looked back at Tom expectantly.
“Okay, okay, keep your fur on. I’m coming.”
Tom paused with his feet on the floor and raised a hand to his head. He uttered a soft groan. After Bri and Will had gone to bed, he’d told Ceri about Diane’s prognosis for Bri and between them they’d emptied a bottle of vodka. More a beer or wine man, he wasn’t used to spirits. He rose gingerly and dressed.
Downstairs Tom found Diane sitting in the dining room, a huge pot of coffee on the table before her.
“Peter’s gone up to his room,” she said, “but he’s made your breakfast. And the dog’s.”
Tom grunted and went into the kitchen. A tin of ham had been chopped up into a bowl on the floor. Another bowl, filled with water, stood next to it. Dusty bounded forward and got stuck in.
A pan of beans bubbled softly on the barbecue, next to another of chicken soup.
“Yum, yum,” muttered Tom. “More beans.”
He took half of the contents of each pan and left the remainder to simmer for Ceri.
Once he had eaten, and his headache had subsided, Tom called to Dusty.
“C’mon, boy. Let’s go outside so you can make room for that ham you just wolfed down.”
Licking his lips, Dusty trotted to Tom’s side and they walked back through the dining room where Diane was still sitting.
“Good coffee?” said Tom, more to say something than out of genuine interest.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “I find coffee very soothing.”
“It must be the alien in you,” said Tom. He wasn’t feeling particularly charitable this morning. “That much caffeine and us humans would be climbing walls.”
Diane said nothing. She sipped from her mug and did indeed look soothed.
Although the wind had not picked back up, the outdoor temperature had dropped a few degrees from the day before. Tom thrust his hands deep into his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders.
Dusty looked up at him, ears pricked. He wouldn’t leave Tom’s side without his say-so.
“Off you go, then,” said Tom.
With a gruff bark, Dusty bounded away, pausing on the lawn to make room for the ham,
before racing across the pebbles and down to the beach. Tom followed at a more leisurely pace.
Judging from the narrow strip of sand that was visible and the lethargic nature of the waves, the tide was high and preparing to go back out. At the edge of the waves, his back to Tom, crouched Peter.
Dusty had avoided him and was running along the tideline, sniffing at whatever took his interest. Tom approached Peter without speaking, curious about what he was up to.
Peter was bending forward, dipping something into the waves. Tom walked to his side and looked down at what he was holding. A silvery container, a little like a thermos flask; the lid hung down by its side, attached by a strip of black plastic. Tom had seen this container before, but not opened.
Withdrawing it from the sea, Peter gave the flask a shake to swirl the water around the inside, then tipped it up. The water that ran out was cloudy, like freshly dissolved aspirin, but off-white. Creamy.
“What are you doing?” Tom asked.
Peter glanced up and Tom was startled to see that his cheeks were damp with tears.
“I would have done it,” Peter said. “If I’d had the chance, I’d have taken it.”
He dipped the flask back into the water and repeated the process. This time, the water that poured out was less cloudy.
“What are you talking about?”
“I would have done it,” Peter repeated. “Killed them all.”
“Killed. . . . ? Who, Peter?”
“The sailors. That sub.” He shivered. “That makes me no better than the rest. Worse, if anything. My reasons are entirely selfish.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why on earth would you want to kill those sailors?”
Peter shook his head and continued to dip the flask, swirl the water around and pour it back out.
“That powder. . . .” said Tom. “Is it the Millennium Bug?”
“Yep. The last of it.”