After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four

by Rendle, Samantha

  The other rooms and the car park remain more or less untouched, but the surrounding area has had some changes made to it too. A small vegetable patch sits just outside the gift shop, fenced in and covered with a wire net to keep out local wildlife. And in two neighbouring oak trees, connected by a rope bridge and proudly built by Preston, are two tree houses, better known as the dormitories. This is where the group sleeps and spends their nights, with the only rope ladder pulled up with them to prevent intrusion. It’s not home, for home is a concept best left inside the walls of the Quarantine Zones, but it’s theirs.

  On the storage tables in the pantry, the tins are stacked thick and high, probably enough to feed them comfortably for a month or two. On one side of the room is fruit, which they eat for breakfast every morning, and on the other side are vegetables, soup, tinned spaghetti and anything else they can get their hands on for lunch and dinner. The cat’s food is kept in the kitchen cupboards, where Ratbag can’t get to it on his own.

  First Beth feeds the cat a pouch of Felix and tops up his water bowl with the bottled spring water they keep in the fridge (long since unplugged but still good storage space), before she sets about draining and mixing tinned grapefruit, pears, apples and peaches in a bowl. She then separates the fruit salad equally between herself, Gabriel and Kerry, giving Preston the bigger portion he always demands.

  As the others descend the ladder for breakfast Beth always makes comments like, ‘You know, you’re perfectly capable of making your own breakfast,’ or ‘Preston, remember when feminism was a thing?’

  Today, as she’s serving cold fruit tea, she addresses Gabriel.

  ‘Back in the day,’ she says, wincing as she realises she sounds like her own mother, ‘we had this annual thing called Mother’s Day.’

  Seeing where this is going, Preston and Kerry groan and roll their eyes. Gabriel frowns, his mouth full of grapefruit.

  ‘It was a day where you had to buy presents and a card for your mum,’ Beth explains, ‘and you’d give her flowers and make her breakfast in bed. You had to behave all day and wash the dishes and, if she wanted you to, rub her feet.’

  ‘Why?’ says Gabriel, incredulous.

  ‘It’s just a day to appreciate all the good things your mother does for you.’

  ‘Right,’ says Gabriel, a slow grin spreading over his face. ‘Good one, Mum, you almost had me fooled there. Mother’s Day, that’s funny!’

  ‘It’s true,’ snaps Beth as Gabriel chuckles heartily.

  After breakfast Kerry clears the table and wipes the dishes clean, while Preston and Gabriel set off for the morning perimeter check. They take their guns, despite never having had a breached perimeter in all their years here. The perimeter isn’t very technical; in fact it’s just several lengths of string looped around the trees to form a tripwire, reinforced every now and then when weathered or chewed through by resident wildlife.

  It’s a cool, crisp day and the sky is light grey above the trees. Fallen leaves crunch underfoot. Ratbag follows them for a time as they walk the wide loop around the Sanctuary, only to be distracted by something in the trees a few feet away. He jumps the tripwire and scarpers away. Gabriel and Preston continue on, used to the cat’s antics.

  ‘That cat has seen better days,’ Gabriel notes as it disappears into a bush.

  ‘He’s just channelling his namesake,’ says Preston. ‘Maybe I should’ve called him Frodo instead.’

  ‘Or, you know,’ grunts Gabriel, ‘Fluffy.’

  ‘There’s no Fluffy in Mordor.’

  As usual, the perimeter is intact and undisturbed, and their weapons are returned to the dorms before they join Beth and Kerry at the vegetable patch, where the girls are tending to the plants.

  ‘That was quick,’ Beth says.

  ‘Well it’s the same old,’ replies Gabriel, sinking to the ground and sitting against a nearby tree. ‘Preston didn’t get to kill anyone this morning.’

  ‘And I’m in a very bad mood about it,’ Preston adds. ‘I’m going to nap.’

  ‘Throw a comic down, will you?’ Gabriel calls after him as Preston climbs the ladder up the oak tree.

  ‘Or you could help us here,’ Beth suggests.

  ‘Why,’ says Gabriel with a grin, ‘is it Mother’s Day?’

  Beth shakes her head, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth, as a dog-eared book lands beside Gabriel and Preston calls, ‘Educate yourself!’

  Frowning, Gabriel picks up the book. It’s Preston’s own copy of Fellowship of the Ring. Rolling his eyes, he makes himself comfortable and opens the book, figuring it’s probably more interesting than the female conversations.

  He reads a few chapters as the morning wears on and the girls finish up on the vegetable patch. They disappear for a while, storing any harvested goods and putting away their tools and gloves. Gabriel only glances up as they move from the toilets (where they’ve most likely freshened up with wet wipes) back to the kitchen, where they’re no doubt about to prepare lunch. Ratbag reappears with a small dead squirrel in his mouth, and he offers it to Gabriel as a gift.

  ‘That’s rank,’ Gabriel grunts, not lifting his eyes from the page.

  The cat curls up on his lap despite the insult, and Gabriel strokes its patchy fur. He hates to admit it, but he’s enjoying the ridiculous book about little men and magic rings. Of course, despite his somewhat obvious idolisation of Preston, Gabriel will refuse to admit to liking anything Preston likes.

  Since it’s a clear day and not too chilly, the girls bring a dining table outside for lunch. Lunch today is cold vegetable soup with cream crackers. They eat without Preston, knowing all too well not to disturb him, and Gabriel reads at the table.

  ‘I never understood the hype,’ Kerry admits, nodding to the book.

  ‘I liked the films,’ says Beth. ‘I didn’t understand all of it but Frodo and the blonde elf guy made up for that.’

  ‘Shh,’ says Gabriel, and the girls raise their eyebrows.

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting to read that all day, young man,’ says Beth.

  ‘No doubt he’ll want to play as soon as Preston’s up,’ Kerry assures her.

  They eat in silence for a little while and Gabriel tries to ignore the amused expressions on their faces. The cat jumps up on the table and Gabriel barely notices as it sniffs at his soup. Kerry takes the cat in her lap and strokes him, shielding her own bowl from his curious nose.

  ‘I can’t believe he’s nine soon,’ sighs Beth, reaching out to touch Gabriel’s wrist.

  ‘I can’t believe Preston’s thirty in a couple of years!’ Kerry laughs.

  ‘Who’d have thought the bugger would live so long?’

  ‘Who, me or Preston?’ grunts Gabriel.

  ‘If the boot fits,’ Kerry mutters, and Gabriel kicks her under the table. ‘Ow!’

  Cigarette smoke wafts towards them and Preston is close behind it, his hair rumpled and his feet bare. He’s wearing grey tracksuit bottoms, a Johnny Cash t shirt and sunglasses. He sits down wordlessly, putting his cigarette out in Beth’s empty bowl and reaching for his own. They watch him, amused, as he crumbles crackers into his soup.

  ‘It’s like he’s hung over,’ giggles Kerry. ‘Something wake you, Pres?’

  ‘Ungh,’ grunts Preston, his mouth full of crumbs and chunks of veg.

  ‘There’s nothing worse than a hung over Preston,’ mutters Beth.

  ‘Talk about a bad first impression,’ agrees Kerry.

  ‘Preston got drunk when I first met him,’ Beth tells Gabriel. ‘We were in a bunker in Bristol when the virus broke out, and there happened to be a lot of rum.’

  ‘When in Rome,’ says Preston, knocking back a glass of water, ‘or something.’ His gaze falls on Gabriel. ‘Enjoying the masterpiece?’

  ‘’S all right,’ Gabriel mutters, folding the page and snapping the book shut. ‘I’d have preferred a graphic novel like I asked for.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Preston says. ‘You don’t prefer things over geniu
s.’

  After Preston is finished, Gabriel takes his turn to clean up, and after that Preston is waiting for him with badminton racquets, now wearing trainers. They set up a net and spend a few hours rallying, taking turns against the mild wind. Meanwhile Beth and Kerry tackle a jigsaw puzzle on the floor of their bedroom.

  Sunset creeps ever closer by the day, and it feels like no time before the sky begins to darken. As darkness descends, solar-powered lanterns are lit around the Sanctuary, and with just enough light left another perimeter check takes place, this one made by Beth and Kerry while the boys pack up their badminton gear.

  Dinner, a mishmash of tinned vegetables and new potatoes, is served once again in the cafe, which is also lantern-lit. The cold approaches around the same time as the sun begins its descent: late afternoon. They eat fast, and then take dessert up to the dorms, pulling up the ladder for the night.

  The two tree house bedrooms are gender-assigned. Beth’s and Kerry’s room is immaculate; their mattresses that sit in a corner each made and smoothed over. A rug has been laid over the puzzle so it’s not stood on, and their belongings are arranged neatly on each of their sides of the room. Preston’s and Gabriel’s room, however, is a jumble sale. Gabriel’s comics are scattered at the foot of his mattress, Preston’s ashtray is overflowing, their beds are unmade and there are empty tins scattered around the place. A towel hangs slanted over the window. The only neat area in their room is where Preston keeps his cat books. Needless to say, the group spends their evenings in the girls’ room.

  Monopoly is their most-played game in the evenings. They have an old, battered version with some of the pieces missing, and this is the game they pull from the neat pile in the corner tonight. Kerry is winning so far as they munch on rice pudding, spooning it out of the tins. Ratbag watches them, hypnotised by the possibility of dessert. He practically leaps for the creamy spoon Preston offers.

  ‘I need to write a shopping list tomorrow,’ Beth says through a mouthful of food.

  ‘Can we get conditioner?’ says Kerry. ‘I miss having less frizzy hair.’

  ‘Go to jail,’ Gabriel tells Preston.

  ‘If I had a dime for every time I heard that,’ Preston chuckles, moving his piece across the board.

  ‘Did you ever go to jail?’ Gabriel asks, smirking.

  ‘Jail,’ Preston confirms, ‘juvie, mental hospitals...’

  ‘My turn,’ snaps Beth, shooting Preston a withering glare.

  Gabriel catches Kerry frowning, and not for the first time he wishes he knew more about the past. He knows all about the Old World, of course, but he hasn’t been told all that much about his peers’ past lives. Preston knows Kerry through her deceased brother, who both were close with, but neither will talk about David. Beth talks tirelessly about Gabriel’s father, but not so much about her own history. Sometimes, though not often, he feels like an outsider, ignorant while the others reminisce about their shared experiences way back when.

  Kerry wins at Monopoly, and Beth wins two games of Uno before the games are packed away and the beloved acoustic guitar is picked up. They play a short set tonight, taking turns to pick songs for Beth and Preston to play. Kerry and Gabriel watch, swaying, and occasionally they sing along to the chorus. Sometimes Gabriel watches Beth play with her eyes slightly closed and a small smile on her face. This time of day, her favourite, is when Beth always looks most at peace.

  They clean their teeth after, spitting over the balcony and rinsing with bottled water, before retiring to their respective rooms. Kerry and Beth fall asleep almost right away, but Gabriel and Preston stay up reading by lantern light. Most nights Gabriel attempts to stay awake with Preston, and he never succeeds. He falls asleep with a book in his hands, only to wake up the next day with it sitting obediently beside him, his page marked.

  It’s raining the next morning, and they put the buckets out to collect water. A day is crossed off the calendar and what follows is a day very much like the previous.

  Low Profile

  The temptation to drink was more present than anything Preston had ever felt. In the last twelve hours he’d buried his boyfriend, taken a road trip with two whiny girls, dropped what’s-her-name into a hospital in central Bristol and checked into a shitty bed and breakfast with Aggie. It was no secret that he’d always hated Aggie. She was mouthy, bossy, bitchy and stupid, and she seemed to think she was his friend. He wasn’t even Larry’s friend and he had the bugger’s name tattooed on the underside of his foot.

  Rain lashed against the tiny window in the dingy double room he’d rented for the night, and Aggie tapped annoyingly away on her iPhone with the cat in her lap. He’d paid for the room with David’s credit card, planning to ditch it once it had served its purpose. It wasn’t like David needed it anymore.

  They’d packed a bag each and left the flat straight after the burial, wasting no time in getting the kid (was her name Kelly?) medical treatment. Aggie had tried to insist on stopping in Reading, but Preston kept driving. He knew people in Bristol and Reading was far too close to home for him to cope with.

  ‘I told Paul where we are,’ said Aggie, chewing on her thumb.

  ‘Did you tell him he’s not invited?’

  ‘Obviously not,’ she snapped. ‘He’s going to meet me in a couple of days.’

  ‘Good riddance to you both.’

  ‘He’s staying with us,’ Aggie growled. ‘He’s my boyfriend, Pres, we belong together. And I’m not leaving Kerry alone with you.’

  ‘So that’s her name,’ grunted Preston. ‘Take the brat with you, I don’t care.’

  ‘You can’t light up in here, idiot.’

  ‘Fucking watch me, hag.’

  Smoke swirled around the room as Preston inhaled on a cigarette – his last one. He shook the empty packet in dismay before tossing it out the open window. God, he really wanted a drink. His chest ached and he hated the implication of it. To make matters worse, Aggie’s chewing on her nails was ridiculously loud.

  With the cigarette clamped between his teeth, Preston pushed off the rickety single bed and stretched. He grabbed his hoodie off the back of the door and shrugged it on, flinching as Aggie’s nail creaked between her teeth. Exhaling smoke through his nose, he hesitated as he reached for his bag. Best not to raise any alarms just yet, he reasoned, and he reached for David’s wallet over his guns.

  ‘I’m getting fags,’ he told Aggie, ‘want anything?’

  ‘Can you get me some fags?’

  ‘If you want,’ he muttered.

  ‘Don’t tell Dave...’ she trailed off. ‘Uh, I mean, thanks.’

  ‘Don’t touch my shit.’

  ‘Whatever,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t plan on moving off this bed. I’m gonna ring Paul.’

  ‘Tell him to piss off.’

  The rain was falling in bullets when Preston stepped outside, his cigarette a stub by now. He pulled his hood up over his hair, a futile attempt to stay dry, and started walking aimlessly. He was sure he’d seen a newsagent nearby.

  When he finished the cigarette he flicked it into the road, feeling no better. He’d been known for keeping good humour when he was in a foul mood, but nothing could shift the frown from his face, nothing could make him unclench his fists. He was drenched by now but he barely noticed.

  He walked past a chip shop, a few closed shutters and a tattoo parlour before a corner shop presented itself. Stepping inside, he took his hood down and shook his dripping hair, much to the disgust of the cashier. It was a little shop, not much bigger than their crappy hotel room. Doing his best to ignore the alcohol calling his name, Preston grabbed a jumbo packet of crisps, a Dairy Milk, a two-litre Pepsi and a newspaper off the shelves and dumped them on the counter, looking straight through the cashier at the tobacco cabinet.

  ‘Give me forty Sterling superkings,’ he grunted, before remembering Aggie’s request. ‘Actually, make that fifty.’

  ‘We’ve run out o’ tens, mate,’ said the woman behind the counter.


  ‘What?’ he snapped, finally looking up at her and glaring. She was plump and frizzy and probably about thirty five. She looked as depressed as he felt.

  ‘The new laws,’ she said slowly. ‘We won’t be selling tens after the twentieth.’

  ‘Just give me ten whatever, then,’ he growled, ‘and the forty Sterling. And two lighters.’

  ‘Have you got ID?’

  ‘I’m nineteen.’

  ‘Prove it then.’

  An ugly, insulting comment built up in his throat and died there, and instead he sighed, forcing a grim smile. ‘Uh, my bloke took my ID.’

  Rolling her beady eyes, the woman pointed to a sign behind her. No ID, No Sale. Preston fought to keep the ferocious wave of rage at bay as he plucked David’s wallet from his back pocket and thumbed through the notes. David always carried more cash than he needed, especially with Preston around. Preston’s whimsical cravings could rival that of any pregnant woman. He glanced at the till, which read £26.72. He sighed and wiped the water from his brow.

  ‘I’ve got forty quid in cash,’ he said. ‘If I give you all of it, can you just forget about the ID?’

  ‘Are you bribing me?’

  ‘Well yeah.’

  I should’ve brought my guns, Preston thought mournfully as he left the shop with a full carrier bag, peeling open a twenty-pack of cigarettes, robbing bitch.

  The cellophane packaging crumpled under the weight of the rain as he dropped it in the road, ignoring a disapproving glance from a woman walking the other way. He detoured in the chip shop, using another of David’s cards to pay. He resisted pushing a couple seeking shelter out of the way on his way out.