After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four

by Rendle, Samantha

  Smoking and bringing hot food into a B&B, as Preston soon realised, can get you into trouble with your hosts. It took him and extra fifteen minutes to convince the suspicious owner that he wasn’t smuggling in chips – he just stank of them from earlier - and sneak the food into the room, and when he finally dropped his purchases onto his bed Aggie was still on the phone to her boyfriend as she absentmindedly stroked the cat.

  As he ripped the paper from the extra large bag of chips, Preston tried not to listen to the utter rubbish Aggie spouted down the phone, her free hand scratching an itch on her head. He stuffed a handful in his mouth and chewed as loudly as he could.

  ‘I can’t wait to see you,’ she whispered, shooting Preston a disgusted look. ‘Are you bringing Nicky with you? I don’t want you travelling alone.’

  ‘Try not to dig your brain out,’ muttered Preston, throwing a chip at her.

  Aggie gave Preston the finger and said into the phone, ‘Stay safe, then. I love you. No, I love you more.’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ said Preston.

  ‘I love you more! Look, I have to go. I love you.’

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ said Preston when she hung up.

  ‘Oh please,’ growled Aggie. ‘I bet you came out with all this gay stuff with...’

  ‘You can say his name, Agatha, he’s not Voldemort,’ snapped Preston. ‘And no, we were cool one hundred per cent of the time.’

  ‘Having a fort in David’s living room is not cool.’

  ‘Proof that you know nothing,’ he said, throwing her another chip.

  ‘Did you love him, Pres?’

  ‘What the hell have you done to your fingers, you savage?’

  It dawned on Preston now what a state Aggie was in. Every day before now she’d been pristine, with her wavy blonde bob, smooth pale skin and a dusting of freckles sprinkled delicately across her nose. And her nails were always long, pink talons. Looking at her now was like looking at a different person: her hair was wild and bushy and she had a rash on her forearm, she had circles under her eyes, and her nails... They were gone. She’d bitten them down to stubs and some of her fingers were bleeding.

  She was clearly having a harder time than Preston had noticed. Obviously he didn’t tend to notice what other people were feeling because he didn’t care, but this surprised him. Aggie really couldn’t cope – then again she’d never had to suffer through anything, the spoilt cow.

  Aggie shrugged it off and moved to sit on Preston’s bed with him, helping herself to food. Preston offered her the Pepsi and she poured herself a glass.

  ‘How long do you think it’ll be before Kerry’s allowed out of the hospital?’

  ‘We’re taking her tomorrow whether she’s allowed or not,’ said Preston.

  ‘Thanks, Pres,’ Aggie muttered. ‘I know you’re not keeping us around because you care or because you like us, but I appreciate it anyway. Especially, you know, for Kerry. I don’t think she’d survive without you.’

  ‘She’ll outlive me if we’re all lucky.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Why do you keep asking me questions?’

  ‘You don’t exactly talk about yourself or how you’re feeling.’

  ‘I’m feeling pretty annoyed that you’re asking me all this crap,’ snapped Preston. ‘What I do is none of your business and how I feel is none of your business. Isn’t it like your bedtime or something? I’m getting really fucking tired of you.’

  ‘Jesus, Preston, I’m so sorry. You’re not the only one experiencing this, okay? I lost him too. You weren’t even there to help him-’

  SMASH. The lamp hit the wall and broke before Aggie could even blink, and Preston got so close to her she didn’t dare breathe. Ratbag leapt to his feet and streaked under the bed, hissing. Her heart hammered against her chest and she closed her eyes, waiting for the blow.

  ‘Shut your mouth right now,’ said Preston levelly. ‘I don’t want one more word out of you. If I even hear your freaky nail-biting sounds I’m going to rip your itchy head clean off your shoulders, do you understand?’

  With tears pricking her eyes, Aggie nodded wordlessly. Preston sat back and lit a cigarette, not even feeling bad as Aggie cried and chewed slowly on the chips. It seemed to take her forever to finish them, and when she did she reached for her own cigarettes. They were a crappy brand but she didn’t say anything. They smoked together, watching smog float around the room, and all of a sudden Aggie was asleep on his lap.

  As the minutes bled into hours, Preston found himself stealing glances at his bag. He’d always pictured the zombie apocalypse – every bloke had at some point – but never had he pictured himself without David by his side. He wasn’t even sure why he’d kidnapped his boyfriend’s sisters and kept them alive through the chaos. All he wanted to do was go back to that park across from the flat and lie down next to David and sleep forever. Maybe once Paul was here, once he’d taken Aggie and Carrie with him, Preston could go home...

  Aggie shifted in her sleep, her bony head uncomfortable on his legs, and she grunted. He smirked, hoping she’d never made that noise while in bed with Paul. He settled down next to her, suddenly exhausted, and he fell asleep to the sound of the rain.

  When he woke up, Ratbag was sleeping on the opposite bed and Aggie had kicked her jeans off. Their legs were tangled together and she’d slung an arm over his stomach, and he had to wrestle her off him to get up for the bathroom.

  He stumbled across the hall and into the bathroom, barely opening his eyes as he relieved himself. Only once he’d splashed water in his face and rinsed out his stale mouth did he notice the hair on his jeans. He was covered in it; she must’ve moulted in her sleep. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and did his best to brush it off.

  His watch told him it was seven o’clock, and the light through the window told him it was morning. He stretched and yawned before returning to the room, where Aggie seemed to be having some sort of fit. She was grunting and swiping at the air, almost like a dog having a running dream. Preston nudged her with his foot to quiet her and she settled down.

  Pouring himself a cola and wishing he had coffee, Preston reached for the carrier bag. He’d forgotten he’d bought the newspaper he pulled out of it, whose front page told him what he already knew: ZOMBIES IN LONDON. With a humourless laugh he settled down to read, with Ratbag snuggled at his side.

  A group of crazed men and women harassed people across London yesterday, it read, and some reports claim that said men and women were attempting to eat their victims. An anonymous source told reporters that she’d been feeling terrible pain from a bite on her arm, accumulated by someone in the mob.

  The scene occurred in surrounding areas of the School of Biological and Chemical Sciences, where Professor Andrew Gruger is famed for founding Life, a drug he claims could cure all ailments from the common cold to cancer and Alzheimer’s. Some sources maintain that these attacks are a protest against his far-fetched claims, while others believe this is the result of uncontained failed human trials. Professor Gruger was unavailable for comment.

  Shaking his head in amazement, Preston reminded himself to pick up today’s paper, which was no doubt going to have a field day with what happened yesterday. It made sense that this had originated in Mile End if it had taken a day to reach him in Chelsea. How many days would it take for the madness to spread to Reading, or here, in Bristol?

  His train of thought was halted by another bout of fitting from the opposite bed. The cat looked up from his slumber and Preston looked up from the paper. Aggie was moaning so loud she was almost screaming, and her limbs flailed wildly.

  ‘Oi,’ Preston barked, ‘cut it out, will you? I almost feel sorry for Paul if he has to put up with that every night!’

  With glassy eyes Aggie looked around, seemingly lost. She sat up, moving robotically. Her expression was vacant, her jaw slack, and all Preston could think was, she does not look good in the morning. He noticed the clump of hair on her pillow in the same mo
ment that she launched herself at him, screaming.

  Reacting fast, Preston threw a punch that connected with the side of her head, and Aggie fell backwards, bouncing off the opposite bed and landing awkwardly on the floor. With alarming speed she was back on her feet and initiating another attack.

  ‘WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?’ Preston thundered as he kicked her in the stomach, having not had a chance to get to his feet yet.

  Another kick, this one to the head, sent Aggie sprawling again, and she screamed savagely. Urgent knocking on the door barely distracted them from each other. Preston leapt to his feet and fended off a swipe from Aggie’s nail-less clawed hands, retaliating with a punch in the throat. Aggie stumbled back, holding her throat and gagging, and Preston noticed her bleeding lips, the worsened rash on her arm and another clump of hair hanging loosely from her head. Zombies in Bristol, Preston thought mournfully.

  Recovered, Aggie made a wild grab, which Preston dodged with ease. He swept his leg under her, tripping her, and stomped hard on her face, breaking her nose. Blood gushed into her mouth, stifling her screams, and with a hint of regret Preston brought his foot down once, twice, three times more.

  The knocking grew louder, and Preston could hear voices behind the door, but Aggie had stopped yelling. Her face had caved in, and a tooth fragment floated in blood next to her. Preston’s heart hammered against his chest as he made for the door, his bare foot sticky and red. He wrenched the door open, shielding the view of the room.

  ‘What?’ he snapped.

  A concerned elderly couple stood in the doorway, startled by his sudden appearance. He imagined he looked rumpled and crazed, probably not a help to his case.

  ‘We heard noise,’ the woman said. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Everything’s grand,’ replied Preston. ‘Thanks for your concern.’

  He moved to shut the door, but the old man, surprisingly strong, held it open. Preston glared at him.

  ‘There was screaming,’ the man insisted, ‘and banging. Is there a woman in there with you?’

  ‘No,’ Preston growled. ‘Go away.’

  ‘What’s happened to your foot, dear?’ said the woman.

  ‘There was a smash last night as well,’ supplied the man.

  ‘Well I dropped a lamp,’ snapped Preston, ‘and I stood on it this morning. Are you satisfied?’

  ‘I heard a woman screaming,’ the man asserted.

  ‘I scream like a girl,’ Preston shot back.

  Before the man could open his mouth to argue, Preston hauled the door shut and locked it. With great effort he pushed both beds against it before lifting Aggie’s mangled remains onto one, covering her with a duvet. Her ankle, the swollen bite on it plain as day, hung out of the sheets, too late offering an explanation. The cat stood in the middle of the room, assessing the situation as Preston checked the underside of his foot for any unfortunate teeth marks. It was blessedly unscathed.

  Swearing under his breath, Preston set about packing bags. Aggie’s bag was emptied of her things, and in their place he put the snacks he’d bought yesterday, the cigarettes and the cat, who seemed unfazed. He tossed his toothbrush and dirty socks into his own bag and zipped it up. The last thing he did before escaping was send Paul their location on Aggie’s phone.

  His and Kerry’s bags were hurled out the window, and the cat-bag went on his back as he jumped one storey down after the other luggage. He picked up the fallen bags and he ran.

  The Ford Fiesta, stolen from a supermarket car park, pulled into the hospital pick-up point. Ratbag slept soundly on the back seat, amongst all the bags. Preston sat in the car for a moment, smoking and wondering why the hell he wasn’t driving back to London right now. The brat would be taken care of, and she was probably better off without him.

  Despite this, Preston found himself cracking a window for the cat and climbing out of the car. He took one last, desperate puff on the cigarette stump before tossing it aside and heading into the hospital, his fists stuffed in his jacket pockets.

  He approached the reception desk, where a tall, skinny man a few years older than him sat at an out of date computer. The man, whose badge told Preston his name was Joe, looked up and offered a warm smile. It was not returned.

  ‘Good morning,’ Joe gushed in a high-pitched voice. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Carrie Twain,’ said Preston, ‘I need to know where she is.’

  The receptionist tapped the keyboard and said, ‘You mean Kerry Twain?’

  ‘That is what I said.’

  ‘You said Carrie.’

  ‘You heard Carrie. I said Kelly.’

  ‘Kerry,’ Joe corrected.

  ‘You’re confusing me, Joe.’

  ‘Can I ask what your relation to Miss Twain is?’

  ‘No,’ said Preston. ‘Look, Joe, I’ll be honest. I had a total brain fart. It’s been a hell of a day. Can you tell me where... Kerry...’ He tried to gauge Joe’s face as he guessed the name. ‘Where is Kerry? I’m in a bit of a rush.’ He swallowed, his control over his expression threatening to waver as he added, ‘It’s her brother’s funeral.’

  Something in his face must have appeared genuine, and he silently cursed himself for it as Joe’s eyes widened. His lip balm-smeared mouth opened to gush sympathies and Preston cut him off before he could.

  ‘The ward, Joe,’ he pushed.

  Joe nodded understandingly, offered a sad smile and said, ‘Kerry is on the second floor, in the butterfly ward.’

  The long-awaited eye roll came as soon as Preston turned his back, and he moved away as fast as he could. He was taking too long, and any time a siren sounded it made him nervous. Had the old couple spoken to the police yet? Had Aggie’s body been discovered?

  The butterfly ward was decorated with terrible crayon drawings, rainbows and other similar rubbish. Kerry sat up in bed, reading a book with a fairy on the front. The other beds were unoccupied. Preston glanced around for her clothes. He spotted them on the arm of a chair, reached for them and tossed them onto her bed, and she finally looked up and noticed him. She was surprisingly happy to see him.

  ‘Preston,’ she said, beaming. ‘Are we leaving? I only woke up a little while ago.’

  He noted the sterile white bandages on her hand and the too-big hospital gown. Her nails were filed neatly and her hair was braided. It seemed that the amputation had prevented the virus from spreading, like cutting off a tumour. She only looked a little stupid, and that was because of the meds. Also, probably, because she was a little stupid, Preston reasoned with a smirk.

  Watching her smiling at him with David’s green eyes, genuinely pleased to see him, Preston wondered again if he could really do this. What was his plan, really? Surely he wasn’t planning on keeping this girl around, just because she had his eyes and his hair, just because she was proof he’d existed? He certainly wasn’t considering keeping her because he cared about her.

  ‘Where’s your doctor?’ Preston asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Kerry, patting the bed for him to sit down, ‘but he gave me this button to press if I want to talk to him.’

  Preston considered for a moment, and then shook his head, deciding, ‘We don’t need his permission to leave. Get dressed.’

  ‘He gave me some tablets,’ Kerry said, closing her book and gesturing to the box on the nightstand. Preston took the box and pocketed it.

  While Kerry changed Preston moved to the window, expecting at any moment to see a horde of them attacking, or for the police to be surrounding the building. He hankered to get out of there, but Kerry was taking forever, clumsy with her bandaged hand. He could hear her sighing in frustration as she tried to do up a zip.

  All was quiet outside, however. People milled in and out, cars breezed past and buses honked and tooted. The sky was beginning to clear but the ground below was still wet, and bike tyres slashed through puddles. It was intriguing, how much the world could change but continue to spin.

  When the kid was finally dr
essed and ready to go, Preston led her back the way he’d come, moving quickly past the reception desk on the ground floor, and they were blessedly uninterrupted as they made their escape. They got in the car, where Ratbag still slept, and Preston started the engine immediately.

  ‘Where’s Aggie?’

  Preston glanced from the kid to the road. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Where’s my sister?’ Kerry asked again. ‘Are we meeting her somewhere?’

  She was looking at him expectantly, her face a picture of innocence. Preston almost told her the truth.

  ‘She went away,’ said Preston, ‘with Paul. He picked her up at the hotel and they left.’

  ‘Is she coming back?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Preston sighed. ‘Look, there’s crisps and chocolate in the back if you want it. Just don’t talk for a bit, all right? I’ve got to try to remember where I’m going.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Somewhere safe,’ he replied, ‘hopefully.’

  The Tipoff

  The rain has eased to a light drizzle, but drizzle is still rain and Kerry hates rain. She’s frizzy at the best of times. She doesn’t even leave her bed this morning; she reaches instead for her sketchbook and biro. Natural forms are her preferred subject, and her book is full of drawings of trees, flowers, foliage, and snail shells, mixed with the occasional still life or figure study.

  First up the ladder after breakfast is Gabriel, who passes her an open tin of mixed fruit before retrieving his book and joining her under the duvet. She smiles and fondly nudges him with her elbow and he grins back. They’re granted a few moments of silence before Beth’s and Preston’s voices float up the ladder ahead of them.

  ‘...I’m just saying it’s not hard, Preston.’

  ‘And I’m just saying I don’t care.’

  Preston appears briefly before disappearing across the rope bridge. Beth comes up a moment after, fuming, and she flops down on Kerry’s other side.

  ‘What’s he done now?’ Kerry asks, setting her breakfast aside.