‘Uh oh,’ he mutters.
‘Well, it’s just that it’s getting dark,’ she points out.
‘Don’t be scared,’ he chuckles.
‘I’m not scared,’ she growls. ‘At least, not in here. I’m just thinking that it would make sense to spend the night here.’
‘You’re scared.’
‘Okay maybe I am,’ she snaps. ‘You can’t fault me for fearing being eaten on the motorway in the middle of the night! It’d be sensible to stay overnight and you know it. Plus it’ll give us time to come up with a proper exit plan.’
They cross the road, and a short walk later the car dealer’s appears, and beyond it they can just about see a little green cross poking out of a wall. Preston leads the way into the poky little shop, and Beth squeezes in behind him. It’s an open floor, surrounded by three walls of stacked shelves and fronted by a counter, like any other medicine supplier. On a cardboard stand to the left of the counter is a selection of pet medicine.
Manning the counter are two bored-looking women, one rather old and one in her twenties. The younger woman twirls a string of blonde hair around her finger. Preston steps forward, switches on the winning smile and aims it straight at the pretty young lady at the desk. Beth rolls her eyes and peruses the shelves while she waits, disgusted but confident in Preston’s charisma.
‘Good afternoon,’ says the girl, warmly welcoming the change of pace.
‘It is now,’ replies Preston with a wink.
Colour rises in the girl’s cheeks. ‘Uh, how can I help you?’
‘I need antibiotics,’ he says. He almost can’t remember what it’s like to suck up and be nice to someone – just ask for something, instead of force it from them.
‘Okay,’ she says, ‘what is-?’
‘I don’t have a prescription,’ he adds, smirking grimly in remembrance of the last time he had the same discussion.
‘That’s no problem.’
‘Uh,’ he says, ‘really? I must be even better looking than I thought.’
‘You’re funny,’ chuckles the girl, tossing her hair. ‘This is a prescription-free pharmacy. Unless you want the serious drugs or a large quantity you won’t need a prescription.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know that was a thing.’
‘What are you, an Outlander?’
‘No,’ he snaps defensively. ‘I’m just, uh, super healthy.’
‘I’m just pulling your leg,’ says the girl with a wink, and Preston bites back an insult. ‘What are the antibiotics for?’
After spending countless months eating cold canned food in a forest, takeaway pizza in a crummy bed and breakfast feels like a five star meal. Preston and Beth sit on a double bed watching TV, surrounded by pizza boxes, fizzy drinks and crisp packets. The carrier bag in the corner contains their goods: bandages, strong painkillers, antibiotics and flea treatment for Ratbag (he’s had fleas for who knows how long).
Even after buying the medicine, renting a room and ordering pizza they still have plenty of money left over. They’d liberated the driver’s wallet when they stole the lorry and discovered fifty pounds and a contactless card in there.
‘These pharmacy people were pretty trusting,’ says Preston through a mouthful of garlic bread. ‘Who knew so much could change in ten years?’
‘It’s been eight years,’ Beth corrects him.
‘Whatever,’ he grunts. ‘Obviously I saw the hideous prices coming – twenty five quid for those painkillers! But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What else has changed since we turned our backs on society?’
‘Police are armed now, obviously,’ Beth sighs. ‘And it would seem slavery is once again an issue. You’d think we’re going back in time with all these medieval changes the country is going through.’
‘What tells you slavery is a thing? I want a slave!’
‘Kerry and I are practically your slaves already,’ she snaps. She points with a slice of pizza to the television. ‘It’s on the news. You just don’t listen.’
Preston reaches greedily for the TV remote and turns up the volume. A well-groomed woman stands talking into a microphone on a harbour somewhere, and beneath her a headline shouts, HUMAN TRAFFICKERS SENTENCED TO DEATH.
‘Ooh, we have the death penalty,’ Preston enthuses.
‘...Another so-called “monarchy” was overthrown yesterday by passing patrollers,’ the woman announces, ‘this one in a small Wales village. Among the rescued slaves are well-known missing cases Annabel Donnelly and Anthony Richards, allegedly kidnapped between Quarantine Zones and sold...’
‘Cool,’ says Preston, and Beth whacks him.
‘This world has gone to shit,’ Beth declares.
‘You would say that,’ says Preston, whacking her back harder. ‘You’re a WAG in an alternate universe. I’d be in prison.’
‘And rightfully so,’ she snarls, rubbing her arm where he’d hit her, ‘but Des isn’t a footballer, you idiot.’
‘I’ll be honest; I thought WAG was just another term for gold digger.’
‘You’re a pig.’
Much like a pig, Preston has eaten anything he could get his greasy hands on. He could probably eat another pizza if it was in front of him, too. He always used to eat one to himself and half of David’s too, though he’d pick the pineapple off first. He’d spend the whole morning working it off the next day.
Licking her greasy fingers, Beth hops off the bed and begins clearing up the debris. She stacks pizza boxes neatly by the bin, throws away empty crisp packets and flushes the evidence of Preston’s forbidden in-room smoking. Preston watches her move, her deft fingers moving swiftly and efficiently, her wide backside pushing against the fabric of her jeans as she works the room. He imagines her writhing – with pain or pleasure he’s not sure.
His eyes widen as, now she’s finished tidying, she unzips her jeans, ignorantly erotic. She wriggles out of them and Preston is transfixed as she leans over a chair to deposit them, folded, onto it. She turns and catches his eye.
‘We should work out a plan,’ she says as she peels off her socks.
‘We should have sex,’ he says at the same time.
Her eyebrows shoot up from behind her square glasses and her lips part in a gasp. Even with her lips stretched taut, they’re still plump and full. Then she scowls and throws her socks at him.
‘You’re so bloody disgusting, Preston Lancaster!’
Hooting with laughter, Preston bats the socks away. Beth climbs into bed, pulling the duvet protectively over herself.
‘We need an exit plan,’ she attempts again, ignoring Preston’s smirk. ‘We really have no idea what the procedure is for leaving an occupied Quarantine Zone, what if we need passports and papers?’
‘I reckon we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ says Preston.
‘Don’t be an idiot. We’re not risking safe passage back to the others just because you can’t be bothered to use your brain.’
‘Well what are your clever ideas then?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admits. ‘Maybe there’s a way we can sneak through the wall.’
‘We could commit some crimes that result in banishment,’ Preston suggests.
‘We don’t even know if that’s a thing.’
‘It could be fun to find out.’
‘I know you’re not the smartest of people, Pres, but you’ve always pulled off escapes like this before. And I know you likely have an idea, so just spill it.’
‘We could kill a couple of guards and nick their uniforms,’ Preston offers.
‘Thank you,’ snaps Beth, ‘I’ll keep that on file as Plan Z. Maybe your next idea could be Plan A.’
‘You’re no fun, Bethany Singer.’
Chuckling, Preston reaches across the bed, at the foot of which rests his red leather jacket. Beth watches him drag it over and fish in its many pockets before producing a ring of keys. She guesses they’re someone’s personal effects – house key, shed key, work key – but the largest and most prominent catches
her immediate attention.
‘You kept the lorry keys.’
‘Of course I kept the lorry keys,’ says Preston. ‘Although I am a lover of spontaneity, I would quite like to remove myself from confines of the legal system as soon as possible.’
‘Do you remember where it is?’
‘Ye of such little faith,’ says Preston, returning the keys to the pocket they came from and flinging the jacket away from him.
As he leaves the room and crosses the hall to the communal bathroom, Preston thinks tragically of the bath back at the Sanctuary. He’s had three showers in the space of a week now, and he’s beginning to resent that cold porcelain thing in the once public bathroom. They’d liberated it from a furniture shop somewhere, a long time ago, and just dumped it in the men’s bathroom at the nature reserve, disconnected from any pipes because the water system doesn’t work anyway, and they fill it with buckets of water or, if they can spare it, bottled water. Warm showers feel like heaven in comparison.
Despite this Preston showers quickly. He feels restless in a place both familiar and unfamiliar. Who knows, he wonders disdainfully, how competent he’ll be as a driver after tonight? He knows he won’t sleep much.
Wrapping a towel around his waist and carrying his clothes out, he exits the bathroom. A girl maybe Kerry’s age waits outside, tapping her foot, and Preston smiles and waves at her as he passes, chuckling at her gobsmacked face. He can feel her gaze on his scar-streaked back as he pads away.
Beth is clipping her fingernails when he returns to the room, her teeth ploughing into her bottom lip. Although amused at her reaction to the sight of his torso, he’s always pretended not to notice the hunger in her eyes, but today they are different people. Tonight they are responsible for no one and they can be selfish. Tonight Preston meets her gaze, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
She sets the clippers aside as he peels back the duvet to reveal her smooth, toned legs. For once the openly drink each other in, unashamed. Preston sits beside her on the bed, his eyes alive and dancing.
She mumbles, ‘Aren’t you gay?’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Kerry did.’
‘Kerry knows nothing,’ he breathes, smiling and pulling her onto his lap.
‘So... You’re not gay?’ Her fingers dip into the deep scars in his flesh.
‘Not exclusively,’ he says, and then he takes that plump lower lip between his teeth.
Their bodies melt together as Beth leans into him, allowing him to peel her vest from her body and toss it aside. They kiss, deeply, desperately, their hearts thumping in time, and Preston rolls them over so he’s atop her.
They hesitate for a moment, their eyes locked. Her knees lock in his hips and her fingers explore the crevices of his body. Carefully, Preston plucks the glasses from her face and places them on the nightstand. Unfiltered, her eyes gleam in the lamplight.
They collide again, and Beth’s fingers press deep imprints into Preston’s shoulders. It is fiery and intense, and Preston relishes in the senselessness. Beth seems equally as though she needs this – her back arches unreservedly and her face is for once without a frown. Her lips are curved in a secret smile.
‘So,’ says Beth after Preston has rolled away from her, disposed of her, and now lights a cigarette with his back to her. ‘What are you?’
‘Still a bit hungry,’ he replies thoughtfully, ‘a constant source of amusement, achingly handsome...’
‘Not what I meant. I mean what does “not exclusively gay” mean?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I’m just curious, that’s all. You don’t have to answer. I know it’s not my business.’
‘People are people,’ he simply says, exhaling smoke.
He gets up and slips into his clothes, and when he’s dressed Beth is asleep. He studies her for a moment, with her parted lips and her outstretched arm lying across where Preston had been moments before. She looks peaceful. It’s like he’s getting a glimpse of the old Beth, the pre-Gabriel Beth, with little more on her mind than what she’ll be wearing tomorrow. He covers her with the duvet before leaving the room, not bothering to put shoes on.
All Beth’s talk of the ocean has stirred a want in him, and knowing he won’t sleep yet, he heads for the beach. The cruelty of leaving her behind undoubtedly amuses him, especially with the B&B so close to the ocean. He only has to cross a road, as they’d chosen a building directly opposite the beach.
The sand welcomes his feet with a soft crunch. He walks forward, drizzle slicking his face, and sits halfway down the beach, as close as he can to the water without the danger of a wet backside.
It’s a strange thought, that he’s never been this close to the ocean before. London’s clutches had been tight around him until the outbreak, and he’d never set foot outside the perimeter. Until Larry moved away he’d never really had a desire or need to. Funny, who’d have thought a viral outbreak could broaden your horizons?
The lobby clock had tells him it’s nearly three in the morning when he eventually extracts himself from the beach. He tracks sand across the carpet as he returns to their room. He wakes Beth and uses her again, before collapsing onto the bed for a couple of hours’ sleep.
When he wakes it’s still dark, but it’s the musty kind of dark that hints a winter morning. Beth sleeps beside him, curled into a ball. When he turns on the lamp he notices bruises on her arms in the shape of his fingerprints, and a wry smile passes fleetingly across his face. He showers again, for want of anything better to do. He goes outside, smokes a cigarette and watches the sun peek over the sea, sending sparks of colour across its dull surface. He goes back inside, peruses their pharmaceutical purchases and reads each label. He considers taking one of the painkillers for the sleep-deprived headache that’s coming on. He puts the medicine back into the carrier bag.
‘Have you slept?’ Beth groans from the comfort of the bed.
Preston straightens up and sits on the edge of the mattress, grunting, ‘Some.’
‘What time is it?’
‘No idea,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I hope they’re starting breakfast soon, though.’
‘We shouldn’t stay for breakfast. We’ve been here too long already.’
‘How long has it been since you’ve had bacon, Bethany?’
‘Meat is murder.’
‘Well I’m staying for murder. Good luck driving that lorry if you’re not.’
Sighing, he flops back onto the bed and sniffs the air, waiting for the unmistakeable smell of fried meat. Beth props her head up on to look at him, and he offers a scowl in return. She obviously thinks she’s allowed to smile at him after last night. Of course, it’s his own fault for taking advantage of the girl who still writes her lover’s name in a heart even though she hasn’t seen him in over eight years. You couldn’t get clingier if you tried.
It’s his automatic instinct to shove Beth away as she leans over him, but he refrains and she retrieves her glasses from the nightstand next to him. She dresses methodically, any trace of embarrassment well hidden, even as Preston blatantly watches her.
‘You look tired,’ she tells him as she tugs on her boots.
‘I’m wide awake.’
‘It’s got to suck,’ she says sympathetically, and Preston wants to gag, ‘having insomnia.’
‘My therapist is dead, Bethany,’ he snaps in response.
A slow series of sounds signals the awakening of the staff and other guests. Preston listens, trying to ignore the sound of Beth’s breathing and the feel of her eyes on him, and wonders if he needs to let her know what he thought was obvious: that the events of last night do not and will never mean they’re a couple. He also wonders if, while telling her these things, he also wouldn’t mind a repeat of said events now and then. Meaningless, of course, he’d have to add.
The thought of putting all this across and trying to sound like he gives a shit sounds exhausting, so instead he decides he’s waited long enough. He r
olls off the bed and leaves the room. He doesn’t need to look to know Beth’s scooped up their things and followed him.
Downstairs, the dining room is quiet. An elderly couple sits in the corner and a tired-looking woman in a suit sips coffee by the door. Ever the showman, Preston struts into the room and picks the table in the middle of the floor. Beth sits opposite him and puts the carrier bag in the seat beside her, looking around uncertainly.
Breakfast is ordered and served: bacon sandwiches for Preston and egg and soldiers for Beth. They look at their steaming mugs of coffee like they’re the elixir of life. Their plates are emptied in the space of two minutes and their stomachs growl for more.
‘It’s like nothing’s changed,’ Beth says sadly as she licks her fingers clean.
‘Well yeah,’ says Preston.
‘What do you mean? People are drinking tea and eating toast like it’s still 2016.’
‘As you would be if you lived here. You wouldn’t give people like us a second thought. People live in bubbles, Bethany, they always have.’
‘I suppose so. A runny egg and some toast can quite easily make you forget the sufferings of others.’
‘Yeah,’ Preston mutters. ‘So are we going?’
The room has become uncomfortably full of people in the time it’s taken them to eat, and Preston is itching to get away. Beth obliges, casting another longing look at her plate as they abandon their room key and leave.
They take the scenic route back to where they’d left the lorry, walking alongside the ocean. Preston watches the waves beat against the wall a mile or so away. The wall ends adjacent to the pier, just deep enough to keep the city’s occupants safe. He wonders how people found out that the Ailing don’t swim.
It doesn’t take them long to reach the street where they’d parked, and Preston fishes in his pocket for the keys as they round the corner, but the lorry isn’t there. It’s nowhere to be seen.
‘Oh,’ says Preston.
A Fork in the Road
Whoever Beth Singer had spoken to on her phone had not picked her up, but Kerry didn’t mind. The little baby kept her amused and enamoured. Despite his stuffy sickness, he was a happy little boy with the most gorgeous smile, and he seemed the only person in the cellar who was genuinely pleased to see her. He was generous with his heart-melting smile and quick to laugh at Kerry’s silly games.
After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four Page 11