After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four

by Rendle, Samantha

  Sighing, Beth reaches for the door handle, her heart sinking in the wake of three failed exit strategies, but Preston pulls her back. She frowns at him questioningly, and he smirks, nodding towards the cabbie. Sitting back, she listens with Preston to the man’s side of the phone conversation.

  ‘Stuck on the motorway, you say?’ Sydney groans. ‘I told Bas that that car was a piece of crap. He should’ve listened to me. I’m not fully booked today...’ He sighs and catches Beth’s gaze once more in the mirror. ‘...In fact, I’ve got a small fare out of Brighton, headed your way. Just stay in the car, I’ll call you soon.’

  Hope bubbles up in Beth’s stomach and she grips Preston’s knee. His eyebrows knit together a fraction but he doesn’t move away. In the front seat, Sydney puts his head in his hands and releases another heavy sigh. He straightens up and turns to face them.

  ‘I’m not a liar,’ he tells no one in particular. ‘I’m not a smuggler. I have always had the deepest respect for the law and I very much wish to keep my job. However I am going to pretend that you’ve booked me in advance, that I have verified your passports, and that I have signed your travel papers. In return I want double the standard fare. I want you behaving agreeably and I don’t want a crumb in the backseat of my taxi. Do you understand?’

  ‘No chance of a smoke then,’ chuckles Preston, provoking a steely glare from Sydney.

  ‘He’s joking,’ Beth lies.

  The car starts up once more and they begin their journey to the wall. Preston watches the ocean slip by out the window, hypnotised, and Beth watches Preston. He looks like a kid at Disney Land, though she knows he’s itching to get out of here. A mass of contradictions is Preston.

  Looking past him, she spots a couple swinging their kid between them on the beach, his legs kicking far above his head. She can easily replace that family in her head with her, Des and Gabriel. This would’ve been a nice coastal town for them to move into. She’d have liked to bring up her son near the beach.

  The drive to the wall is laden with silence. Sydney’s elbow rests on the window ledge, his fingers pressed horizontally against his lips – in deep thought or deep regret Beth can’t say. Preston toys with the zip on his leather jacket and chews on his lip, something far too erotic and hypnotic for Beth to look away from for too long. She scolds herself every time she glances back at him, at those straight teeth and that sumptuous lower lip. You hate his guts, she tells herself sternly.

  With a low whir, the driver’s window sinks into the car door and the vehicle slows to a stop in a short queue. The wall looms over them, judging them, and Beth dips in her seat. Preston’s eyes dart around frantically, seeking out guards and weighing up their odds in a fight. His face, as usual, is unreadable. He has about a million different smirks and this one could mean anything between grim and cunning.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ Sydney mutters over his shoulder as they approach at a crawl.

  Preston mimes a zip across his mouth and grins. Beth fishes her glasses out of her jacket and puts them on like a shield. One car disappears through the gate, and then another, and then it’s their turn. Beth watches, her heart fluttering, as Sydney hands over his license and what she presumes is some kind of long-distance permit.

  ‘Where are we going today?’ the inspecting officer asks, peering into the back seat.

  ‘Southampton,’ says Sydney. ‘Passports and papers all check out.’

  ‘Duration of stay,’ the guard asks.

  ‘Indefinite,’ replies Sydney.

  The guard examines the passengers once more, and Beth imagines a scanner hidden in his retinas. She feels him peeking into her soul, and she zips up her jacket to keep him out. After what feels like an age he waves them through.

  When they’re clear of the wall, Beth deflates like a balloon. Preston looks a touch disappointed. They drive slowly like every other driver on the road, probably savouring the Great Outdoors while they can before they’re walled into another city. Beth is reminded of the Safari ride at Disney World.

  She sits back, finally able to relax now no walls separate her from her son. They’re on their way; they’ll be no more than a couple of hours. She hopes Gabriel isn’t too worried. Then again, he’s never really worried about her before. He’s probably got his nose buried in that stupid book and ignoring his everyday duties while Mum’s away. She shakes her head at the thought.

  ‘Say,’ she says suddenly, leaning forward. ‘Could you put some music on?’

  Wordless, Sydney glances back at her before switching the radio on. A soft guitar melody fills the car and a girl sings, her voice high and sweet, overpowering the strings. It’s so opposite what Beth expected of music in 2024 – she’d expected heavy bass, maybe some sort of techno. That’s what the future is supposed to be like, right?

  ‘Who is this?’ she asks, soothed by the contrast of soft melody and shrill voice.

  ‘Aimee Park,’ Sydney says. ‘My daughter is obsessed with her – everybody is, apparently. I suppose she’s after your time, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Beth agrees, ‘we haven’t seen civilisation since the Bristol breakout.’

  Sydney lets out a low whistle. ‘That’s brave. How old were you? You don’t look very old now, let alone...’

  ‘I was sixteen,’ says Beth quietly. ‘He was nineteen.’

  ‘Brave,’ says the driver, frowning, ‘or reckless?’

  ‘You decide,’ says Beth.

  She imagines he’s picturing two teenagers in love, escaping the disaster hand in hand, shacking up somewhere remote and quiet, the only two people left in the world... She lets him think that. It’s not like he’d think any better of her if she told him they’d brought an infant with them.

  As they cross the river and pass the airport, the car begins to pick up speed. Traffic thins and suddenly they’re alone, the only car on the road. Raindrops race on the glass. Sydney keeps one window cracked, letting a crisp, cool breeze into the car. Music lulls them for a while as buildings melt away and trees rise up in their stead.

  ‘How far am I taking you?’ Sydney asks after another unfamiliar song ends.

  ‘Anywhere along the A27,’ Beth answers.

  ‘Oh,’ says the driver. ‘Coincidentally that’s where I’m headed. My daughter and her bloke broke down somewhere along there.’

  ‘I suppose it’s a safe enough place to break down in the middle of the day.’

  ‘If there are no scavengers around,’ chuckles Preston, and Beth shoots him a look.

  They drive for another half an hour before the walls of an abandoned Zone rise up from the horizon like a long, ugly tombstone. Beth recognises this area; they’d driven through it in the lorry yesterday. They pass through it in silence, the music filling the massive void almost half-heartedly.

  Another ten minutes and they’re back out the other side of the wall, and Sydney coasts to a stop beside an old-school Mini Cooper, parked in the middle of the road. They peer out the rain-soaked windows at the chipped yellow paint and the zombie corpse hugging the bonnet. Another lies headless in the road, its blood long since washed away in the rain. One of the car doors is ajar, its window smashed. Beth watches the colour drain from Sydney’s face.

  With the engine idling, they sit for a moment, staring at the empty little car. Beth notes that the already dim sky is beginning to darken, and the selfish parent in her wants to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way. But the unselfish parent in her wants to help this man locate his daughter; he’s stuck his neck out for them already and it would be the least she could do.

  ‘More are going to come,’ Preston informs the quiet car. ‘They’ll be attracted by the bodies.’

  Without replying Sydney opens his door and steps out of the car, glancing around. Beth does the same, but Preston stays in the car, flicking his lighter open and shut with a bored expression on his face. In this moment it’s easy to remember she hates him.

  They’re fenced in on either side of the motorway by trees and sh
rubbery. They’re only just outside of the empty city but it’s impossible to tell how close they’d be to shelter on foot. Sydney glances around helplessly, and Beth approaches him gently.

  ‘Shall we look around?’ she suggests, and he nods. ‘I’ll go west, you go east?’

  He nods again and sets off, his face dazed. She couldn’t imagine returning to Gabriel only to find him gone; she’d never forgive herself. Sighing, she opens Preston’s door and gestures for him to get out. He raises an eyebrow.

  ‘What?’ he demands.

  ‘We’re taking a walk,’ Beth declares.

  Rolling his eyes, Preston obliges, thankful for the opportunity to smoke. They walk up the road, listening intently for anything that doesn’t sound like rainfall. Beth squints into the greenery for anything not-green – a flash of blonde hair, a blue raincoat, anything – but nothing presents itself. Her head is starting to get cold and wet and she’s beginning to wish she’d worn a hat.

  Smoking happily, Preston splashes in each pothole he can find, soaking Beth’s legs. She ignores him, wiping her glasses impatiently as she continues to scan the area without luck. Preston whistles a song they’d heard on the radio.

  It’s not lost on her that they’re unarmed on No Man’s Land and that there could be Ailing or scavengers anywhere. If they’re mugged and the medicine is stolen, this could all be for nothing. But she wants desperately for this man to reunite with his daughter, for her not to be dead or worse.

  ‘It’ll be dark soon,’ Preston observes, relighting a damp half-smoked cigarette.

  Beth sighs, hating to agree. ‘Let’s head back. Maybe he found her.’

  ‘And ditched us,’ adds Preston.

  They return to the taxi, soggy and in low spirits. Preston is looking like he could use a nap and both of their stomachs rumble angrily. Sydney looks no happier, leaning against his cab with a phone to his ear.

  ‘Me too,’ he glumly says into the phone. ‘But look, if you’re safe for now I think it’d probably be best if I head home. It’s getting dark and I don’t think I’ll be able to... Thank you, darling... That’s okay. Do you think you can make it back to the car by eleven tomorrow morning...? Are you okay...? Okay, yes, I’ll tell Mum... Bye then, sweetheart.’

  Hanging up the phone, he looks to Beth and Preston, his expression grim. Beth smiles uneasily. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘They’re both fine,’ he announces.

  ‘Phew,’ says Preston dryly.

  ‘They’re holed up with a bunch of-’ he waves between them, ‘-your lot.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Beth, elbowing Preston hard before he can say anything snide. ‘So you’re going back home for the night?’

  Sydney nods, and Beth takes her rucksack out of the car, unzipping it and riffling through it. ‘Look, standard fare beyond the wall is...’

  Beth stuffs a handful of twenty pound notes into his hand. ‘Take it all.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he says, pocketing the money before she can change her mind. ‘Look, I won’t go any further, but if you want me to drop you somewhere...’

  The first building they’d encountered heading back the way they came had been a petrol station. They’d decided not to walk for two and a half hours in the dark to get home tonight; even for them that’s stupid behaviour. Besides, Beth reasons, Gabriel and Kerry are tucked up safely in bed. All she has to worry about is surviving another night with Preston and a potential Ailing attack before they’re all reunited. So they wave Sydney off and head into the petrol station.

  Only one rusty old car sits beside a petrol pump, sheltering from the light drizzle. They check inside it, never too careful, before stalking inside the petrol station, which is a sorry sight indeed. The shelves are stark naked, the cash register lies on the ground with its guts spilling out in the form of till roll and change, the floor is mouldy and smashed glass litters every surface. But it’s a shelter from the rain and it’s unassuming. No one but a desperate person would think to come in here.

  Ripping down the curtain that hangs between the shop floor and the would-be staff area, Preston clears glass from a part of the floor and lays the curtain down like a blanket. It’s damp and musty but it’ll do. Beth finds a dirty mug behind the counter and she sets it down on the ground outside to collect water for them. When she returns she finds an overjoyed Preston with his nose in the not-quite-empty tobacco cabinet. Rolling her eyes, she sits down on the filthy curtain.

  ‘Result,’ murmurs Preston as he tosses packets of fags into Beth’s bag and joins her on the floor. ‘We’ve got us a nice little hideout here.’

  ‘It’s a shithole,’ says Beth, laughing incredulously.

  ‘Bastards could’ve left us a tin of bloody beans,’ he complains. ‘I’m bloody starving.’

  ‘We can survive the night,’ she says impatiently, waving the matter off. ‘I’m just happy we’re out of there. For a moment I thought we were trapped forever.’

  ‘I told you Preston always has a plan,’ he says with a wicked grin.

  ‘How do things always work out for you?’ she wonders.

  ‘I’m magic.’

  Smiling grimly, she shakes her head.

  Despite the musty shop being shelter from the rain, it doesn’t shield them from the cold. Beth shivers in her leather jacket and her knees knock together, but pride keeps her from cuddling up to Preston. She knows, despite the sudden change in the dynamics in their relationship, that he doesn’t like her any more than he did last week. She vaguely remembers Kerry describing him as affectionate towards his ex, but the Preston she knows is cold and evil and incapable of any simple selfless act, even letting her lean on him to share warmth. Unless, of course, it serves his agenda, she thinks bitterly.

  And his agenda is made clear after he’s taken a nap, when he wakes Beth in the dark by unzipping her jacket. She squints up at him in the dark, trying to read his face but unable, before sitting up and allowing him to peel her clothes from her and pull her on top of him.

  Admittedly, tangled together in a post-coital haze, Beth feels much warmer. She falls asleep with her heart fluttering like a bird in her chest.

  Violent shivers wrack Beth’s body when she wakes up in the morning. Dim light filters through wonky shelves and dancing dust, just allowing her a view of the disgusting quarters in which she’s slept. Preston is silhouetted in the doorway, smoke curling lazily around him like a halo.

  She doesn’t remember dressing. Perhaps in his inability to sleep Preston had made a project out of putting her clothes on her without disturbing her – a typical demonstration of a simple selfless act that serves his own agenda: amusing himself. The slimy mug sits next to her, half-drunk, and she swallows the rest of the murky rainwater thirstily. Her dry throat begs for more and she does her best to ignore it.

  Yawning, Beth reaches for her glasses and stands. She stretches, moaning as her body comes to life, and approaches Preston at the door. He’s looking out at nothing in particular, his posture relaxed. In a world where Preston isn’t twisted and wrong, he could be leaning against a doorframe in a luxury apartment, blowing smoke over a balcony and throwing mischievous smiles over his shoulder at Beth, who’s tangled in sheets and impatiently awaiting his return to bed. She shakes off the thought, hating herself.

  Blue sky pokes holes in thick clouds overhead. The ground is still dark and wet, but the air is crisp and clean. It’s a nice autumn morning.

  ‘We were stupid not to pack food,’ Beth laments. ‘I’m starving.’

  Preston grunts and takes a lazy drag.

  ‘We should go,’ Beth sighs. ‘We have, what, a two hour walk back?’

  ‘I’m chaining,’ murmurs Preston.

  ‘How long is that going to take?’

  ‘Your kid can survive another few minutes, Singer.’

  Scowling, Beth returns inside. She shrugs on the rucksack and scoops up the mug before pushing past Preston and stepping outside. Water pools in dented beer cans and other litter, and Beth painstakingly tips
every relatively clean bit of water she can into the mug. She’s sure there is rust, mould and all sorts of crap swimming around in it when she’s done, but she’s too thirsty to care. She drinks half and thrusts the rest at Preston, who holds it while he finishes his last cigarette.

  Ten minutes later they’re ready to leave. The mug stands watch in the doorway of the petrol station, waving them off like a proud parent on the first day of school. It’s early, maybe eight o’clock, and birdsong welcomes them back onto the dual carriageway. Their boots trudge endlessly in puddles and on gravel, and Beth anticipates blisters. She can’t wait to get back, crack open a tin of peaches and snuggle up on her mattress with a cool cup of fruit tea.

  She hopes the others haven’t left a mess for her. That’s the last thing she needs.

  The Inn

  They’d ditched the Ford amongst the cars in the fifth roadblock they approached, and then nicked a different car from the front. That had taken a few tries; some were out of petrol and others just would not start. Preston was smoking furiously by the time they were back on the move, and Bess held her kid close to an open window, trying fruitlessly to shield him from the cancer in the air.

  No one spoke. They all just listened to Preston singing tunefully along to the radio. That was how he liked it. Other people’s voices just did something to his brain, ruined his mood. So, naturally, he was in a very good mood once he’d calmed down over the car drama and turned on the radio, dangling a cigarette out the car window.

  Darkness was creeping up on them, and Preston still wasn’t sure where he was headed. He’d intended to hightail it back to London but instead he’d found himself driving south. He saw some amusement in ditching these kids in a zombie-filled city centre while he returned to David, leaving them to their own devices. But if he left David’s sister to die he might as well not return to him at all. Aggie, David could take or leave, but Kelly was the apple of his eye. Well, Preston was the apple of his eye – Kelly could be the banana.