Only The Living (Lost Survival Series Book 1) (6 page)

“Well, this is my stop.” Ian ushered us into a grey-toned residential area, indicating that this was the street where he lived. Or where he used to live, at the very least.

I'd driven past there several times on my driving lessons, so I had only seen it a couple of times. Even so, the lifeless atmosphere that the neighbourhood now exerted left something to be desired.

“Wait, that's—” Ian began, then dashed up to what I assumed was his house... one of the unlucky few that had their front door wide open. Keeping Beth safely in my sights, we obediently followed in his footsteps.

It felt kind of rude, just walking straight into another person’s house and searching their possessions for any clues. The situation was unique though, and I assured myself that he and his parents would’ve forgiven the circumstances.

While Ian slammed through doors upstairs, Beth and I sat mutedly in the living room, staring into the blank TV as though something would eventually come on, even without electricity.

“...Nobody's home, are they…?” Beth uttered to herself, concerned for Ian's feelings.

I shook my head after a moment, too busy scanning the oddities that surrounded us. A single empty suitcase lay at the bottom of the stairs, ripped-up family photographs littered the hallway and around seven bottles of beer clinked together at my feet around the armchair. Probably his father’s seat, judging from the lingering stench of sweat.

Ian wasn't exaggerating, something big was definitely going down the night before our fateful interview. To think that he came into the city centre anyway... His day couldn’t have gotten any worse, until it did.

The man of the hour returned downstairs with an unreadable air about him, sighing vacantly. Then he saw the remains of the photographs, glanced awkwardly at me and realised that I'd already noticed them. “...Oh. So that's all settled, then.”

I was unsure of what he meant, but I guessed he wasn't just referring to his parents’ absence. I tried to think of something comforting to say. “It does look like they left in a hurry. There's every possibility that they were taken to the community cen—”

“Fine. We'll take what we can grab from here, and then head for your house, Daniel. Make sure to clear out the fridge and the bread cupboard, there'll be some good stuff to take before it goes out of date.” He slumped back up the stairs again, leaving an ice-cold trail behind him.

Beth tilted her head after him, obviously worried. “...I should go cheer Mister Ian up. I miss my mummy and daddy too, but that doesn't mean we won't see them again, right?”

I froze for a second, then nodded sheepishly. It was one thing talking about her mum like that, but the way she included Leo, it gave me the chills.

Making sure that Beth and Ian were safely upstairs, I brushed up the pieces of the centre-most family photograph from the floor. I checked that they still slotted together before nicking a roll of adhesive tape from a nearby drawer.

It wasn’t my place to fix their private business, but I just couldn’t accept that Ian’s family would disown him a second time, not after the world turned itself upside-down. Things may have been rough in the past, but good memories should never be erased. Love is much harder to rip into shreds than a glossy piece of paper.

Once I’d swiped everything from Ian's kitchen, I took two pairs of clothes from the tumble dryer for good measure. Ian's clothes weren't exactly a fit for me with his small stature, but I knew that idiot would forget to pack some.

All we needed was something to dress wounds with, or keep us going if we got injured. The only place I could think of was a medicine cabinet, hopefully stocked in Ian’s bathroom.

It was really starting to feel immoral, searching and looting his house with him still inside, albeit with his permission. Climbing up the somewhat-centralised staircase in the foyer, the blue-tiled bathroom was right there at the top of the landing, beside Ian's room.

There wasn't much in there — only a bottle of aspirin, tweezers and around three tiny plasters. After lifting some empty bottles around, I was lucky enough to find a small package of anti-septic wipes, so it wasn't a total bust.

Coming through the door, I overheard vague mumbling from the other room, between Beth and Ian... He sounded irritable, more so than usual. “Just leave me alone. I said I'm fine, go find Daniel and help him out.”

“...But Mister, I want to make sure you're not upset! We all promised that we were going to find our parents. You'd do the same for my mum and dad, right? I can help as well, so please don't be sad!”

I could sense Ian's head about to burst through the wall, and sure enough—

“Just forget your damn parents already!! They're both dead, okay?! You fucking saw your dad back there, he’s Lost... and I killed your mum. I stabbed her in the face, and now I'm stuck with a dumb little baby. I hate looking at you, I can't stand it anymore... Just go with Daniel... and leave. You're both better off without me, I'm... fucked up...”

Ian burst into a hybrid wail of sobs and angered roars. He knocked over his furniture and punched the wall forcefully, while Beth rushed straight past me with tears filling her eyes. She never stopped, shooting down the staircase and slamming the front door in a panicked escape.

I walked slowly into the bedroom, where Ian was pressing his face into his pillow, crying. Even when he thought that his family didn't give a toss about him, it still hit him this hard not knowing whether they were safe.

It took him a couple of seconds to notice my presence, then he wobbled to his feet and bawled at me. “What?! I don't care... Just go and get that damn idiot before she hurts herself! She's... She's too good for any of this shit.”

I wanted to say how much we needed him with us, but I couldn't waste any time... I doubt he'd have listened to me in his current condition, anyway.

Before I knew it, I was tumbling down the stairs and skipping four at a time with growing haste. In the next moment, I was frantically scanning the breezy street outside for any sign of Beth. Nothing seemed to have changed since we'd entered the house, although the evening was steadily approaching.

The Lost had started appearing in the windows of various houses, the occasional one finding its way through an open window or gate and crawling out into the barren street.

“Beth!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, not caring how many Lost heard me. I ran the full length of the street until I noticed it. A dim, red glare coming from one of the ground-floor windows.

Her flare...!
I threw my body against the house’s front door, immediately regretting that my weaponised metre stick was left behind in Ian's living room. I’d have to cross my fingers, and hope that no one inside was hungry.

I kicked my way into this stranger's house, flailing my arms wildly around each corner to stave off any attackers. My eyes caught wind of Beth in the darkened living room, curled up behind a plastic plant as she shimmed herself away from an unknown figure hidden by the couch.

She dove towards me as soon as I called her name, hugging me tight and swivelling around my leg to distance herself. Whatever happened in here, she seemed traumatised by one particular spot — the place where the flare was emitting its burning light from.

Edging myself closer, I was both relieved and shocked to piece it together. The red stick was upside-down, buried into the top of a Lost woman's skull. I glared at the small girl in disbelief, speechless as she continued hyperventilating.

The tears streamed down her blood-covered face, unrelenting as she fidgeted with the mallet she'd used to penetrate the flare through her assailant's head. “Don't worry, Mister.... I killed it. Now she's with mummy and daddy, right?”

Thankfully the water was still running in the kitchen, as I cleaned the blood from Beth's cheeks and hands. Relieved that it wasn't her own, I sat her down at the kitchen table while I searched the house for any useful items the previous occupant may have procured.

There wasn't anything we actually needed, in addition to what was already in Ian's house — if he ever came out of his room again — I just needed some time away from Beth, trying to figure out what to say.

The cat was out of the bag; she knew that we'd led her on, whispering behind her back that her parents were dead.

The only noteworthy loot I found was a hefty flashlight and a half-pack of matching batteries. Pretty weighted, as well — in a pinch, the thing could double as a clobbering weapon. It was almost depressing, how my first concern was drawn to the item's bludgeoning capabilities.

I told myself to keep looking around, but I couldn't ignore Beth's cries and whimpers from downstairs any longer. Every time she started another chorus of wails, I felt even sicker for going along with Ian’s not-so-white lie, just for the sake of convenience.

After nearly an hour of fake-searching and mentally preparing myself, I sat down beside the distraught girl in the kitchen. “I’m sorry... about your mum. Your dad, too. We wouldn't have gotten out of the station, or that train without their help.”

Beth stared vacantly at the mallet in her hands, unresponsive. Placing my hand on her tiny shoulder, I tried to establish a connection with her. She must’ve known the truth on some level, but couldn’t accept a world without her parents. The two people who loved her the most, both gone in the blink of an eye.

“You know that Ian... didn't actually kill your mum, right? She was Lost, and if I'm honest... she would’ve turned me into one as well, if Ian hadn't stopped her.”

I was about to start crying instead of Beth, but fortunately we both choked up at the same moment as she glanced down to her feet with those innocent eyes. “I'm not mad... at Mister Ian. I'm stupid, that's all. I
saw
that daddy was one of the funny people, but... I didn't... I didn't want to...”

Beth could barely speak, but she didn't have to. If I'd seen my own mum turning into a monster like Leo, I'd have a hard time accepting that it was permanent as well.

“...Does he really hate me?” The little girl’s voice was barely a squeak, instantly melting the heart that I'd been trying to keep detached and frozen solid for the past two days. Not knowing what to do in these situations, I tried patting her squarely on the head.

“Ian's... not very happy right now. His mum and dad had a big fight with him, before the, err... funny people came. I think he feels guilty as well, because of what happened to your parents. He’s pushing everyone away, because it's hard for him to—” I stopped myself short, already seeing that the concept of self-harm was lost on an 8-year-old.

“...He doesn't feel like he
deserves
to be your friend right now, so he said those mean things to try and make you hate him. He wants to punish himself, for what he did.”

Beth glanced up at me with a confused face. “So if Mister Ian still wants to be my friend, but doesn't want to
want
to be my friend... I don't get it.”

I'll be the first to admit, the way she managed to simplify the paradox made Ian look even thicker than usual. She was exceptionally bright for her age, but at the end of the day, she needed the same structure as any child. Caregivers to look out for her, to tell her that it was all going to be okay.

“I don't hate him... for setting mummy free. Not if she was Lost. If I go over and tell him not to feel bad any more, can we all stay together again?”

I recalled that night at the newsagents, where I told Beth that we could free the souls of the Lost by killing them. It was premature, presumptuous and completely ignorant, and yet in a weird way, I still believed that to be true…

“Absolutely. Don't mention what happened in here though, we don't want to worry him. Just... well, if he doesn't apologise as soon as we walk in the door, we'll do something funny, like... pin him down, and tickle him till he accepts your forgiveness!”

I imitated our plan on Beth, making her giggle through the tears and squirm out of her seat. “...O-Okay, Mister! Let's go and find Mister Ian!”

----

It took another fifteen minutes before we could pluck up the courage to leave that house, narrowly dodging the Lost patrols and crossing the darkened street undetected. By the time we entered his bedroom, Ian was in the same position we’d left him in, sitting idly on his bed with his pale face buried into his palms.

I can't remember exactly what the conversation went like, but Beth made an excellent case — explaining she was happy it was Ian who set her mum free, that she understood we only covered it up to protect her...

It almost seemed too good to be true, how maturely the little girl was handling our major indiscretion. She stressed that she couldn't leave Ian behind because they were best friends; that we were both the closest thing to a family she had left. In the end, it was a blubbering mess between the two of them, managing to hug most of their grief out.

After that was settled, I prepared some 'creative' sandwiches for us consisting of gummy snakes and chocolate wafers as we had no ordinary ingredients. They went down unexpectedly well, and Ian even broke his vow of awkward silence to say thanks.

We talked until bedtime about random nonsense again, like having a team name for our little group — choices from “Rainbow Unicorn Friends“ to “Death Metal Avenge-inators” were thrown between Beth and Ian, until I broke the tie with the winning title “Nicknames are stupid, let's go to sleep already.”

I yawned with a light spin, collapsing onto Ian's single bed as I claimed it for myself. He shook his head with an amused response, dragging me out from his clean sheets. “...Nice try. Beth can sleep here for the night, we'll be across the hall in my parents’ room.”

After we made sure to lock the front and back doors, I was a little alarmed about the sleeping situation. However, my worries disappeared when I walked in and saw that there were two separate beds on either side of the room.

I didn't say anything, but Ian must have noticed that I was thinking about it. “Yeah, those two had... problems, it's fine. You can sleep in my dad's bed, just...” He leaned out towards the hall, making sure that Beth was tucked in and couldn't hear him. “I couldn't exactly let her sleep in
here
, if she found... Well, just don’t look in his drawers.”

Almost instantly, with a devilish glint in my eye, I grabbed the flashlight and wrestled off Ian's protests as I made my way through the shaded room. Tearing each and every drawer out from its panelling with ridiculously-extravagant movements, I eagerly tried to become my panicking host’s worst nightmare.

“C'mon... Where are you, ya beauty?” I chuckled to myself, and not even Ian couldn't resist smirking. Finally the last drawer hit the deck, completing the tapestry of boxer shorts and worn socks all over the bedroom’s floor

I peered inside the wooden container, while Ian buried his face into his pillow with a mixture of embarrassment and giggles. “Oh... Oh my God...” I stared at the rather curious contents, feeling strangely normal in comparison to Ian’s dad. “Those are... I mean—”

“You think that's bad? Try searching his browser history.” We both erupted into hysterical laughter, which was short-lived when we heard a sharp knock on the door.

Beth poked her tiny head through, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What’s going on? You’re both acting silly, it’s really loud...”

In a desperate attempt to protect the youth and innocence of the young lady, I cast myself across the room with a remarkable leap and planted my stomach over the various goods. Even making contact with them felt... dirty.

Thankfully she didn't see anything, but with one puzzling look at my strange behaviour, she rolled her eyes and returned to Ian's bedroom. Once more, we couldn't hold it in any longer.

It was hard to remember the last time I'd laughed so much, after barely cracking a smile in the past two days. I was simply glad that we had Ian back in our group, after such an excruciatingly-long day of getting nowhere.

I knew that it should've felt weird, goofing around like normal teenagers while the world decayed around us. It never did, though — to me, these little moments signified something much greater… They were my own act of defiance, a middle finger towards the many reasons that begged for me to give up on living.

I felt like I could take anything the day threw at me, as long as we had nights like this one. Unfortunately, that night was just beginning... for only a couple of minutes later, there was another little knock on our door.

The front door.