Sick Bastards (5 page)

Most Important Meal of the Day

Father was sitting at the head of the table with a smile on his face by the time Sister and I walked into the room. At first, I thought he was being strange - perhaps lost the plot entirely - but then I realised why and did my best to ignore it (and the sounds).

Sister and I took our seats opposite each other. In front of us, on the table, were bowls full of off-cuts from last night. I looked up at Sister who wasted no time in digging in, using her fingers as kitchen utensils. I chose not to. My mind was tormenting me with the expression on the meat’s face last night when it was all in one piece in the centre of the table.

It was missing from the table now of course. Where it had been bound, there were just dark patches from where it had leaked (piss and blood). I knew it smelt bad in here (in the whole house in fact) but I didn’t notice it anymore. At least I could be thankful for that.

Father grunted with satisfaction as he fisted a handful of meat into his gaping mouth. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was the taste of the meat or the other goings on which made him grunt.

He realised he had made a noise and quickly cleared his throat as though the sounds were all part of the same action. Sister couldn’t help but laugh; a laughter stifled behind her hand.

“So how was your night, you two?” Father asked. He grunted again.

“Satisfactory!” Sister teased. I looked at her. She was staring directly at me with a knowing smile on her face. I smiled back at her. Not that I wanted to. I just didn’t want Father to think there was a problem. I suddenly flinched as I felt a foot dig into my crotch. Another glance towards Sister and she gave me a playful wink.

“Well the good news is that we still have a fair amount of food left in the kitchen,” Father said, in between grunts which seemed to be getting more frequent. “With that in mind I think it’ll be safe to say we don’t need to venture out today, Son, so the day is yours to do with as you please.”

The hunting trip cancelled thanks to the poor bastard who stumbled across the house yesterday.

“That’s good,” I told him. In some ways it was good and in other ways not so much. On the one hand it meant that I didn’t have to help hurt someone (if we even stumbled across a normal survivor out there as opposed to one of the infected) but - on the other hand - it meant that I’d definitely survive another day. Out there, there was always a strong possibility of running into a large group of the infected and getting torn from limb to limb. I was too afraid to take my own life but  if this is how life is to be lived now, I wouldn’t bat an eyelid if death did come along.

Father’s eyes momentarily rolled to the back of his head as he let out a sigh. He slammed his hand down on the table, “Goddamn!” he shouted. He quickly tried to cover his tracks even though we all knew there was no point, “So what are you going to do with your day now then, Son?”

I shrugged.

“I can think of something,” Sister laughed, her toes still buried into my crotch. Suddenly her foot was pulled from my lap and the toes were replaced with stroking fingers. I heard Mother laugh.

Sister just looked pissed.

I kicked Mother away and jumped to my feet, sending my chair flying in the process, before she had a chance to unbutton  my jeans. Father and Sister just looked at me as though I had lost the plot.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m not feeling very well. I think I’ll just go for a lie down.”

I started towards the door but Father stopped me, “Son...”

Slowly I turned to face him.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day...”

“I know but I’m really not feeling very well. I think I’ll just skip it today...”

“...And the meat won’t last forever. It’s already started to turn. We need to eat whilst we can,” he continued. “Maybe you should take your food upstairs with you on the off-chance you get peckish.”

The look in his eyes hinted it wasn’t so much of a suggestion as opposed to more of an order. I flashed him a smile.

“Of course.”

I walked back over to the table and collected my bowl of off-cuts. Sister was staring at me, meat hanging from her mouth, shaking her head disapprovingly. She knew I didn’t feel tired, or unwell. She knew I just wanted to escape from my family like the ungrateful bastard that I am.

I hoped the look in my eyes was enough for her to not tell Father what was really going on in my mind.

Father and Son

I closed my bedroom door and sat in the small beam of sunlight which managed to find its way in through the gaps in the barricade. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. The last fragment of my humanity wasn’t quite enough for tears. Instead I just felt a rage slowly build within me as I thought about my family and what they had become: a mother pleasing a father beneath the dinner table whilst kids are present - and then trying to do the same for son; a sister sitting there, aware of what is happening, whilst eating slithers of a person. I felt sick. The bowl of food I was forced to take with me, resting to my side, reminding me of what we had become. I shoved it across the room. It crashed against the wall and the contents flew out leaving splatter marks where they landed.

I couldn’t help but think of how long it had taken for us to get to this level. Or how long it hadn’t taken us to be more precise. Without society here dictating what was right and wrong, things have changed quickly. We had become more animalistic in our nature and I hated it.

I looked beyond the barricade blocking the window and wished that I had the guts to pull it all away and just leap from the ledge. End it all. Hope to God that I’d still be entitled to a seat by his side despite what I had done since the blast.

Something might come along
, a nagging thought kept whispering in my head.

The nagging thought was right. Something might have come along any day now. If I killed myself now I’d never know. But if something did come by - could I really live my life to the full knowing the things I had partaken in? Was there any hope I could become
normal
again? But then what is normal? Is society all that’s wrong in the world and how we are now - is that normal? Is this how we are supposed to behave as humans? Is this what we really are? The thought made me feel uncomfortable. Who was it (in the first place) who deemed the difference between rights and wrongs anyway? Who was to say they were right in what they initially said?

I tried not to think about it. It’s not as though there’d ever be anyone there to answer the question for me. I was just tormenting myself further.

With no advance warning (of a knock or such-like) the bedroom door swung open and Father appeared. He looked angrier than he had done downstairs when we were talking. I could only presume Sister had told him the things I had been saying to her.

“You don’t have to stay here, Son.”

“What?”

“If the way we live doesn’t meet your requirements then you’re more than welcome to try and go it alone...”

Sister had told him then. Damn her. I couldn’t help but wonder whether she would have kept her mouth shut if it weren’t for the fact that Mother had pushed her foot from my crotch. I saw the ugliness of jealousy on her face at the time and knew there’d be repercussions.

“I don’t know where you’ll go,” Father continued, “but I’m sure it will be better than here.”

I wanted to argue with him and explain how I felt and that I was surprised the rest of the family didn’t feel the same. I wanted to tell him that I felt shame for what I had done (on many levels) and that they should too but there was little point. I could see it, in his eyes, that he wasn’t in the mood for arguments or someone challenging him. Besides - I wasn’t ready to leave the house. I had nowhere to go and those things are still out there.

I welcome death, yes, but I’m too afraid to run towards it with open arms; the ever hopeful belief lingering that - soon - a group may come by and help us.

“Perhaps you should use today to think about what you really want. You can stay here and fit in with our ways or you can leave and make your own path in life. You’ll always be welcome here but not whilst you’re continually challenging me. Not under my roof.”

It’s not your roof
, I wanted to tell him. My tongue didn’t move. Clearly it had more sense than my tired brain.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” I told him.

He didn’t say anything immediately. He was just standing in the doorway looking down to where I was sitting on the floor.
That
look in his eyes still blazing away, burning a hole through what was left of my soul.

“Well you be sure. Stay up here today. No sense you ruining everyone else’s day just because you’re struggling with your thoughts. You stay up here and decide what you want to do with your life and where you want to go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He waited for an answer but I didn’t have one for him. Not one that he would have liked anyway. I remained silent. He grunted and stepped from the room, closing the door behind him.

I still can’t cry.

My mind is still too poisoned for that.

All I could think about was what had brought us to this moment.

It was all my fault.

Sister was right.

PART FOUR

Before

Alone

It was the first time I had left the house since leaving - a couple of days earlier - with my father when we originally went out looking for some food (or help). Trapped inside the house, even for a couple of days, I had forgotten how beautiful it was out here. Surprising really, considering the supposed state of the world. I kind of felt stupid for bringing Father’s axe along with me as some form of protection.

The air tasted fresh. The scent of the trees and earth lingered in the air. Nature at its most fragrant. The mid-morning sun beamed down upon my face, warming my skin and making me feel more alive than I had felt for as long as I could remember. The birds were singing in various trees around the house, music to my ears which had grown accustomed to the infrequent creaking of the old house and hushed mutterings of my family.

I would have given anything for my sister to be here with me, so she could feel what I was experiencing, but I knew it wasn’t as safe as I was being fooled into believing. I knew there were dangers within the woods which had the potential to claim our lives within the blink of an eye and that,
that
, I didn’t wish upon my sister.

I stopped walking at the edge of the grass. A line of trees was in front of me. I turned back to the house. No obvious movement from within. Clearly they hadn’t discovered I was missing yet. Should I just turn back? Go home before they say anything?

I can’t.

I need to go on - no matter how scared I am of what I might find.

I closed my eyes and took the first step into the woodland. Okay. That’s it. I opened my eyes again. No turning back now. I’ve done the hard bit; the first step. Now it’s just a question of baby steps making sure to keep quiet in case any of those things are nearby.

I continued forward, careful of where I placed my feet. I knew it would be impossible not to make a noise but it didn’t mean I had to be carefree about traipsing through the woods. I didn’t want to accidentally snap any twigs or branches which may be lying on the floor. Not when the noise could attract the attention of possible trouble.

* * * * *

The sun had made a fair amount of progress across the sky by the time I heard the sounds of footsteps heading my way. Naturally I dived behind some cover (a large oak tree) on the off-chance it was one of
them
or - worse yet - a group of them.

I had been walking for so long, in such blissful and beautiful settings, that I had gotten used to the idea of being alone and my mind stopped from even thinking about running into anyone (or anything). Until now anyway. Now my mind was chastising me for being so stupid and not staying more alert to the reality of my surroundings.

My heart was beating ten to the dozen as the footsteps continued to get closer. Pushing myself against the tree - wishing I could remain invisible - it was impossible for me to see who (or what) it was. My hand gripped the axe handle tighter and I readied my mind for a plan of attack. Even if this thing walked straight past me, I couldn’t leave it to wander with its own devices. I’d have to deal with it just as Father dealt with the last one.

A swift swing of the axe, aimed at its neck.

With any luck, despite my obvious weight disadvantage compared to that of my stocky father, it would only take one hit to detach head from neck.

I steadied my breathing as the footsteps got closer. With any luck (whoever it was) they wouldn’t hear me.

Please walk past.

Please walk past.

Please walk past.

Closer.

Closer.

They stopped at the other side of the tree. Human. Definitely human. And they sounded out of breath. The thing from the other day, even with a knife sticking from its back, didn’t sound as though it was out of breath. This has to be a person. A normal person.

I stepped out from behind the log with the axe raised up, ready to bring it crashing down into the skull of whoever it may have been. I kept it up there, even when I realised it was indeed a normal person (much to my relief).  He jumped when he noticed me.

“Scared the shit out of me!” he said. “I thought you were one of them.”

By them, I presumed he meant the things which my father and I stumbled into when we first left the house.

“What the fuck are they anyway?”

I lowered the axe. Despite his aggressive language, he didn’t look as though he was about to try and attack me. If anything, the medium built man seemed happy to see me.

“I don’t know,” I told him, “something to do with the blast I guess.”

“The blast? What fucking blast? What the
fuck
is going on?”

Clearly he had lost his memory too. I didn’t have time to fill him in on the details.

“What’s that way?” I asked him referring to the direction he had come from.

“You don’t want to go that way!” he said.

That wasn’t the answer I had been hoping for but it was one I was expecting. After all, he’d hardly be heading my way if there was anything good over there.

“What about that way?” he asked. He nodded towards where I had just come from. “What was over in that direction? Anything?”

“No food,” I told him. I didn’t really want to go into details about what was in that direction. He seemed harmless enough to talk to but that might have been because I had the axe in my hands (and he was unarmed as far as I could tell).

“But what about shelter?”

My mind flashed through the three options I had for a response. My first thought was to take the axe and split him down the middle of his body. The second thought was to lie and tell him there was nothing that way either. The final thought - the one I knew I should listen to least out of the other given options - was the loudest one:
tell him about the house
. I knew Father wouldn’t be impressed given his fear of looters and keeping our family safe in these dark times but (telling the man) it was the right thing to do. The human thing.

“There’s a house...” I told him.

The human side won.