The Dying & The Dead 1: Post Apocalyptic Survival (10 page)

“That’s
enough, Max,” said Charles.

Heather
wanted the men to leave, but she didn’t want to make it obvious. If she upset
Charles there was honestly no telling what he could do. She’d heard the things
he was capable of, and she’d seen him take Jenny from her class.

“This
isn’t a social call,” said Charles.

Heather
readjusted the tarpaulin so that some of the plants were completely covered,
but there was still work to do. With any luck she’d done enough to avoid any
damage, and that meant their plan was still strong. At the back of her mind she
thought Charles might request the food to be added to the Capita stores, but
she made sure the thought stayed where it was. She didn’t need more shit to add
to her trench of worries.

“What
can I help you with?” she said, trying to make her voice sound casual.

“Let’s
go inside.”

He
said it as in invitation to Heather, as if this were his house. He walked to
the patio doors, slid them open and walked into the living room. His boots left
faint imprints of mud on the carpet, but it had been a long time since Heather
cared. Sometimes it was an achievement sliding out of bed in the morning, let
alone getting to class. Everything else was low priority.

They
sat in the living room, Charles leaning back into a chair and crossing his
legs. Max and the other soldier stood behind him. Heather wondered if the other
soldier was mute. He hadn’t said a word since being here. Charles was the first
to speak.

“I
need you to help me,” he said. “I need you to keep an eye out for DC’s in
school. Among the children.”

Her
mind flicked to Jenny, and she felt her stomach lurch. What had happened to
her? She didn’t want to think about it. It felt selfish, but part of her
worried that the girl had somehow known that Heather was aware of her secret,
and that she’d told the Capita soldiers that she was an accomplice.

“There
aren’t any in school,” said Kim.

Her
voice was so calm. When she looked at Charles her eyes showed more curiosity
than fear. Kids didn’t have any awareness of danger. They were protected by
their parents and cushioned from the blows of the outside world, but that was
going to have to change. Children needed to be scared these days. They needed
to know what waited for them, both in the safe zones of the Capita and outside
it.

Charles
ignored the girl as though he hadn’t heard her.

“If
you knew of any, would you report them?” he asked Heather.

“Of
course,” she lied.

He leant
forward. “Tell me. How could you teach the girl so long and not have a clue
what she was?”

“They
don’t exactly wear stickers.”

“Come
on. I’m talking about a child. They can’t keep secrets.”

Heathers
face flushed red, and she hoped it didn’t show. She wished she could get this
despicable man out of her house.

“They
tend to hide their condition,” she said, trying to keep the scorn from her
voice. “Because they know how they’ll be treated.”

She
regretted the words as soon as she said them. Talking ill of the Capita wasn’t
wise no matter whose company you were in, and in front of Charles it was
downright dangerous.

“You
have no idea how they’re treated, Heather.”  He managed to make the words sound
like a reprimand and a threat at the same time.

Charles
stood up out of his seat. She was struck with the impression that his costume
made him seem taller than he really was, that if you peeled back the pantomime
you would see a man who hadn’t eaten his vegetables as a child.

“Would
you know if your daughter was one of them?” he said.

She
almost leapt to her feet. To hear this man talk about her daughter made her
face hot. Kim glanced at Heather, and this time she looked alarmed.

“She’s
not one of them,” said Heather.

“But
would you report it, I wonder? How deep is your loyalty to the Capita?”

“You
expect people to choose the Capita over their families?”

“That’s
what I did.”

The
room was silent. Max, over in the corner, looked at the floor. Charles looked
beyond Heather at the patio doors and the garden, and for a while his eyes
softened and his shoulders sagged. One blink of Heather’s eyes later the effect
was reversed, and Charles, with his leather coat and hideous mask, once again
filled the room. He drew his coat together. His pick axe hung over his back
until it rested parrot-like on his shoulder.

“Watch
the children. Be my little magpie. Report anything worthwhile to me, and I’ll
make sure you’re rewarded with breadcrumbs. Don’t report anything, and I’ll
make sure you’re punished.”

Heather
didn’t say anything, but that didn’t bother Charles, who carried on speaking.

“I
shouldn’t be telling you this, but there’s a Resistance insider feeding
information from the Capita. I don’t know who it is, but I’ll found out. These
people can hide, but I know all the hiding places. But in the meantime, those
of us who live under the Capita must stick together.”

He
turned to Kim.

“Do
you know how the air smells, girl?”

“No.”

“Have
you ever wondered?”

“Yes.”

Kim’s
response was strange. After all the things she lied about, all the facts and
stories that she exaggerated for no reason, she decided to tell the truth about
this? This was the one answer Heather didn’t want her to give. It made her seem
suspicious. Normal people didn’t know the smell of the air. Normal people
didn’t care, and the Capita liked normal people.

Charles
knelt in front of Kim. As he bent down his leather coat creaked.

“Do
you friends ever take their masks off?”

“Never.”

“What
about yours? Have you ever taken it off? Even for a tiny second?”

Kim
looked at her mother.

“I’m
not stupid. I know what’s in the air. Mum taught me how to use the AVS when I
was four.”

Good
girl,
thought
Heather.

Charles
nodded his head. “Your mum is a sensible woman. Let’s hope she stays that way.”

With
that he straightened up and nodded to the two soldiers. Max gave another look
around the room and then walked out of it. Charles turned to Heather.

“Stay
safe. Both of you.”

After
he left the house Kim moved off the sofa, walked up to her mother and threw her
arms around her. It was a closeness they rarely shared, despite the love
between them. Heather had always found physical contact strange. She thought
that having a kid might solve that, but hugs always felt awkward even when they
were from her only child. Still, the sentiment hit home and this time, she was
happy to return the embrace.

“He
scares me,” said Kim.

“You
did a great job hiding it. I mean that.”

“Why
does he want to find the DC’s so much?”

It was
a question that few really knew the answer to. Even Heather didn’t know the
full extent of things, though she knew enough. The problem was that the answer
was not one fit for the ears of children. Then again, there was no such thing
as children anymore. Despite her daughter being twelve years old, Heather
needed her to grow beyond her years. She couldn’t be a kid, she needed to be a small
adult. She needed to know the truth.

“They
use their bodies to cure the infected,” she said.

“I
thought you turn when you’re infected?”

“Not
always, Kim.”

“What
would you do if I was one of them, mum? Would you help me hide?”

It was
a question that peeled away Heather’s skin, sawed through her skull and buried
itself deep inside her brain. It was something she’d turned over in her head
again and again in bed while the rest of the Capita slept. Once, she thought
the question was an almighty “yes”. That it was unquestionable; if she knew
someone was a DC, she would help them.

After
seeing Jenny led away by the bounty hunter and turning her back on the DC boy
in Cresstone, Heather wasn’t so sure. She was losing the fragile high ground
she’d built up for herself. There was always that little part of her that knew
what was wrong and what was right, and she always drew pride from the idea that
she would stand up when she needed to. Now it had been tested, she knew it was
bullshit.

7

Ed

He
thought for a while of what to say, but the words dissolved into the air before
he got a chance to speak them.  Finally he said the only thing he could.    

“Bethelyn?”

Dark
rings sat under her eyes and her skin was faded, like clothing run through the
washing machine too many times. She looked hollow as if she had lost weight
over the last few minutes, though Ed knew it was impossible. Nevertheless, part
of her was gone.

“I
can’t think about it. Alright? Because if I do, I can’t breathe. So I don’t
want to hear anything from you that isn’t closely related to our survival. I
don’t think you realise the shit we’re in Ed, but the infection has hit
Golgoth.”

Her
voice was scratchy and higher pitched than usual. It reminded him of when James
had come running away from the cliffs and told everyone he’d seen a man down
there submerged under the waves.

He
knew how she felt, in a way. After dad died there was a time when everyone on
the island would tell him and James how sorry they were and what a great guy
dad was. Sometimes it made it worse. People grieved in their own ways, and the
worst thing you could do to a fresh wound was to rip the bandage off it. It
hadn’t hit Bethelyn yet but when it did, it was going to hit hard.

“How
did it get here?” he said. “That’s what I want to know.”

“The
beauty of Golgoth was always how remote it is. I remember when me and sis were
kids on the mainland and we’d play ‘Where do you go when the monsters come.’
How prophetic, right? Laura always said something stupid like grandma’s house.”

“What
did you say?”

“I
always said an island far away, somewhere no boats went. Somewhere that
monsters couldn’t swim. The beauty of it is that now we’re all on this
crumbling shithole, the remoteness is going to screw us over. We need to get
off Golgoth, Ed.”

Somewhere
outside the house, someone screamed. Bethelyn grabbed a brass poker from next
to the fireplace. It had been years since the fire was lit, though Ed could
picture his dad with the poker in his hand, prodding the coals and waiting for
them to burn.

“Not
yet,” said Ed. “We need a plan.”

Bethelyn
gripped the poker so hard her knuckles were white. She looked so tense that she
was going to snap in two. At the same time the life was drained out of her;
dead eyes, pale skin.

“I’m
not going to waste time debating. Here’s the thing. In council meetings Gordon
would always ramble on about the infection, talk about what to do if it ever
hit Golgoth. The upshot is that we kitted the town hall basement with
everything from firelighters to flares.”

“I don’t
relish the idea of sitting in a cellar and waiting for everything to go to
hell.”

“Look
around you, Ed. You don’t have to wait. Hell’s already found us.”

Ed was
going to pick up the knife, but it seemed wrong to carry the weapon that had
killed Bethelyn’s daughter. Instead he went into the kitchen and picked a fresh
one off the rail.

“I
don’t know.”

“There
isn’t just food down there,” said Bethelyn. “We wanted to be clever about it.
We didn’t want to be like those idiots on the news who die in their underpants
when infected smash through their windows. The cellar is full of guns.”

“Guns?”

“Farmer’s
shotguns, mostly. A couple of hunting rifles from the Reilly Estate. A
confiscated handgun. It’s better than stabbing them with a butter knife.”

Ed nodded.
“Then we have our plan.”

“We
have. We just need the keys.”

“You
don’t have any?”

“Gordon
was a bastard. Wouldn’t let them out of his sight. I asked him 'what do we do
if you’re dead?' Know what he said? ‘If I’m dead then you’ve been rotting for
days.’”

It was
something he could imagine the old man saying. Gordon had called round his
house once, soon after James had gone. He tried to convince Ed to move out of
his house and lodge with one of the families on the island. He didn’t even
pretend he was doing it for Ed’s own good; he was clear that he wanted to use the
Furness home as a store. Ed told him to fuck off.

He
perched on the edge of the settee. The arm of it bent under his weight, having
worn away through years of use. It was just one of the many things that had
slowly faded away and was never replaced.

“It
didn’t look good when I was at his house,” said Ed.

“You
went there?”

He
nodded. “When you were out. Before…I just needed to get my head together.”

“Of
course. You told me already. My head’s fucked.”

Ed
stood up. “Listen, are you sure you’re okay to do this? That you don’t want to
– “

Bethelyn’s
face suddenly burnt red and she strode across the room. A second later Ed felt
a hard slap across his face. He felt a flash of anger despite himself, though
he let it wear away until soon all he felt was the stinging of his skin.

“I
don’t want to hear another damn word about it. Do you understand? I just can’t
hear it, can’t talk about it. Promise me.”

The
last two words choked out of her mouth so pathetically that they could have
been grunts. Her eyes were buckets filled to the brim that would spill with the
slightest nudge.

“I
promise,” he said.

He
decided that actually, he didn’t have the slightest clue what she was going
through. His old man going was one thing, but despite living together for
years, he’d never really known him. He’d never made the effort. He had no idea
of the hell this woman was going through, and however she chose to deal with it
was her business.

“Let’s
go.”

***

The streets
were eerie from the total absence of horror. There was no noise, no infected,
no blood.  Even the wind had stilled as though it were catching a breath from
the hammering it had given the roofs and walls of Golgoth. The village looked
like it usually did on any given morning.

A man
ran out from a house in front of them. Ed took a sharp breath. He gripped the
knife and wondered if he had the guts to use it, but ice had frozen around his
legs and wouldn’t let him move.  Bethelyn lifted her poker to waist height and
stood ready. As the man got nearer he realised it was Steve Cheshunt, a dairy
farmer. He stopped ten feet in front of the two of them and sunk to his knees,
and Ed realised that his right ear had been torn clean off. He looked at them
pleadingly and opened his mouth, and Ed recoiled in horror when he saw that
Steve had no tongue.

Vicki
Cheshunt walked out of her front gate and down the street toward her husband.
Ed couldn’t decide if she was infected or not, and it was when she sprang onto
Steve’s back and buried her teeth in his neck that he knew for sure. As she
tore flesh from his neck, it sounded like a dog gorging on meat.

As
though called for by some unseen stage director, there was the sound of
footsteps on stone as an old man emerged from their left. Ed backed away from
the husband and wife in front of him and readied his knife. The old man fixed
his stare on Ed, and it was only then that he realised it was Gordon. His face
was so changed that he hadn’t recognised the man. The blood had been drained
out of him and his skin was a mess of wrinkles and cuts.

Ed
tried to move, but his legs may as well have been made from wood. He willed
them to fall under his control but they ignored him, leaving him feeling numb
except for the rising panic in his chest.

The
old man passed by Ed and pounced on Bethelyn. She pushed him away with her left
hand, screaming in pain as she made contact. A shock zapped Ed’s chest, and the
words flew through Ed’s head without giving him time to process them.
She’s
been bitten.

Steve tried
to scream but all that came out was a gurgle. His wife traced her teeth around
his neck and gave him the last love bite he would ever receive. The ice around
Ed’s unfroze and he found himself finally able to move. He didn’t know what to
do. Should he help Steve? Or was he already dead? He had probably been doomed by
the bite on his ear.
Or
maybe he was immune.

Instead
he turned to his right, grabbed Gordon Rigby by the shoulder and spun him
round. The man saw Ed and opened his mouth and growled, spraying Ed’s face with
blood. Fighting the rise of bile in his stomach, Ed lifted his knife and with
one sharp movement jabbed it through Gordon’s eye socket.

Bethelyn,
following Ed’s example, walked up to Vicki Cheshunt, raised her poker, and
brought it down in an ark so that it pierced the top of the woman’s skull. Her
brain was punctured and she collapsed to the floor.

“Did
he bite you?”

Bethelyn
held up her left hand. It was bloody, but there were no bite marks. The blood
was from the cuts on her knuckles from when she had punched the wall.

“This
is so screwed,” she said.

There
was more shouting, and a man and a woman ran by the wall that lined Steve
Cheshunt’s house and met Ed and Bethelyn in the middle of the street. Their
cheeks had colour and their eyes looked alive, and Ed realised that Judith Plum
and Gary Buckley weren’t going to try and eat him.

Judith
stepped over Gordon’s body as if it were just an obstruction in the street.
Gary bent over and gave four heaves from his stomach, but they were dry.

“What
now?” said Ed. His legs had thawed but his brain was still frozen.

Bethelyn
wiped the poker on her pants so that the brass shone.

“We
get the guns. Find out who else is alive. Get a boat and get the hell off this
place.”

Ed
looked up the street toward the town hall a half mile away. At the top of it, a
channel of water separated from a puddle and ran in a line toward them. As it
passed by Steve and Vicky Cheshunt it mixed with their bodies and turned red, and
then it ran in a claret channel toward the cliffs of Golgoth.