The Dying & The Dead 1: Post Apocalyptic Survival (13 page)

“He’s
not our responsibility, said Heather. “I’ve done my bit, and bad things will
happen if they ever find him here.”

“I
know what the Capita do mum. I’m not a kid.”

“You
are a kid, and no you don’t.”

Kim
looked her in the eyes.

“If
they find you hiding a DC they take you outside, pull off your mask and make
you breathe. Then they make your family watch you turn.”

Heather
rubbed her forehead. Her skin felt cold but clammy at the same time. She hoped
she wasn’t getting something. She’d made sure not to breathe the infected air
with her mask off, but that didn’t stop her getting some kind of bug from the
water.

“Where
the hell did you learn this?”

“If
you don’t turn…if you’re immune….it’s worse,” Kim carried on.

A
figure emerged in the doorway behind Kim, and Heather saw that it was the boy.
His hair was drenched and he had a towel wrapped around his waist. Stood like
that she could see how much his ribs stuck out from his skin.

“They
take us to the farms,” he said. “They make us grow and then they feed us to
anyone who gets infected.”

A
shudder ran through Heather. She’d heard of the farms. She’d heard whisper of
the rich Capita citizens feeding the flesh of the immune to those who were
recently infected but hadn’t fallen into comas. She had never believed it until
now, but she supposed the boy had no reason to lie. She wouldn’t do so either,
especially not to her daughter.

“What’s
your name?” she said to him.

He
looked at his feet, then back at her.

“Eric,”
he said. “Eric Heaton.”

With
that she knew Eric Heaton would be staying with them. She couldn’t abandon him
again.

10

Heather

The
smell of spilled coffee was a testament to the trader’s fortune, because it
meant that he could waste boiled water on luxury. Not that water was hard to
get; the world was still made of two thirds of the stuff. It was just that
fresh sources were often a mile or two from settlements, and boiling it was a
chore. To most people the idea of a hot coffee in the morning was the hangover
of a happier time.

Wes’s
hair looked better groomed than ever, and each meticulous strand had been tamed
into place. The trader’s face had a roundness that was becoming desirable these
days. A full face and heavy figure meant you had plenty of food and that you
could take care of yourself and any potential mate.

She
stretched her arms across the desk and folded her hands, noting how thin her
own wrists looked. She and Kim cut back on food at the best of times because
they were trying to preserve and store away as much as possible, and two days
ago another hungry mouth had been added to their household. The boy had proved
ravenous, eating whatever was put in front of him in seconds and always asking
for more. He never wore the spare mask she’d given him, despite Heather
explaining that Capita men could spot check the house whenever they wanted. He
was a lot of trouble, and as much as she wanted to help him, she didn’t like
the way he prodded their equilibrium.

“Do
you hear news from outside the Capita?” she said.

The
trader held his hands in front of his face and inspected his nails, which were
all filed to a uniform length.

“From
time to time. Not much changes. People get by, people die. Towns pop up and the
Capita shuts them down.” He paused for a second, and then added: “Or the
infected overrun them.”

The
last thing Heather wanted to do was to sit at Wes’s desk and try to prise
information from him. There was nobody else to go to, though. The trader met
with all kinds of people, and he had communication webs that stretched miles
outside of the Capita lands. He’d surely know where the Resistance were based.
Yet Heather had to get the information without him realising why she needed it.

“Do
you hear from anyone else?” she said.

“Like
who?”

“I
don’t know.”

Wes’s
gave a shifting glance to the door behind him. He always did this. He’d turn
his head ever so slightly so that the door was in the corner of his vision,
then he’d look back at whoever sat across from him. Nobody knew what lay behind
it.

“We’ve
known each other long enough, Heather. You know enough about me to get me
thrown in a Capita cell. Just spit it out.”

In
truth, she was tired. It was all she could do to get out of bed in the morning,
and it seemed like her duvet grew heavier each day. Sometime soon it was going
to get so bad it would trap her in her bed and refuse to let her go. Mentally,
her head was fogged. She had so many lies stored in there that maintaining them
was like spinning a hundred plates. Lies she told Kim, lies she told herself.
Lies she told her students.

Yes
Kim, of course I’m okay.

Come
on Heather, you can do this. There’s a way out.

Yes
children, the Capita is there to protect you.

She
was tired of it all, and she didn’t know how long she could hang on. Before the
outbreak she’d worked in an office, and as a manager with a promising future she
had duty after duty thrust upon her. Partly it was because her bosses knew she
could take it, but another reason was because they wanted to break her. She was
sure of it. Day after day she’d feel the energy drain out of her so quick that
even a full night’s sleep wasn’t enough of a recharge, and she got through her
days by going zombie-like from one task to the next, never really present.
Finally she’d gone to the doctors. He signed his signature on a scrap of paper
and sent her away. She went to the surgery with problems, she left it with
pills.

That
wasn’t even an option anymore. There were no doctors. No self-help books were being
published. Clean living no longer meant green tea and yoga; it meant wearing
your mask and boiling your water. The lies just added to the weight, and she
could feel her shoulders starting to break. So as much as she didn’t trust the
trader, she grabbed the chance to lighten the load.

“Supposing
I needed to get in touch with the Resistance?” she said.

“Supposing
I asked why?”

“I
wouldn’t tell you.”

The
trader sucked in his cheeks and just for a flash, as his cheekbones stuck out,
she saw the handsome guy he had once been. It was a ridiculous thought, though,
because his vanity didn’t appeal to her at all. A thought hit her.

“Why
don’t you wear a mask?” she said.

“The
air’s clear,” he said.

“It
can change in minutes.”

“Not
here.”

He
drummed his fingers on the table and then, as if realising he could destroy his
nails, stopped.

“I can
put you in touch with them. I’m assuming that’s what you want? But nothing
comes for free.”

She
didn’t like the sound of this. “Go on.”

“It’s a
price I know you can afford.”

With
this he looked her up and down, and she suddenly felt under-dressed.

“What
do you want?” she said.

He
smiled at her, and it felt like she was being smiled at by a hyena.

“The
food you’re growing. I want a share of it.”

“How
much?”

“Half.”

“That’s
not a share. That’s robbery.”

She
pushed her chair back and almost stood up from the table, but the thought of
helping Eric kept her there. She thought about the food in her garden and shook
her head.

“Give
me half and I’ll set up a meeting with someone from the Resistance,” said Wes.

If she
gave him half their food, it would set them back months. Hell, there was every
chance that by the time they got home the boy would have eaten half of it on
his own. He ate like he was trying to fill a hole that grew deeper and deeper
with every mouthful. Before meeting her, he obviously hadn’t eaten properly in
weeks. He’d been alone with nothing but the groans of the infected to hear. If
anyone but Heather had found him, it was probable that he’d be sat on the back
of a Capita cart by now. She didn’t want to think about it. She’d heard about
the screams that came from the Capita dungeons.

Sounds
of shouting came from outside the trader’s house, but Heather couldn’t tell
what was being said. She looked out of the window but couldn’t see anything
save dirt covered streets and houses beyond repair.

“I’m
not going to barter with you, Heather.”

“It’s
stuffy in here,” she said.

“So
open a window.”

She
walked to the window and pulled it open. From outside came the clip clop of
horse shoes pounding on tarmac. Two horses pulled a cart through one of the
streets, and five Capita soldiers sat on the back of it. This would have been
enough to agitate her, but then she spotted a lone horse trotting at the back,
and riding it was a man with a plague doctor mask. Heather felt like she’d been
dunked into a bathtub of ice water.

She
couldn’t let the bounty hunter find her here. The trader town was a black
market hive that the Capita tolerated with a blind eye, but it was certain that
at some point it would open it. If Charles saw her here it would look too
suspicious.

Outside
the cart stopped and the soldiers jumped off. One of them walked to the front
and patted one of the horses. The rest separated and began approaching doors
and knocking on them. Charles heaved his leg over the side of his horse and
lowered himself to the ground. He turned his head from side to side as if
stretching his neck, and then he walked toward the trader’s house. His pickaxe
swung from his back with every step. Heather felt her chest tighten.

There
were three loud thuds on the door. More ice was dumped into Heather’s freezing
bath. She looked around her. Wes opened his drawer, pulled out his mirror and
adjusted his hair. Heather looked for an exit that wasn’t the front door, but
found none. He couldn’t find her here.

“I
can’t stay here, Wes.”

The
trader put down his mirror. “Just act natural.”

“You
don’t get it. He can’t find me here.”

“Who’s
he?”

“The
man knocking on your door. It’s Charles Bull.”

“A man
with a heart blacker than ash,” said Wes.

Heather
fixed her stare on the door behind Wes, the one she had never seen open. Wes
turned his head, and then looked at her.

“Don’t
go in there.”

She
walked to the door and tried the handle, and to her surprise it turned and the
door opened. She’d always assumed that it was locked. The room was longer than
Wes’s main trading room and at the end of it was a set of double windows, but
the daylight was shut out by blinds. A lightbulb hung from a chord from the
ceiling and emitted a sickly yellow light. Four beds were in the room, two on
each side, with I.V. drips stood by each one. In three of the beds were people
who seemed to be sleeping.

“What
the hell is this?” she said.

She
felt Wes standing behind her. It was the first time she'd seen him walk from
behind his desk for ages and sure enough he had his jogging bottoms on, making
him look like a business man who couldn’t decide between going to the office or
going for a run.

Charles
pounded on the door again.

“Who
are they?” said Heather, looking at the bodies in the beds.

“If
you insist on hiding then shut up and go in.”

He
reached across the wall next to the door and flipped the light switch, and then
he swung the door shut. As she heard him put the key in the lock and twist it,
she wished she’d found another way out. The darkness stayed thick while her
eyes tried to adjust to it, but she knew the beds and the sleeping people were
there with her. Right now, she wished she’d just taken her chances and jumped
out of the window.

Outside
the room she heard the door open, and then there were thuds on the wooden
floorboards as the bounty hunter walked across them. Muffled voices reached
her, and she could just about make them out. Charles’s deep voice spoke first.

“Has
anyone come to you, Wes?”

The
trader’s answer came in a pitch higher than normal.

“Just
the usual undesirables,” he said.

A
chair scraped across the floor.

“Christ.
Is this what you call furniture?” said Charles. “Get up, I want your seat.”

There
were footsteps and then a thud as she presumed Charles sank into the trader’s
chair.

 “Have
you heard any rumours of a DC boy?”

“Nothing,
Charles. Why?”

“There’s
one on the run, that’s all. But I only mention it in passing. You know why I’m
here.”

“What
do you mean?”

There
was silence. A few seconds later, Charles broke it.

“Are
they ready yet?”