The Dying & The Dead 1: Post Apocalyptic Survival (23 page)

In
that second she wanted to push him off the cart.

“You
can’t just leave them,” she said. “What about this train or whatever the hell
it is?”

Max
crossed her arms. He fixed a firm expression on his face. Behind him was the
grassy wilderness of the mainland, a vast stretch of endless nothing. Somewhere
beyond it was the Dome, and somewhere else were the Capita’s farms.

“I
can’t, Heather,” said Max. “It’s just me. No-one else knows. If I don’t make it
back to the others, we’re fucked. Think about how many DC’s will die.”

“I’m
more worried about Kim.”

“Your
daughter’s life isn’t worth hundreds of others. I’m sorry.”

There
was finality to his words that Heather had heard before, but not since she was
fourteen. Back then the words had come from her father as he carried her cat,
Ham, to the back of their car. He was taking Ham on a one-way trip to the vets,
and Heather had begged him to reconsider.

He’s
too old, Heather. Too old and sick.

Please
dad, I’ll take care of him.

Only
one way to take care of him now.

She
saw the same stubbiness in Max that she’d seen in her father years ago. She
knew already that he was the sort of man who, once he’d took his first step
forward, didn’t stop until the journey was over. This left her adrift from any
options. Charles had taken Kim and Eric to the farm, and Heather didn’t know
where it was.  Even if she did, she would have to travel there alone through
the wastelands. If the wastelands didn’t claim her life, the guards on the farm
surely would. Even then, having overcome every obstacle she could think of,
there was every chance that she would get there too late. Charles had spoken of
putting the children on a train. When it was leaving and where it was going was
just another mystery.

Max
must have sensed the problems turning in her mind.

“Do
you understand how impossible this is?” he said.

“I
don’t care.”

“The
farm is the Capita’s plan for the future. They don’t leave that to chance.
They’ll blow your head apart while you’re still a speck in a soldier’s scope.”

“That
won’t stop me.”

He
rubbed his forehead in frustration, and for a second his line of worry became
two. She understood now how he could look so old. His double life must have
taken a toll. Heather knew too well the weight of living a lie, but this man
had led two of them. The first was the one he told the Capita soldiers he lived
with. The other, the most important, was the one he told himself.

“You’ll
die, Heather.”

“Then
you better choose whether to help me or to let it happen.”

She
realised what it meant to fight for something. It wasn’t standing in front of
the classroom and thinking thoughts against the Capita. It wasn’t with fake
promises to help that stayed broken. It wasn’t even taking in a DC boy and
hiding from the Bull. Sometimes, to fight, you had to give something of
yourself up. That’s what she admired about Max, but she loathed it at the same
time. She was angry on behalf of his family back in Kiele, the wife who hadn’t
seen her husband for three years and the little girl Max had never held.

Heather
was ready to fight. She wouldn’t let them take Kim and Eric though. She had to
get them back, and after that she could start her battle against the Capita. She
would die one day. That was the only certainty she had. If she could go having
done something for once, it might be worth it.

Max
rubbed the bridge of his nose and hung his head in thought. When he lifted it
again, Heather knew he had decided to help her.

“Okay,”
he said. “It’s your choice. This means more than just your story, you know?
More than mine even. We’re playing with the collective future of a generation
and the stakes aren’t ours to bet with.”

She
didn’t expect this. Somehow she thought she had talked him round, but his
stubbornness ran deep in him like tree roots burying into mud. Max looked at
the trader.

“What
about you?”

Wes
was so washed-out he looked like a sixty year old version of himself.

“Get
me the hell out of there,” he said.

Max
reached over the side of the cart to the driver’s seat. One of the horses
lifted a leg and stomped it on the ground, while the other stared into the
distance. When Max turned around he held a heckler pistol.

“Follow
the path back to the fork. Take the second route. When you get to an elm tree
with an X carved into the trunk, get off the path and walk in the long grass.
Hit the floor anytime something moves.”

The
forked road lay behind them. The second path twisted away and ran in a curve. A
half mile away it seemed to thicken, and then shortly after that it disappeared
into the horizon. On both sides of it chest-high grass danced solemnly in the
breeze.

“The
kids won’t be on the farm yet. They’ll be in the sorting pen. When you hear the
groans, you’ll know you’re close.”

“So
you’re really leaving me?”

“You’ve
got your story, I’ve got mine. Let’s hope they cross again.”

She
stepped off the cart and onto the ground. Although she had nothing but the
clothes she wore and the gun in her hand, she had never felt heavier. It was
only thoughts of Kim that let her step toward the distance. A horse neighed
behind her, and when she turned she saw the wheels of the cart start to spin
and carry the soldier and the trader away.

23

Ed

The
sea threatened to whip one of them away but each time Ed or Bethelyn were able
to throw out a hand and save the other. They skirted their way along the edge
of the island by clinging to the jagged shoreline rocks and hoisting themselves
forward. In waters like this, it seemed foolish to swim. Golgoth was not a
large place, evidenced by the annual Hundred Lap Race where contestants would
run the circumference of the island a hundred times. Trying to traverse it
while covered in freezing water was a much tougher task. By the time Ed decided
it was safe for them to climb onto land, he and Bethelyn collapsed on a grass
bank like beach towels discarded in the rain.

They
were on Picnic Point, a knoll near the beach where families used to picnic in
the summer. In the winter, teenagers would gather to drink and smoke roll-ups
until the tide washed in. Ed lay on his back and sucked in air, but it was like
trying to fill a bucket with a hole in the bottom, and no matter how big a
breath he took it still felt like he needed more. His soggy clothes clung to
his skin and his hands were so numb that if he couldn’t see them, he could have
believed they had been cut off.

He got
to his feet. He stuck out a hand and offered it to Bethelyn. Her red curls
stuck to the side of her head and her skin was blotchy in places as if she had
been pelted by rocks. They hiked away from the knoll and up a gentle incline. A
contrast to the cliffs on the opposite end, this was the softer side of the
island. Families would often walk down the slope at a leisurely pace with
fishing rods poking over their shoulders and picnic baskets in their hands.
This was the lie that the island sold its residents, that it was an idyllic
retreat from the smog of the mainland. When you walked across Golgoth, passed
Ed’s house, you saw the truth. You came to a cliff with spiky rocks and a
treacherous fall, and you realised that if it had its way, the island would
throw you into the sea.

“My
head is throbbing,” said Bethelyn.

They
came to the edge of the village. The town hall was fifty paces in front of
them, and beyond it were Bethelyn’s house, and then Ed’s. Even coming at it
from the opposite end didn’t make the scene any brighter. The moon was hidden
behind the hand of a cloud, and the dim light that shone down hit the slates on
the roofs and disappeared. Somewhere on the island were the strangers, and Ed
knew they would be hunting him.

“Destroying
the ships,” said Ed. “A pretty bold way of saying they don’t want us to leave.
They wouldn’t destroy their own though, right?”

“So?”

“We’re
taking their boat.”

Bethelyn
put her hand on her hip and became a school mistress scolding a silly child.

“How
big was the ship?”

“I
only saw it in the distance.”

“But
it must have carried the group of them here. So we’re not talking a rowing
boat, are we?”

“Guess
not.”

She
shook her head.

“Your
sailing skills are getting better and better by the second. A few hours ago you
vaguely remembered a lesson your brother gave you. Now you’re Captain No-beard
who can sail a galleon.”

He
knew she was right, but what was the alternative? If it came to it, there was
no way they could fight the strangers. Even if they did somehow manage to kill
all of them, it wouldn’t give them salvation. It would leave them stuck on an island
full of the infected.

“I’m
trying,” he said. “This isn’t easy.”

Bethelyn
put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you are. I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“Let’s
get some things. Provisions. Food, preserves, clothes. Then we’ll take the ship
before they even realise it.”

They
walked by the town hall and back to the familiar road that span toward their
houses. Ed was against the idea, but Bethelyn suggested that they go to her
cottage. He worried it would stir feelings that they, cruel as it sounded, didn’t
have time for. For lack of an alternative, he reluctantly agreed.

“We
can mess around in your house looking for something edible,” she said, “But I
don’t fancy living on spoiled cheese.”

“Maybe
we should take a cow on the ship. Otherwise we’re leaving them for the
infected” he answered, but the joke fell flat.

They
found Bethelyn’s front door half-open. She stepped onto the landing first and
Ed followed. The hallway was full of a draft so cold that it seemed to have
settled into the walls, and when Ed breathed out it left his mouth as steam.
Bethelyn had painted the walls of the landing mint green, but glimpses of older
decoration poked through in the spots she hadn’t coated properly. It looked
like a paint job done begrudgingly, rather than with an aesthetic eye.

“You
go into the pantry and gather jars,” said Bethelyn, “And I’ll go upstairs and
get clothes.”

He
shook his head. “Nope. Remember your little speech? About not splitting up?
Let’s get the stuff upstairs together.”

“Fine.”

As
they reached the top of the stairs their footsteps began to squelch on the
carpet. Water dripped in from the hole in the roof and made a sodden mess of
the fabric. It made the house smell like a dog that had been soaked in the
rain. Even if nothing had happened after the roof first broke, the house would
still have been lost because there was no contractor on the island who could
sort out a mess like that.

There
were footsteps in the bedroom beyond them. Ed stopped mid-step. Bethelyn paused
at the top of the stairs and leaned into toward the door. Ed hoped it might
have been a particular heavy drip sneaking through the roof cavity, but it
became clear the sound was not water. It was something living, something large,
and it was moving toward them.

As
Bethelyn leaned closer to the doorway a figure burst through it, and it took
seconds for them to realise it was an infected. It was Terry Slattery, a
retired lumber merchant who lived with two cockerspaniels which followed him
everywhere. He used to be captain of the darts team and a skilled angler, but
now his desires didn’t move much beyond a yearning for flesh.

Reaching
with outstretched arms, Terry gave a cry that was at once desperate and angry.
Bethelyn fell back in shock and collapsed into Ed’s chest, and if he hadn’t
kept a firm grip on the bannister they would have tumbled down the stairs.
Terry swiped at Bethelyn’s head but she ducked away.

Ed
began to back down the staircase and expected Bethelyn to follow him. Instead,
she took hold of Terry by the leg and pulled him down to the floor. Bethelyn
reached to her jeans pocket for her knife, but as she grabbed the handle Terry
sat up and launched at her, mouth open and teeth bared.

Bethelyn
screamed as Terry bit into her shoulder. Ed felt adrenaline dump into his veins
but as Bethelyn blocked the staircase, all he could do was squirm in agitation.

“You
bastard,” Bethelyn shouted.

She
pushed the infected to the floor, took hold of its hair and smashed its head up
and down on the carpet. Ed had never seen a rage like it before. Bethelyn
lifted her fist and began punching Terry’s face until its features started to
deform and blood began to spew out. Bethelyn was a boxer who carried on
punching through the bell, and when Ed stepped in as referee he pulled away a fighter
covered up to the elbows in blood.

Ed
squeezed past her and walked across the landing and into the bathroom. He took
a towel from a rack and threw it to Bethelyn. It flopped beside her and stayed
untouched.

“You
okay?” he said.

Bethelyn
walked across the landing and stood outside a bedroom. Ed had only visited the
house for the first time a few days ago, but he knew this was April’s room.
Bethelyn hovered on the doorframe, a vampire unable to cross the threshold
without invitation.

“I
need a minute,” she said.

Ed
nodded. Bethelyn walked into the room and shut the door behind her. It felt
strange to hover on the landing while she was in her daughter’s room, so Ed
walked into the main bedroom and looked out of the window. He saw the cliffs as
the end of the island. He’d spent a lot of time there, and none of it had been
happy. He remembered sitting there as a kid with the salty breeze in his face,
legs swinging over the edge, waiting for his dad to come back from a week of
fishing.  Years later he had stood a few paces away from the edge, smoked
cigarettes and searched the distance hoping to see his brother’s ship.

Infection
or not, he should have left Golgoth. Once he knew James wasn’t coming back,
what was left for him here? While he stayed on the island he was lonely and the
only company, if he chose to have it, was his grief. He’d let himself wither
inside, wasting the life that his dad and brother didn’t have.

The
bedroom door opened across the hall and Bethelyn stepped out. Her eyes were
red, her skin blotched.

“Let’s
go,” she said.

Outside
there was the crashing of the sea and the groans of the infected. He couldn’t
see the water yet, but the infected were difficult to miss. Men and women who
he’d once known stumbled across the cobbles with blank eyes. One of them bent
over, opened its mouth and let a torrent of blood flow onto the pavement.

They
walked passed Ed’s house and toward the cliffs. As they stood on the edge with
the sea below, it didn’t feel strange to be back again. It felt like he was
drawn here, and that somehow things for him would end in this very spot. As he
thought this he looked down, and forty feet below, idling in the water, saw a
ship. It was drifting out in sea but a rope tied to the stern moored it to a
rock.

“This
is it,” said Ed. “Just need to get down the cliffs now.”

It was
a forty foot straight drop and likely meant suicide even for a strong swimmer.
Ed knew a different way down, one that he and James had used in daring
afternoon trips that went against every reprimand their mother had ever given
them.

“This
way,” he said.

As he
walked to his left, Ed felt a sudden pain tear through his leg as though he had
been shot. It felt like his calf had been set on fire, and he couldn’t stop the
cry that left his mouth. As the fiery pain seared through his leg he felt
himself falling forward, and for a second thought he might topple over the
cliffs. He hit the ground, looked at his leg and saw a spear sticking from the
meat of his calf.