The Rot (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) (13 page)

None of the planes I tried, either at the base or elsewhere, would start, though. Probably just as well, as the crashes in the chopper and on the motorbike might only have been a taster of things to come. I was wondering again what I had to lose really, and a short hop like that… might have been able to keep a bird in the air long enough to reach France or, going the other way, Ireland. Might also have ended up being worse than the accident that saw the end of my test-piloting career, as well. That should have put me off going up there altogether, but it never did. I was back on the horse as soon as I was able, even if it was only for pleasure.

Next on my list was by sea – which is where the river comes back into it – get to a port and maybe take a boat out. Full disclosure: I’m not much of a sailor. When I was a kid I’d get seasick going on the pedal boats at the beach, although I’d gotten over that particular weakness as I’d grown into adulthood. Again, I reckoned I’d be able to get a small boat across the ocean to one of those countries – although what I hadn’t reckoned on was the state of the ocean itself, nor the effect it might have on a boat’s hull. Stupid really, having seen what it did to that stick I poked into the ‘algae’.

At one dock I visited, the boats tied up to the dock were in the process of being devoured by patches of Rot – the fronts tipped up into the air, as the backs were decimated. Never could get the hang of which was bow and which stern… look, I wasn’t in the Navy, had no interest in it. Nevertheless, as I made my way along the coastline I saw that there were still stretches of untouched ocean that might be navigated. What put me off was spotting a ship out there – I have no idea how long it had been floating adrift, maybe even since all this first happened? I only know it was big, like a cruise ship or something – easy to see in spite of the fact it was quite far away. And it was going along nicely one minute, flowing through open waters – then the next it was being attacked by a patch of Rot that looked like it had moved towards it. Reminded me of the shark hunting its victims in
Jaws
. It was almost as if the Rot had a mind of its own; was the predator hunting the prey – and not just on a molecular level this time, but a visible one.

As I watched the ship being attacked, I gave another of those little shivers. Again, nothing to do with being cold – I had the SKIN, plus my other clothes, some of which I’d had to change because they’d begun to rot away; finding unaffected stuff was getting harder and harder as I went along… It was just the sight of that out there – enough to put me off trying to sail to better climes for a while at any rate.

My third bright idea? I made the pilgrimage down to our capital, and from there I would trace the train tracks to Folkestone and the Channel Tunnel entrance. Perhaps being so far under that water might have protected the tunnel itself, I thought. I encountered probably the most Rotten ever in that city, as you can probably imagine, and some were in the worst condition yet. People whose skin was dripping off them like so much melting wax, whose eyes were liquefying in what was left of their skulls. I found a large concentration at St Pancras, something inside them obviously mirroring my own need to get away from this island. All they would do was spread the infection – if it hadn’t already drifted across by air or sea.

It got pretty hairy a few times during my time in that station, but I’ve learned not to let myself get surrounded by them – not to let myself get backed into corners, either, with no way out. These were much slower, which helped; easier to give them the slip. Not saying I didn’t have to fight, because I did – this time with a pistol in one hand and my mace in the other – but invariably I won, like their hearts weren’t in it anymore. I guess the longer the Rot had worked on them, the less they were even able to think about striking effectively… and yet they were all still doing it together. Still in those groups, still flocking – like the birds, like the horses.

There was an even worse sight waiting for me at the end of that line, however. The tunnel entrance, completely caved in – though there was Rotten water spilling out through gaps, having washed up bodies with it. These were covered in sludge and bilge, one piled upon another. It was a heartbreaking thing to see, mainly because I had no idea how many of these folk had still been ‘okay’ when it happened. Had they known, heard the cracking of the tunnel above them, tried to escape as the waves came crashing in through the ceiling?

I closed my eyes, the imagined horrors simply too much – even after everything I’d seen, everything I’d been through. Had to leave that place, once again not really knowing where I would go from there. Everything I thought of, every idea I had – after getting up when I’d been knocked down – none of it was working out. I was beginning to wonder if anything ever would, whether I’d just be doomed to walk amongst the Rotten, in this Rotting place forever.

I’m getting morbid again and I really don’t mean to. Have no reason to at the moment. For the first time in as long as I can remember, there
is
actually hope. I’m
hopeful
. But there’s a way to go before I can explain why, and it might take a few more of these entries before I can get you up to speed. For now, I think I’ll call it a day. I’ve already been away too long, and if this experience has taught me anything it’s that time is precious… it’s rotting in its own way, too. Second by second, minute by minute.

I will be back, I promise. Then I’ll tell you how it all started. Where that hope came from, and how it came into my life. Had some crap to go through first, but isn’t that life whatever happens? You have to take the rough with the smooth, and often something that you think is the worst thing that’s ever happened turns out to be the best. I know, I know… I’m keeping you in suspense, but I really do have to get back.

Dinner will be ready, you see, and she’ll be waiting for me.

Shit… didn’t mean to say that. Where’s the erase on thi–

Stop.

CHAPTER NINE

Record:

Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy. You might have noticed that.

I’m also a sod for breaking my own rules, always have been and probably always will. I like to think I take precautions, but really I’m a spur of the moment kind of guy; I live on my wits, which is probably what made me so good at what I used to do. Probably what has kept me alive since the Rot took over, in spite of my own attempts to sabotage myself. Sometimes stuff like that ends up working for you, though, rather than against you.

I’ve found another quiet half hour, while people are sleeping. I’m far enough away that I don’t think I’ll wake them with my voice, and it’s been nearly a week since my last entry so I think I’m probably overdue an update. Or to bring you
up
to date, if you see what I mean?

Right, well, as I continued to make my way in this world, I came to accept that nothing was ever going to change for the better, only get worse and worse. You can imagine what a frame of mind that puts someone in. I was in a bad way, let’s just say that – probably even worse than those poor bastards out there who were losing pieces of themselves by degrees. Memories, personalities, fingers, toes… that kind of thing. I saw no evidence that this process was reversing itself, and with good reason, I later found out – nothing to support that nature was fighting back, that it had “found a way”, as people used to say. Only that she seemed to have abandoned us, left us to our own sordid devices. And they were still quite sordid. Every now and again, regardless of the condition the Rotten might be in, I’d see them attempting to hump each other. Some had actually forgotten what they were supposed to do, what went where – I’d see ‘people’ who were losing their shape attempting to thrust into what was left of ears or noses, usually just ragged holes. Either that or they didn’t have the… equipment to do what it was they were trying to do. A nightmarish thing to witness, if you haven’t already.

The Rotten were becoming more and more monstrous as time passed, even those who were still holding it off pretty well – and I hadn’t come across anyone else on my travels who was immune, like Dennis, Carrie and Rakesh had been. Made me wonder if that had been the case at all? Perhaps I’d just assumed it, and if they hadn’t been killed they might have ended up like all the rest of them. Maybe there had never been such a thing as immune – and, if so, was I the only one it hadn’t touched, because of the SKIN? I couldn’t attest to anywhere abroad, but it was certainly looking that way here, in this country.

Until I came across her.

As I think I mentioned in a previous recording, I don’t get involved in other people’s business, especially now; I keep myself to myself and leave the Rotten to it. That’s how I’d live out my life, such as it was. But then it happened, a few miles outside one of the towns I was skirting, on my way back up the country after my disappointing – no,
downright disheartening
– trip to the capital and the tunnel. Once again, like so many things nowadays, I heard the trouble before I saw it. Screaming… a female voice. A woman’s cries for help.

“Help me! Please… Oh please help!”

They carried in the silence of what had once probably been quite a picturesque part of the countryside, but was now covered in the telltale signs of the Rot. Withering foliage, turning brown and purple-grey; hedgerows that had folded over and were gasping their dying breaths. The noise was coming from a bridge not too far away. Made of stone that looked like it was just showing the first signs of the infection, it stoically maintained its original arched appearance.

Just off to the side, down the embankment a little way, I saw the woman who’d been yelling for attention – though where she thought that would come from out here, even before everything had gone haywire, was anyone’s guess. She looked normal from this distance, no trace of the Rot on her face, nor down her neck – her hair was tied back in a pony-tail – and there was no rot on her shoulders or down her arms and legs; she was wearing some kind of vest-top and shorts, you see; had the whole Lara Croft thing going on. But just what was she doing out here in the first place? The same thing as me, avoiding the major population centres as best she could?
Maybe you could ask her, once you’ve given her a hand – once you’ve helped her
, I said to myself.

There were several Rotten surrounding her, all male, looking like they’d come from under the bridge – perhaps they’d gravitated to that place because they used to hang out there before ‘the change’. Now it just looked like she’d encountered not one troll from out of a fairy tale, but a handful that were about to eat her up. “Oh God, please, someone help me!”

She was armed, but only with a knife it seemed – and this she swiped left and right in an arc, trying to ward off this group. Like that would do any good… Even if she stuck one of them, they probably wouldn’t even feel it – the pain receptors in the brain are usually one of the first things to go, I’d worked out. I pursed my lips, watching as the pack drew nearer and nearer to her. Could I just sit there and wait for the inevitable to happen, especially if there was even the remotest chance she was okay, the first person I’d seen in all this time…? Surely the Rot would have affected her by now, if it was going to?

And if she was immune, was I about to watch one of the few chances humanity had left die right in front of my eyes – without doing a blessed thing about it?

Could I afford
not
to play the Good Samaritan this time? Could I just let the first glimmer of hope I’d had in a long while dwindle away?

You can probably guess the answer to that question. Before I had time to question my actions any further, I’d already set off and was making my way down the embankment to join in the party. By this time my guns had all gone the way of the dodo, as had the sword, axe and mace I’d picked up along the way. My weapon of choice at that particular time was a staff – using my rifle like one so many times had given me the idea. Made from the best bit of wood I was able to find and with sharpened ends, I’d actually become quite skilled with it – holding the Rotten at arm’s length, dispatching them without having to go anywhere near. Mind you, for close-up combat, I’d taken a leaf out of Jane’s book – no, don’t mention Jane – and had a pair of lethal-looking scissors I’d swiped from a cottage the previous week tucked into my belt. I’d seen the damage a pair of those could do first hand, so…

I was hoping I wouldn’t need them, though – and things went well, to begin with. The first Rotten, I stabbed in the back of the head with one end of the staff, hefting it like a spear, except I was keeping hold of it. The guy’s skull was so soft it went in like a finger into an overripe tomato. A
rotten
tomato maybe that should be? The others were turning in my direction, which was what I wanted really – to take the focus away from Lara… in my head I’d already named her that, didn’t matter what she turned out to be called. But as I brought up the staff to smack another in the face, she joined in, knifing a Rotten who’d turned his back on her.