The Rot (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) (14 page)

Another came from my right, and I turned to do the same move again – staff up and striking squarely in what was left of the man’s face. Only this time when I drove the wood forward, it snapped in two. The Rot has the worst timing ever when it comes to weaponry. Thinking fast, I turned each of the separate pieces of wood sideways, then rammed them into the chests of that man and one more who was attacking. One, when he dropped to the ground, broke up into goo, the body-slime oozing and seeping into the muddy grass.

That just left the last one to tackle, and my scissors were now out as he flung himself at me with a gurgle; all the language he could muster, with most of this mouth eaten away by the Rot. I thrust the sharp end of the scissors up into his stomach and he bent over, falling onto me – took all my balance to remain on my feet. Then I dragged the scissors upwards, opening his belly and chest, turning away as his innards splashed out over me and onto the ground beneath us.

Disgusted, I shoved the man off to join his fallen comrades on the field of conflict. It had been a while since I’d found myself in such an intensive fight – I’d forgotten how the adrenaline starts to pump, keeping you up until you’re done. Bringing you crashing back down afterwards.

But nothing could have brought me crashing down to earth with a bump quicker than what happened next. I looked across at the woman, at Lara, and she offered a smile and a nod of thanks.

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

Another smile, another nod. Except there was something strange about both of these. The movements not quite right. Then I spotted the tiny traces of Rot at the corners of each eye, at her nostrils, like she’d been taking it as some sort of drug. Easily missed from the distance I’d first spotted her, it soon became apparent that she wasn’t normal in the slightest. “Help… please help… oh God… please!” she screamed, even though I was only a couple of feet away. Now the appeal sounded very much like that holy man’s, back at the shopping centre had, begging for his Lord to do something. For this woman, however, they were just words that had become stuck; an old fashioned CD skipping or an even older broken record repeating the same things over and over. Something she’d been saying when everything went pear-shaped – stuck in a frozen moment of time?

Then came the lunge, and she was close enough that I wasn’t able to dodge it. Lara – the only name I would ever have for her now – tripped as she did so, the knife in her grasp plunging into my left thigh. It went through the material of my jeans – the cargos I’d originally snatched having long-since perished – and penetrated both the SKIN, and
my
skin.

I let out a furious cry, directed more at myself than at Lara for doing this – though there was a good deal of hate in it for her as well, don’t get me wrong. Staggering back, I took the knife away with me, wrenching it out of her grasp and managing to knock her away with the back of my fist at the same time. The wound was agony and I transferred my weight to my good leg, hopping back out of her reach. But, like the other Rotten, Lara didn’t know when to quit. They never do.

Once again, she charged – but this time I had the scissors held upright as she fell onto me. They went in at about where the liver is, as we both flopped over and onto the slushy ground. Lara kicked and writhed for a few minutes, but when her movements stopped I knew she was dead. That was when I heaved her off me and lay there, trying not to think about the throbbing at my thigh – trying not to think about the fact that the knife was the only thing sealing the gap in my SKIN. The blade might already be infected, in which case so was I – but if it wasn’t, could I be quick enough to pull it out before the Rot ferreted its way in? I knew that the SKIN would knit itself together around the wound – it was one of the things Weeks had taught me that I had listened to. But I didn’t know how long it would take, nor how much blood I’d lose in the process. If the SKIN healed itself over the cut in time, then it would start to reprocess any blood I was losing after that, even start to heal my wound. But could it get back what I might have lost in the meantime…? And that’s even if the blade hadn’t nicked an artery or something. I’d bleed out for sure at that point… though I suspected it had actually hit the pin in that leg, which was why it hadn’t gone all the way in.

“
Fuck!
” I shouted, though there was nobody around to hear me. So much for the story of the Samaritan. What was that old phrase? No good deed goes unpunished? This one certainly hadn’t.

Took me a while to summon up the courage to even look down at my leg, let alone do anything about it. The jeans material was wet, my blood seeping through no matter what I did. “Fuck!” I said again, almost a whisper this time. I gritted my teeth and went for broke, sitting up and grabbing the knife handle, then yanking out the blade.

I let out an almighty scream, not at all butch – more like a little girl wailing for her mother. No… that just makes me think of Jane again. Wish I could tell you that I handled it better, but it probably hurt as much as when I crashed that test plane; at least then they’d had me under within seconds of reaching me, and I didn’t know a thing until I woke up in the hospital. This I
did
know about; this I felt. It took all my willpower not to just black out, like I had done after the chopper crash. I ripped off a piece of my coat sleeve and tied it around the thigh, in lieu of the SKIN reforming again – might even help it along, I figured. It would definitely stem the bleeding…

But then what? Nothing for miles in any direction that I could see – definitely nothing back where I’d come from. Nothing but rotting land. I cursed the fact that my staff was broken, because I could really have used it as a crutch. Instead, I had to try and get up that banking, crawling – felt like even the slope was working against me, the Rot gaining more and more ground the harder I tried. Got up to the top eventually, though. Managed to get to my feet, too. Walking would not be as easy, I soon realised, keeping weight off my wounded leg, favouring the other one. I fell over so many times just hobbling away from that bridge, from the scene of yet another trap the Rotten hadn’t really planned, but which had worked a treat on this stupid sap.

I set off, carrying on along the ‘path’ I’d been walking when I heard those cries for help in the first place. Should’ve just ignored them, I kept telling myself over and over. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve… No excuses; got caught again – and I had always been taught to take responsibility for my own fuck-ups. That was when there
were
other people I could blame, of course; people other than the Rotten. Who, by the way, in my head had become a species in their own right, set apart from me, setting them apart from what they had been before all this happened. Now they were something else, something not even related to me anymore – not even remotely human. Something hideous, to be scorned. My enemy. Everything I stood – when I could stand – against. Pure emotion, the basest of instincts.

The hatred coursing through me gave me strength – and no, the irony wasn’t wasted on me. But I like to think my mother’s survival instinct had something to do with it again. Drove me on, hobbling and falling over so many times, only to pick myself back up again. If I sat down and gave in this time, that would be it. The end of me. No more feeling sorry for myself, I had to go on. Had to make it to somewhere.

Had to have hope in
something
.

By the time I crested that final hill, by the time I saw it ahead of me, I was virtually crawling again. On my hands and knees, though it was killing my injured thigh – then on my belly like a snake. There appeared to be an unaffected building ahead of me, another oasis in the middle of this brown desert the countryside had become. Somewhere that looked small and stable enough to hide in, to shut myself away from the Rotten until I’d recovered. To let the SKIN do its job.

I didn’t realise as I made my way up that path what kind of structure it was, though there were signs of it everywhere – on the roof for one thing. But inside it couldn’t be ignored. And so I struggled up the aisle, the red velvet carpet showing only the faintest hint of Rot. Crawled between those pews, heading for the steps at the front. The weak light of that day was pawing at the stained glass windows, which depicted saints and angels.

I made it to the steps and managed to touch the altar before I passed out, feeling like I’d achieved something – when in fact I’d achieved sod all once again. I’d reached a small chapel in the middle of nowhere. So what?

So
everything
, as I would discover the next time I came to.

Stop.

CHAPTER TEN

Record:

Have you ever been in love? I thought I was once or twice.

First time was at school and, looking back, it was probably just a crush. Didn’t stop it hurting, though, when she fell in love with someone else. Second time was in my twenties and it hurt a whole hell of a lot more when it fell through. I thought we were on the same page; she messed me about… didn’t end well. Other than that, as I think I’ve said, women have come and gone in my life. Love was for other people, didn’t think it would ever happen for me – and especially after the apocalypse hit. Just shows you how wrong you can be.

Because when I woke up in that chapel, her face was the only thing I could see – and I think I knew it…
felt
it there and then, or maybe that’s me projecting things onto the past that weren’t there. Didn’t say anything at the time, mainly because she was holding a crossbow levelled at my head; one of those new-fashioned repeaters, judging from the cartridge underneath.

Not the best of starts, I’ll grant you – but she warmed to me.

“Easy,” she said as I turned and started to sit up. “Take it nice and slow.”

“I… I don’t think I can take it any other way,” I assured her, which was the truth. I felt like I’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer – but then blood-loss will do that to you. The SKIN would replenish my reserves eventually, but how long had I been unconscious? There was only one way to find out – and my mind immediately flashed back to
The White Hart
’s cellar, where I’d asked exactly the same question.

“I have no idea,” was the answer this woman gave me. “I just found you here… I’ve been gone nearly a day.” Her raven hair was in a bob, eyes so big and round they took up most of her face – overwhelming those other delicate features. She was dressed not that dissimilarly to the guards at the facility, a kind of tracksuit or jumpsuit, but with a jacket over the top. A strap ran over her left shoulder, down through the valley of her breasts, and round past her right hip – holding up some kind of messenger bag that was dangling down behind her. The whole outfit was topped off with a pair of leather boots that came to her knees and were covered in mud and slime.

“Gone?” I asked, shaking my head. I wasn’t fazed by the fact she was talking to me, making sense. But I
was
looking for signs of the Rot on her face and hands, not that they were always evident there; could have been under her clothes for all I knew, right the way up her back. Could turn any second and just shoot me in the head. Even now, those parts of the brain that made her
her
might be getting eaten way.

“Yes,” she said curtly, still training the bolt on me. “I needed some supplies.”

I looked around, wondering if I’d been taken somewhere – but no, I was still in the chapel, still surrounded by the saints and the angels. “You… you
live
here?”

She frowned at me as though that was on odd thing to ask, then
she
asked: “What kind of polymer is that?”

“Come again?”

“The webbing, your protective suit. Does it incorporate nanites?” Now she was frowning because she was studying the SKIN. She cocked her head and I waited for the change to come over her; for the woman to start screaming or laughing or… She just righted her head again, and said: “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. I’m assuming it covers the whole of your body?”

I just nodded. Didn’t know what else to do.

“But it’s damaged, right?” She pointed to my thigh with the crossbow and I followed her gaze, the first time I’d thought about the injury since I woke up. Wasn’t hurting anymore at least, so there was that. The material from my sleeve I’d tied around it was still there, so I couldn’t see whether the SKIN was healed or not. I made to remove the bandage and the woman took a step closer, bringing the crossbow up to her shoulder – ensuring I knew she meant business.

“I said easy,” she snapped.

“I was just going to… Look,
you
were the one who asked.”

She thought about this for a second and nodded. “Go on.”

I unwrapped the dressing, pulling aside the torn edges of my jeans. The SKIN beneath it had indeed knitted itself back together again. The skin beneath that was on its way to doing the same, but would leave a nasty scar behind. “Fixed,” I said simply, as the woman seemed to respond better to the more direct approach.