9
The Night
I waited for a couple of minutes before raising my hand to try again, when some instinct at the back of my mind stopped me. Instead I unstrapped the helmet, removed it and bent my ear towards the door, listening for any sounds within. I needed to place hand over my other ear but it soon became clear there were voices, quite muffled but clearly raised in emotion. I tried the door handle and it was still unlocked, so I pushed it inwards. Inside, several of the candles had burned down and gone out, as replenishing them had not been very high on our agenda when we were getting ready to leave. In the faint remaining light I could see the two bodies in sheets still by the door but no one else. I crept inwards, after closing the door carefully behind me and locking it. The last thing I wanted was another attack from the dead.
The voices were coming from the corridor that led towards the cells. I couldn't make out any of the words but there was no mistaking the urgency. I stayed close to the wall, pulling the extendible baton from my belt and swinging it once. The tubes slid out perfectly, making a low metallic noise as they did so.
The voices stopped.
I froze, not sure of what to do next, eventually deciding to double back and circle around from the other direction. I moved as quietly as I could in the armour, slipping into the reception where the low light revealed the corpses of the fat man, Vince and Jason, all slowly growing cold. As I passed through the room I stopped, something not sitting properly in my mind. It took only a moment for me to realise that Freddy was gone. Marcus must have only knocked him out with his repeated savage blows.
I scanned the reception desk. There were still several weapons there but I had no idea if there was one missing that had been there before. I thought about swapping my baton for one of the assortment of rusting knives and farm tools but they were weapons better suited to Marcus, not me. I continued on, baton in hand.
I slowed as I neared the cells. The doors were all shut, though I was sure that we had left at least one of them open when we had investigated them. I scanned the corridor but the candles had all gone out here, the only light being a little glow that crept though the window of one of the cell doors. I drew closer to it, my footsteps sounding like a cacophony in my ears in the otherwise silent corridor. When I was next to the door, I glanced through the window to be greeted by the sight of Eliza, Arthur and Juliet, all tied and gagged around a couple of lit candles on the floor.
The click was quiet but loud enough for me to hear it.
I turned quickly, catching some of the shotgun blast across my stomach, feeling the burn as bits of shot made it through the stab vest as I fell backwards. Through a haze of shock I saw a shadow at the far end of the corridor detach itself from the wall before moving approaching. It was still indistinct but was clearly Freddy, carrying the shotgun that I had been foolish enough to leave behind when I had left to get the car.
The boy had seemed a bit out of place in the station from the beginning, not as gleeful in his violence, instead simply following the other's lead. He had waved those knives around as if they were going to bite him in the hand.
I found I was thinking strangely clearly, realising I had one chance and I had to pray that Freddy's vision was just bad enough in this light for it to come to fruition.
As the shadow drew closer I stayed as still as possible, trying desperately to ignore the pain that was lashing a belt across my torso. Now he was closer I could hear his footsteps padding methodically across the carpet and hear his breath wheezing a little through his broken nose. I held my breath, feeling my lungs shudder with the sensation of hot coals as he moved closer again, slowly, agonizingly ponderous.
Finally he was close enough. I squinted at him through half shut eyes as the black shadow pulled the gun to one side and bent towards me, scanning my features for a sign of life.
I swung the baton as hard as I could, up and around into the side of the youth's head, sending him reeling. The shotgun went off, scattering plasterboard harmlessly across the corridor, as at last I had the upper hand. I wrapped my arms around his body as he struggled, trying awkwardly to press my advantage home. It was messy, laboured and ungraceful, a fevered conflict in the dark and silent corridor, the only sounds being the grunts of effort as he tried desperately to push me off. He was young, fighting me with all his youthful fervour, even though he was always at a disadvantage as I pressed down on him, eventually managing to lever my forearm across his neck.
I felt him gasp as he tried to draw air into his lungs even though there was none to be had. I could barely feel his arms beating feebly against the armour. I could see the two polished white shoes standing just beyond his head, as clear as day, as bright as stars.
I paused from shock, my arm still locked in place but no longer pressing down. As my gaze moved upwards I saw Perdita, as clearly as if she were in noonday sunshine. She was older still, perhaps even a teenager now. Her mouth hung open, huge and distended, the inside of it descending into darkness. Her eyes were fixed on me, black pinpoints in her porcelain skin. She waited.
I looked down at the shadow that was Freddy, barely able to make out most of his features. All I could see were the whites of his eyes, wide with terror, wet with tears.
“Do you want to die?” I asked softly.
Freddy didn't respond, his throat making soft clicking noises as I felt it move under my forearm.
“Do you want to die?” I asked again, louder this time. The repetition showed I was insisting on an answer. I felt him try and shake his head, unable to speak.
I pulled my arm a little further off his neck. There was no danger of him overpowering me, I could tell from the pathetic movement of his limbs that his fight had left him.
“After all you've done in here, do you think you deserve to die?”
At my last question, his eyes froze, staring up at me without blinking for a few seconds, before they invariably turned away, glistening as his eyelids fluttered, shedding tears. Most people could never face what they had done head on. It was so... human.
“Give me the keys,” I commanded. “The keys to the cells. Now.”
He could barely move his body but had just enough freedom to point towards his jeans pocket, before bringing his hand back up to his head and lying in supplication. I reached into his pocket and found the small set of keys, before looking up, seeing the vastness of Perdita's maw as she stretched wider, the skin taught and thin as her jaw moved further and further down. The shadow inside was impossibly deep. There was no escape from that darkness.
The youth squirmed under me as he tried to breath a little more. I looked down at him. What would Marcus have done? What would Cato have advised?
“It doesn't matter,” I said as a silver tongue flicked the huge teeth of Perdita's mouth. “They're not here. I am.”
I released my grip on the boy's throat and pushed myself slowly to my feet. My ribs were still aching but I felt alive as I saw Perdita close her mouth slowly, eyes narrowing, before turning and walking away, hands behind her back, fingers tapping against each other.
The boy (for that was what he truly was now that I could see his face under the mass of hair, he was clearly no more than fifteen), sat back against the wall of the corridor as I untied the other three in the cell. I had told him not to move and for some reason he had obeyed.
Juliet and Arthur were still as quiet as ever when I removed their gags but Eliza spoke immediately, her voice urgent. “Tie him up for God's sake, he said he was going to kill you!”
She scrambled to her feet and pulled the rope that had previously held her from my grasp, before rushing out into the corridor and grabbing Freddy's shoulders forcefully, pulling him to his feet. She bound his hands as he stood almost motionless, only swaying a little when Eliza tugged the rope tight. When she was satisfied she pushed him forwards into the cell, before motioning for Arthur and Juliet to leave. She picked up the largest candle and made for the door, glancing back towards me as I stood looking at the boy who now seemed so small. It was true that his frame was tall, yet there was virtually no muscle there as he sat down awkwardly onto the floor, his shoulders hunched and his breathing still laboured as he forced it through his bruised windpipe and broken nose, which was still seeping a little blood from Marcus’ brutal attack.
“Come on, we need to leave. It's night now, we'll have to use the headlights and that'll bring them quickly.”
“We can't leave him here,” I said to her, pulling my eyes away from the pathetic sight. “He'd die, either from starvation or being eaten...”
“He was going to kill you, remember?” said Eliza, coming back towards me, the reflection of the candle flames dancing in the pupils of her eyes. “He grabbed the shogun off that bag of yours and told us to get in the cell until he found you.”
“Why didn't he shoot you?” I asked, shifting the stab vest a little on my shoulders. I could feel the wetness of blood beneath the police shirt but it must have been only superficial wounds. I felt strong, in control, able to deal with this without the other three.
“I don't know why... maybe he didn't want to waste the bullets? Or he didn't want to warn you where he was with the noise? Does it matter?” she asked.
“Everything matters,” I replied, crouching down in front of Freddy. He was staring into space towards the left, his expression a trembling mix of fear and sorrow. I couldn't see any anger.
“I want to know why,” I said, carefully grabbing the boy's jaw and turning his face towards me. “Tell me why. Why did you want to specifically kill me, why you didn't kill them and why you were here in this station. I want to know what you did.”
“I didn't do anything.” His voice was pitifully high, heavy on consonants as if he had to consider each word before he said it. His lips trembled. I didn't let him go.
“Answer me. Tell me everything.”
He licked his lips nervously. When he finally replied, his answer was disjointed as he struggled to give me all the information at the same time.
“I didn't do anything, not to... there were people here but I didn't want to... they let me stay if I helped out, I lit the candles most of the time, they were too busy. Jason kept the worst of the others away from me, said I reminded him of someone. We'd talk about horror films, he liked people to listen to him. Vince never really did. We chose names, to make ourselves feel... anyway... look, I didn't want to die, and I didn’t want those things to be done. I never did them, I swear, I just couldn't leave... I'm sorry, I was scared, you'd be scared, I just wanted, want, to live... I wasn't going to kill them. As soon as... I would have let them out. I just wanted to get out of here...”
“Why did you want to kill just me?” I asked again. I had my face close to his, watching every twitch of his eyebrows closely, every ripple of flesh. His eyes were quivering, emotion bubbling up through his body.
“I thought you were going to kill me.”
He proceeded to recount the events after he regained consciousness. He had looked around and found the men dead in the reception. He had actually been relieved that they were gone, though he said that he had no idea how he was going to survive without them. He had grabbed a weapon and tried the fire exit but the dead outside had forced him back in. It was then that he had heard Eliza, comforting Juliet from around the corner. He hadn't wanted to confront Eliza, as he was sure she'd want revenge for his complicity but the three escapees had been at the only viable exit. He had crept back the other way, hoping to sneak out without being seen, yet when Juliet had spotted him and yelled out in warning, Freddy (who revealed his real name was Ciaran) had grabbed the shotgun that was lying on the sports bag and used it to force Eliza and the others away from the exit. It was then that he had heard my knocking. He had herded the others towards the cells, Eliza challenging him every step of the way, turning the air blue with insults, telling him I was coming back and that he'd surrender, or there would be hell to pay...
“I told her I was going to kill you but I didn't want to...”
“You pulled the trigger,” said Eliza, arms held tight by her side as she tried to control her anger.
“I didn't want to!” insisted Ciaran again, wiping his hand over his brow, leaving a trail in the sweat that was forming there. The room wasn't especially hot, especially now the night had come, so it must have been the stress of the situation that was causing it.
“I saw you coming and I panicked. If I'd tried to unlock the back door you would have heard me and rushed me, I know it. I had no way out. I wouldn't...”
“You would, you bloody well would do something like that again,” said Eliza, stepping closer and slapping him across the head, like she was scolding a child. “Don't you dare lie to us, not after what you've been a part of in here.”
“No... I...” he started again, eyes wide.
“You would,” I said to him, looking at his small form, recognising traits that I had seen in Cato, and more recently myself. I remembered how complicit I had been with Vince and Jason, ready to dose a woman I didn't know so that she could be abused more easily, just to save Dorothy, who by that point was already dead. If it hadn't been Eliza, then I had no idea how far I would have gone. I liked to think I had a strong moral compass but it was easy to believe such a thing before it had been really and truly tested.
“You'd do anything to save a life, especially your own. It takes a very special person to do otherwise. You're just... you're average, normal, except you’ve been placed in an extraordinary situation. We have to understand that if we're going to move forwards.”
I looked up towards Eliza.
“Every life is precious, especially now. He comes with us,” I said, turning back towards him, “if he wants to.”
His mouth was agape. He looked towards Eliza but she was not welcoming.
“No, not at all. No,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “There is no way I'm getting in a car with a man who wanted to be a party to... whatever they were planning...”
I couldn't blame her for feeling that way but I felt I had to change her mind, for my own sanity more than anything. No more deaths. I stood up and took her out of the cell, out of sight of the cowering boy so that we could talk privately.
“After all that we've been through, you're still in my company, talking to me, caring about what happens to me. You haven't given up on me,” I said quietly, hoping to be out of earshot of Ciaran.
“Not yet but you're not making it easy,” she replied.
“I know but... what I'm trying to ask is... why?”
“Well,” she replied, looking around herself as if the answer could be found on the blood stained walls, “you redeemed yourself, for the most part. We have a small history, for better or worse. I'm still not sure why though.”
“Right,” I said, trying to formulate the words correctly. I was glad she thought that was the case. I could feel there was a way through this conversational maze, if I just made the right choices. “But... if I'd asked to stay with you just after the incident with the gun, after he... Marcus... after that time outside your house...”
She looked at me strangely, probably suspicious as to the direction I was driving the conversation.
“...if I'd asked you then, would you have said yes?”
“No, not at all. I cursed you for the whole journey to the town and I cursed myself for trusting you after all that I'd seen. I trusted you, I helped you. I could have left you to scream and shout yourself to death in that house, waiting for the dead to come and get you. There are things, serious things that we need to discuss, except we don’t have the luxury of time right now. If we’re going to see this whole... thing... out whilst staying together, we need to resolve them as soon as we can.”
It was not the point I'd been pushing for. “All right... OK,” I said carefully, momentarily confused. (Blind). I took a deep breath, a last attempt forming in my mind, the words playing on my lips.
“Well, the boy in there hasn't had a chance, not yet. He didn't meet like we did, two lonely souls in a desolate village. He was left in a town with a choice between solitude and likely death from the infection, having his body eaten by cadavers, or staying alive for the foreseeable future alongside murderers and rapists. He's free of that now. He's found us, albeit in the worst way... but where we are now, at this stage, we need forgiveness.” I spoke the last few words slowly, as if telling them to myself as well. “This is a world where forgiveness is a necessity for our continued survival.”
The walls seemed to bend and sway in my vision, as if my eyes were losing all focus. I gripped my temples as a band of sharp pain flashed across my mind. After a few moments, I felt Eliza put her hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see the features of a woman that truly deserved not only to survive but to live. I made a small vow to myself that I would do anything to make that a reality.
“Let's go. All of us,” she said. “And God help us if you're wrong.”
When I peeled off the stab vest and shirt, I found a large spreading stain of blood across my stomach. It looked worse than it actually was, with only one or two bits of shot having embedded themselves shallowly in my abdominals. With a little help from Eliza I was able to remove them with some tweezers, though the lack of pain relief made it a slow and agonizing task. When I was bandaged up again, I put a fresh shirt on along with a new stab vest, with Eliza taking three or four packs of riot gear for the journey as well, as mine had proved invaluable.
With Ciaran's help we were able to get the bodies into the car with the minimum of noise, though I felt guilty that we had to lay them in the boot in such an undignified manner, one on top of the other, with bags and gear either side of them. There was simply no other option. Arthur still hadn't spoken but as I settled into the driver's seat I spotted him laying a protective hand on the head of the already sleeping Juliet. I doubted she could have got much sleep in that cell, hearing noises no child should endure. She clearly felt safe with us and we had to live up to that responsibility. Ciaran was sat next to them, lap and legs obscured by rucksacks and bags. He had been quiet since we had all agreed that he could stay with us and was staring out of the window at the staggering corpses in the car park, just about visible in the small amount of moonlight that filtered through the cloud cover. One or two of them were getting closer, so after a quick final check that we had everything and everyone, I turned the key in the ignition.
The engine sounded a roar in our ears. I quickly flicked on the headlights to be confronted by the dead policeman's corpse, the radio still dangling behind it as it limped towards us, dragging a left foot that it had somehow twisted and broken in the time since I had last seen it. It was too close; I had no room to manoeuvre. I settled for dealing with the corpse head on.
The already cracked windscreen took another impact as I hit the body, pulling the wheel around in a tight circle and heading onto the driveway towards the main road, accelerating as I went. I heard a gasp from Arthur and a small yelp from Juliet. Sleeping would have to wait.
I hadn’t built up enough speed to knock the body over, so it lay on the bonnet, arms waving frantically as it tried to claw its way towards us. It managed to get one rotting hand on the break in the windscreen, forcing its fingers slowly through the weakness. Eliza squirmed as small pieces of glass toppled onto her legs along with slivers of flesh being cut from the bones even as the thing twisted it fingers to get a better grip. She struck the thing's hand aggressively with her elbow, trying to dislodge it but to no avail. Luckily we emerged onto the main road and I was able to swing the wheel around. The corpse slid off sideways, pulling a chunk of the breaking glass with him and leaving a gaping hole.
I had turned with exaggerated force to throw it off and found us heading towards the front of the police station, so I was forced to swing the wheel back again sharply, narrowly missing a group of undead that were staggering out of the fire exit alleyway, the blood of the cannibal bright and fresh on their mottled teeth. I heard the bodies and bags in the boot tumble and crash into the sides as I turned wildly, whilst Ciaran gave a shout of alarm at each turn.
“No,” I heard myself say, as the headlights of the car revealed a mass of dead through the web of cracks on the broken windscreen, crawling, staggering and moaning throughout the street, covering our route out. I was going too fast to turn; I only had one viable option, and I had to hope it had a more favourable result than last time. I accelerated as fast as I could and tried to aim the car towards where the bodies seemed thinnest, ploughing the curved bonnet through the bodies like a ship through icebergs. The right headlight shattered, reducing visibility as the bodies flew past, each impact shaking and denting the car.
A sudden wrench of panic gripped me as I thought the second headlight had gone, before I realised it was simply illuminating the space ahead, a space without the dead but loaded with possibilities, both good and bad. The windscreen was little more than a tangle of cracks, the bonnet was buckling, dented and bloody, yet still the wheels turned. The way ahead was clear. Houses flew past in the darkness, huge shapes probably holding families of dead, cold horrific approximations of their former selves. The cars thinned. The trees increased. The way ahead was clear.
It had only been a day since we had arrived but it had seemed like a life time. After everything that had happened, we had finally left the town.
Around ten minutes outside of town I spotted a country road to our right, so I turned into it. The dead were few and far between on the main road but still too frequent for comfort. When we had driven for a few minutes on a stretch of hedge lined country road, I pulled up so we could assess the damage. I turned off the engine and gave Eliza a quick nod, which she returned to show she was fine, even though she still seemed a little shaken, perhaps from the harrowing escape or perhaps it was simply fatigue. It could have been any number of things, we had all been under a huge amount of physical and mental stress. She opened the passenger door and got out, walking around for a few moments before leaning over with her hands on her thighs, obviously trying to gather herself for the journey ahead. This was only a quick respite before we continued. It was virtually pitch black out here, the only light being the remaining headlight which cast a pale cone ahead of us.
I turned a little in my seat, flicking the switch on the light in the roof, which mercifully came on. Ciaran blinked a few times, holding his hand up to shield his eyes.
“There's a torch in one of the pockets of that rucksack, pass it here,” I said, glancing at Arthur and Juliet. After the initially rough exit out of town the road had been smooth and both were now asleep, folded over each other in a sorrowful companionship. It reminded me briefly of how we three had slept wrapped around Perdita, protecting her, only... what... four days ago? How quickly things changed. I couldn't face her any more, couldn't bear to see her eyes, that mouth, the emptiness.
Ciaran rummaged around for a few moments before finding the torch and passing it over to me. He still looked cowed but not broken. There was a little life there.
I got out and flicked on the torch, casting it around briefly to double check we were safe. The hedges were high on either side, easily over head height, and the road was straight both ways before running into darkness beyond the reach of our lights. There were no houses nearby and the dead seemed to keep to the places that they had previously frequented before they had died, so it looked like we were safe, for now.
As I skirted the car I checked the tyres and bumper, before popping the bonnet and inspecting the engine. All in all, it could have been worse. The bumper was almost falling off, scraping along the tarmac. I had no way of securing it so I gave it a tug, pulling it off with a metallic snap and tossing it into a grassy ditch to our side. The tyres seemed fine, if very bloody. The bonnet was buckled and bent in many places but had done its job, protecting the engine from damage. Whether we had enough petrol was a different matter, as when I checked the fuel gauge we were only just above the red. I thought about waking Arthur and asking how much mileage we could expect to get out of it but then I realised it didn't matter. We'd either find some petrol or somewhere to stay, or we wouldn't. It was as bleak and simple as that.
I tentatively touched Eliza on the elbow, and dipped my head towards the car. She nodded and we got back in, ready to continue. No rest, not yet.
The engine thankfully fired up without a problem and I drove us onwards into the night, one light to guide the way.
I'm not sure how long we drove before the needle started to dip into the red, maybe only half an hour. The road had branched a few times but I had tried to keep to the smaller branches, keeping as far from the remains of civilisation as possible. When I spotted an empty car park next to a large wooded area, little more than a large patch of open earth with a couple of picnic benches on its periphery, I pulled the car into it, circling the car park once in first gear to cast the headlight around the trees in the hope of pulling out any dead that may have been lurking in the foliage. When it became clear that the car park was safe, I reversed backwards towards a low wooden fence, making sure the car was facing the road in case we needed to make a hasty getaway, though how far we’d get on the remaining fumes was debatable. All we could hope for really was a head start.
As I stepped out of the car, my boots crunching on curled dead leaves, I breathed deeply. It was a strange feeling that took me back to my time on the island. Out here, isolated and alone, the air was clear. I had become so used to the sickly sweet smell of decomposition that I hadn't even noticed it was in the car, emanating from Hannah's body, until the crisp breeze had driven it from my nostrils. This was a good place to rest.
I opened the back door and let Ciaran out, as he had seemed reluctant to do anything to disturb the uneasy equilibrium that we had formed, even something as small as walking around without permission. I opened Arthur's door also, even though he and Juliet still slept, just to clear the car of the stench. The cool breeze that was moving through the trees ruffled Arthur's white hair. If I'd been spiritual, I may have believed it was Dorothy's hand from beyond the grave... although – as I had to remind myself – as of yet she wasn't in a grave.
After a quiet discussion with Eliza on our plan of action we decided to pitch the small tent I had carried in the rucksack all the way from her shop and keep the bodies in it overnight. That way we could sleep in the car and still be able to afford ourselves a little protection. Even if the hole in the windscreen was a weakness, the glass was still more sturdy than cloth.
When we had erected the tent in the grassy area beyond the fence, Ciaran and I moved the bodies as carefully as we could whilst Eliza cooked up some food from the tins I had left, heating then up individually in the folding pan before tipping them back into their tins when hot. We were making a fair amount of noise and casting our torches around to such an extent that the small blue flame of the camping stove was hardly going to cause us more of a danger. We laid the bodies out as reverentially as we could, ready to dig the shallow graves in the sunrise of the next day, although what we were going to use for the task was beyond me. We had thought of waking Arthur and Juliet to join us for the food but they were in such a deep sleep we thought it would be better for them to rest up and eat in the morning.
We kept the stove lit as we ate our food. It was an extravagance as we could ill afford to waste the gas but none of us wanted the darkness to swallow us up, not yet. Ciaran ate his beans gingerly, having to tip them into his mouth due to our lack of cutlery, though he didn't seem to mind. Eliza was watching him intently, which made me feel slightly better about the situation. I was no longer the outsider, no longer the biggest unknown. It was a strange feeling but one that I welcomed.
“Ciaran,” said Eliza eventually, deciding to break the silence as she was finishing her last mouthful, “if we're going to be in the same company for a while, I want to know a bit about you.”
Ciaran chewed slowly, his shoulders hunched, as if he were an animal who was aware he was being stalked. His eyes peered out from behind his fringe, shadowy and small. I had put a couple of plasters over his nose but the damage was such that it was almost certainly going to heal crooked. Bruising and swelling covered his cheeks in ugly purple blotches.
“What... what do you want to know?” he asked, putting his still half full tin of beans onto the dirt next to him, before wrapping his arms around his knees.
“Everything. Anything. Well, anything except about what you did in that station... I don't want to know any details about that. I'm sure I'd end up regretting this situation more than I already do.”
“I didn't want to end up that way,” he said, his voice wavering and fragile.
“Then let's get to know you a bit better, so we can forget that's where you ended up, making such a piss poor first impression,” said Eliza, flicking something from her teeth with a thumbnail.
“All right...” said Ciaran, bowing to pressure and perhaps recognising a small window of opportunity to make himself seem more worthwhile. I hoped he would make the most of it, for his own sake. “I'd just left school. Got my results in the summer, did pretty bad...”
“No surprise there,” said Eliza, the corner of her mouth curling with barely concealed disdain. “Go on.” Ciaran seemed momentarily thrown off his stride but carried on.
“I'm in a band. We're called... I don't really want to say actually. Seems pretty pointless now. They're probably dead.”
“I want to know,” said Eliza, a little softer this time. “Tell me.”
“Bad Apes. I play bass. We did a few gigs here and there over the summer... only had five songs though. I was on a way to band practice when it happened, the thing... the outbreak. It was the first attack in town, that I knew of anyway.”
He took a long breath, as if he needed to say it all in one go or it would never get said.
“I'd stopped to get a bag of chips, when I saw some people running. I had no idea why, back then. Couldn't see a thing. One of them was Steve, my mate. He's dead now, I think, or back... one of the two. I'm sure he's gone anyway. He saw me, I'm sure. He looked directly at me as he was running. He never stopped, didn't even look back once he was past me. I was stupid, wanting to know what was happening, so I decided to look instead of getting out. If I had, maybe I'd have got to my family, left when they did. They did leave, I checked later. Packed up quick and drove away. Took the cat too.”
I heard a twig snap behind me. I spun around, my torchlight cutting through the night, though it was only a hedgehog walking slowly over the dead leaves that surrounded us. I turned back towards the fire as Ciaran rubbed his knees nervously with his palms and carried on.
“So yeah, I was walking towards it right, people knocking into me as they went past. They didn't care. They were really f*cking scared, I mean, you know why now, right, but I had no idea. When I first saw them eating that woman, I thought it was some sort of act. A play, street theatre, some kind of horrible mime or shit. But the noises, Christ, you've heard it...”
He was getting carried away now, staring at the blue camp fire as if he were recounting a tale from a crystal ball.
“The gnashing, biting, and... yeah, she was still alive too, for most of it. I looked for longer than I should have, I was so fixed on it. When one of them got up and started towards me, that was when I realised I was the only idiot still there. The street was deserted man, shops closing, the works. I dived into a recycling bin, in that alleyway next to the police station. Stayed there for three days, so f*cking scared. Every time I tried to get out, I'd spot a corpse shuffling around and get scared again. If I'd have run, I would have made it. They're not fast. Everyone else ran, they all went home. I bet, I bet you're wondering why town is so bloody full now... well it was greed, f*ckin’ plain old greed. Oh, some of the people just left, of course. Some were smart, and they're probably alive now, natural selection I suppose. Most people though, most of them came into town in their cars, like you did...” said Ciaran, looking at me, “trying to get stuff. Not useful stuff like the medicine, though, stupid stuff like TVs, DVDs, jewellery... who the f*ck needs a necklace now? Who's got time for dating? Anyway... I saw it all. I poked my head up from time to time, as the few dead guys that were in town picked them off, one by one. Some got bit and went home, dying with their new stuff. Some died in their cars, the injuries doing them in. It was chaos, carnage.”
He fell silent, blinking a few times.
“Well, eventually I got thirsty. I knew I needed to get something. I crept out of the bin and tried that fire escape door. Vince...” I could see Ciaran's face blanch a little even in the low light, “Vince must have heard me, heard me sobbing. Dead don't sob. He popped the door and grabbed me. He had already let that other guy, Jason... I don't know his real name... he'd already let him out of the cell. I think he'd been in there for assault, but they'd known each other since school. Anyway, they'd put that policewoman in that cell instead, with her kid. I suppose she'd thought the station would be the safest place for both of them...”
“That's enough...” said Eliza, standing up suddenly. “We're getting too close to thinking about that bloody place again.”
She bent down and turned off the stove, indicating that it was time to put and end to this most torturous of days.
“And that kid has a name... Juliet. Don't forget that.”
I awoke to a violent shaking motion. I awkwardly rubbed my face with the heel of my hand to clear my eyes.
“Get up, get up now, you shit,” whispered Eliza into my ear, dragging me forcibly from the car. The day was only just beginning, with grey light of pre-dawn shivering through a low mist that surrounded us, cold yet crisp and clear. The smell of ozone filled my nostrils, natural and strong. The others were all still asleep in the back of the car, the seats having been folded down to create a cramped but manageable bed area. Arthur was in the middle, acting as a buffer between Juliet and Ciaran, although the girl didn't seem to bear Ciaran as much animosity as she should have, given the circumstances. Maybe she had forgiven him but it was more likely that she just found him more tolerable than the dead.
Eliza grabbed my shoulder and arm, not seeming to care about my injury as she dragged my staggering body towards the woods. She threw me towards the fence, which I tried to jump over but my legs were still half asleep, causing me to hit my shins on the logs painfully as I tumbled over it onto the dew covered grass beyond.
“F*ck... what?” I had no idea what to say, I had no idea what was going on. I looked up at Eliza as she stood over me, while holding my arms up in some feeble defensive posture. It meant nothing to her, as she bristled with a rage that left no room for forgiveness.
“Look at what... you... did,” she said slowly, spitting the last few words out into my face as she pointed into the clearing beyond the car park. “I know it was you. I saw you coming back, wiping it from your hands. You had that look on your face... that bloody look I’d hoped I'd never see again.”
I followed her finger and froze in place when I saw the scene... because yes, that was what it was, some sort of hideous scene or tableau, crafted by someone who truly had no sense of their place in the human race.
The tent was a flattened canvas heap, with the poles being used – along with thick fallen branches and sticks – to support the two bodies of Hannah and Dorothy. They stood for the most part upright, their legs tied awkwardly beneath them, as if standing to attention in some grotesque waxwork museum. Their heads were tied back against the props, to reveal throats sliced from ear to ear and bleeding thick clotted blood from their huge, gaping new smiles, still slowly rolling down the front of their now defiled clothing. Both had arms outstretched, also supported by sticks tied with guide rope, pointing towards where the road went back towards the town. I knew without checking where they were pointing... the centre of the map, my only destination, the only one I could ever truly have. This time, like the third time going under, there would be no escape. Perdita was calling.