The Risen Page 8

  Together, they returned to the warm candle-glow of the living room just as Ruby was kicking off her shoes and reclining the chair. “Come, sit,” she said, “X-Factor’s on tonight.”

  “I wonder if Simon Cowell is hiding away somewhere with his cosmetic surgeon. Sit down, Sam. Have a drink.”

  “Probably,” said Ruby. “The whole television fraternity are probably in a bunker somewhere, making TV shows for themselves. You gonna just stand there? You must be tired.”

  “Actually, I’m not.”

  Ruby reclined the chair slightly so Sam could squeeze past and jump up onto the sofa.“Well, take your shoes off anyway, you’re making me nervous.”

  “I think I’m gonna go back out, get the rest of our stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “I took a car from here, filled it with loads of food and my stuff from my house, but the battery died on the way back. That’s when we were attacked.”

  Pouring some coke for Sam, she said “Can’t it wait? Not like it’s going anywhere.”

  “Makes me nervous to think of it out there in the open where someone can find it. I saw a trailer on the way back here that I can use to fill up, and I’d rather do it in the dark anyway.”

  Looking up, “We should do it together, if safety’s what’s on your mind.” Even as the words were leaving her mouth, she knew she didn’t relish the thought.

  “Mmmm,” Sam said with a smile, drinking the coke. He put the cup back on the table and sat back, closing his eyes.

  “I need you to look after Sam, I think he has a fever or something.”

  “Great. It’s the apocalypse and the man still thinks he’s the hunter gatherer and the woman has to stay at home, look after the kids.”

  “Says the woman with a glass of wine in her hand.”

  She smiled, looking down into the glass. “Well call me a cliché,” she said, taking a sip. She looked up at Nate and felt an urge to stand, to walk over, to hug him goodbye. Even – geez – give him a kiss on the cheek and wave him a merry goodbye.

  “I couldn’t relax,” said Nate.

  “Okay, go, you don’t need my permission. I’ll tuck Sam up in bed.” She looked over to him and found him asleep already, cheeks burning red. “Or just lie him down here. You’re right, he looks like he’s burning up. He wasn’t bitten was he? In the attack?”

  “No. The thing tried to scratch both our eyes out, but I killed it before giving it the chance.”

  “What about infection from nails?”

  “I’ve only heard of bites, but maybe keep an eye on him, just in case.”

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll hold off on finishing the bottle.”

  “Okay. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Nate turned and headed back down the stairs. With the door closed behind him, he heard Ruby shout out “Be safe!” before descending to the ground floor.

  *****

  Nate closed the front entrance behind him and couldn't help but feel as though he was embarking on the next level in a video game. The dark vista spread out before him, and it was easy to envisage pairs of glowing eyes peering out from the undergrowth that was desperately in need of a haircut, the leaves hanging on to the final vestiges of any shape that it previously had, chopped by the local highwaymen in high-visibility jackets.

  Briefly, Nate imagined scores of the risen in luminous yellow jackets wandering aimlessly down wide motorways, or veering into adjacent countryside and stalking cattle as though they were prey. Not too unlikely a scenario, actually.

  What made the video game allusion even more apt, however, was the sense that he'd 'levelled up'. He could think of no other way to put it. Well – evolved, for sure maybe – but it was more fun to think of himself as version 2.0.

  Sitting down on the steps in front of the building, it was as though he had chosen to invest his experience points in vision. It was cloudy so not a sparkle of starlight was reflecting down upon them, yet he could see. Walking over to a parked car and looking in the side mirror, he saw wide open pupils. And for sure – he lifted his hand to his nose and sniffed – he had noticed that things smelled differently now too. Bad was still bad, good was good, but he could sense the subtleties in-between and control his reaction to them. There was still the thing's blood tainting his fingers, despite the soap he had used to clean Sam's wound. And beneath that, the meatiness of the hot dog. If he was to really concentrate he could even scent Ruby's hair and the scalp-oils from days, if not weeks, of not properly washing it.

  Taking the path behind the building, he began the walk back towards the Focus where the rest of the goods were stashed, knocking a swing and spinning the roundabout. He looked up to the top-most window and was reassured to see that the curtains did a good job of hiding the candlelight.

  His trainers squelched in mud that had not yet frozen; a frost was threatening to lower its head on the world. Nate felt it like you would register some news report from the other side of the globe; it was happening but not to him.

  He withdrew both knives and clasped them, ready to strike, and walked briskly. The only footfalls he heard were his. "Come at me. I'll hear you coming."

  For a moment, Nate even considered whistling, or humming, or even singing. Hubris could be a six-letter word for getting yourself killed, though, he thought. One I can handle, but two or three? "Don't be an idiot."

  As he walked, he slid his trainers along the ground measuring the slipperiness. Mud was dragged along the tarmac, and when clean, the rubber of the new trainers proved sturdy. If it came to it, he could run safely.

  Or perhaps chase.

  Walking closer to the adjacent hedges and fields, Nate listened for movement.

  Heard his belly growl.

  He passed a locally run garden centre that had once hosted weekly car boot sales and decided to investigate. The ground could be ripe with vegetables, if it had grown them. Ripe with the kind of small animals that enjoyed eating them, too.

  I could catch a rabbit, start a fire, skin it, barbecue it – I can smell it now. Be a proper hunter gatherer, if that's what Ruby wants. Come in with rabbits and squirrels dangling from my belt, perhaps the odd severed head of one of the risen, like some kind of TV show contestant or Bear Gryll's survival nomination looking to get votes.

  They say we weren't prepared, but whose fault was that? We'd sit on sofas watching survival show after survival show, set in the harshest of environments – did we take nothing in? What's England compared to the Sahara? At least I could start a fire: get a lighter and some paper, some wood to top that.

  With his face pressed up against the glass of the garden centre, he held his breath to prevent it fogging. Inside were a few chairs and tables – this must've been a small cafe too – as well as a large arch that lead through to the garden centre beyond. In there, darkness reigned. Somehow, there were plants that still looked pristine – oh wait, they were plastic, smiled Nate. Plastic and static.

  He stood back and took a non-desperate breath. The mustiness of decaying and damp leaves and other greenery pervaded. Left unattended around the centre, some species had overwhelmed others, which now decomposed beneath over-arching leaves and canopies.

  To head around the building was to move further from the car park and the road, and deeper into the countryside. Beyond the garden centre's boundaries was a wall of trees from which anything, at any time, could attack. The town. Urban life. This was where Nate was comfortable. Give him grass and trees and he felt out of his depth. Better to leave the woods to the dead and buried and stick to the safety of solid walls.

  He knelt slightly as he walked, keeping the centre to his back. This still felt safest.

  A menagerie of plants were growing, or decomposing, within the poly-tunnels that loomed like landed spaceships. With an entrance at each end, it would have been open season for anything looking for an easy meal. He entered through one archway into a ripe, musty, atmosphere where things mushed beneath his feet. Poking their heads above the brown growth were labels for to
matoes, aubergines, cucumbers, peppers, strawberries and melons. Where leaves had gone and returned to the ground, here and there, bright spots of half-eaten breakfasts sat atop the mud-bed. Nate crawled into the middle of the tunnel and camped down, making himself as small and still as possible.

  From all directions he could hear tiny scampering sounds, perhaps large beetles and other bugs. He dug his hands into the mulch, up to his wrists. It was cold and slimy against his skin and his fingers could easily burrow deeper, so that he was almost clasping the earth.

  He waited.

  Drawn to the moisture of the mulch, within the protection of poly tunnel, the odd worm squirmed around his fingertips. He let them wriggle between his fingers as his stomach constricted in pain – and momentarily envisaged eating them – but it was pain he could vent with deep breaths. He could just go back and empty the tins of their fake nutrition, but he craved meat, his stomach was telling him he needed meat, the protein, at all costs.

  He closed his eyes and continued to breathe deeply.

  The fruit and vegetables around him with large chunks bitten away were proof that critters of sort were foraging here; squirrels, badgers, hopefully a rabbit or two.

  It was just a matter of waiting.

  What am I doing?

  *****

  When Nate left, Ruby stood and let the rush of blood to her head swim by. She heard the final thunks of his footsteps heading down to the bar and looked at Sam. He looked out of it, with his head lolling sideways on his praying hands.

  She took the empty glass of wine, and the bottle, to the kitchenette and put them both in the sink. She poured some cold water from the tap and washed the taste from her mouth. Someone had once asked her if she drank alone very often – probably some chat line – and she had said 'No, I never drink alone. Somewhere, someone else is drinking too.'

  She could hardly use that excuse any more. Maybe she had wanted to drink herself stupid before, maybe not, but without Nate and now with Sam, it didn't seem worth it. Did Nate seem like the party kind anyway?

  At the window overlooking the front, she pulled the curtain and peered out into darkness. She couldn't see Nate below, if he had even set off again yet.

  She turned and gave Sam another check; he was cold and clammy. She retrieved a duvet from the bed in the teenage girl's room and draped it over him.

  “Night night, sweetheart, sweet dreams,” said Ruby’s father.

  “Kiss.”

  “Oh alright,” he knelt down over her Barbie duvet, kissed her on the forehead. “Get some sleep now. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Dad,” she said, returning to the bathroom. She unzipped her jeans and sat on the toilet. Candlelight lit up the bevelled edges of counters, cabinets and the bathtub. As she relieved herself, she looked around for something to read but there was nothing.

  She stood and flushed and washed her hands – how much longer would the water last? – and left. She reached for the light cord but stopped herself short. That was the first time in a while that an old habit relating to electricity had kicked in, and she smiled. "Bit of electricity would be great please."

  In the living room were nothing but reminders, with all its lifeless circuitry and unmet potential just sat in plastic boxes, boxes within boxes, televisions and set-top boxes and stereo systems within boxes, handsets with dead lines within boxes, a PlayStation with a disc trapped inside within boxes, a Wii you could no longer box on within boxes; ghosts of lives compartmentalised that once thrived on watching other lives, living other lives, being other lives on the thin web that bounced its signals across the globe. What will the satellites do now?

  She walked back over to the window and stared out, up towards the stars. What of the astronauts on the space station, sending messages that would never be heard? Maybe they used their escape pods and free-wheeled to Earth, only to be stranded in the middle of the Pacific Ocean when no-one came to rescue them. There's a story The Walking Dead never told, she thought.

  "Something else no-one ever mentions is how boring the apocalypse is." Sighing, she headed for the master bedroom and lay on the large double bed. She rolled over and started snooping through the drawers of the bedside tables.

  In one, she found wads of make-up caked tissue that were just pushed to the back of the drawer, while nail files and clippers bounced around. A pair of glasses that were probably scratched were loose and slid about.

  In another, there was another set of reading glasses and a Robert Ludlum novel. A bottle of Durex lubricant rolled about, its head sticky with leakage.

  Closing the drawers, she lay back with her head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, a burning beginning to ignite in her belly. It was a simultaneous ignition; in her stomach, the food she had eaten had not been satisfying; and lower, she felt heat rising as though this wasn't some stranger's bed, in some stranger's house, and she wasn't alone. She imagined the bathtub full of cold water again, and lowering herself into it. She imagined immersing herself completely, the water cooling over her face.

  After a while the only heat remaining was a diminishing pain in the stomach, manageable with deep breaths that seemed to inflate her chest to bursting. "Time for some breakfast," she said, and headed for the kitchen.

  She found the tin of 'English breakfast' and clicked the tin-opener in place. When it opened, the sweet scent of tomato sauce wafted up, followed by a salty aroma of bacon. "Is there nothing I can heat this up with?"

  In a drawer she found some matches, so she grabbed a pile of magazines from a magazine rack and scrunched some up inside the sink. She lit it and watched it quickly burn down. She placed the tin within the embers and scattered more paper around it, allowing it to catch fire. "Survival at its finest." Blackened entrails of the paper floated up, and the smell stung her nostrils slightly.

  From the top of the sofa, Sam's head appeared as he sat up, disturbed perhaps by the low whooshing of flames as they sucked oxygen from the air.

  "You still hungry, Sam? You've never had a meal like it, I swear, the great Ruby Reid, should have my own cooking show."

  Jumping up, Sam groaned and rounded the coffee table.

  As he turned about-face, Ruby noticed that his skin was pale and no doubt cold to the touch; his eyes were cloudy and his gait was heavy, as though learning how to walk all over again.

  "Shit."

  It made a sound that resembled her name: "Ooo-Eee" but it had no diction and seemed to issue from deeper depths than the oesophagus, and was so eager to get to her that it almost stumbled over its own feet, lurching forward and reaching for the bend of the counter. When it was near, Ruby pushed at it, sending it flying back on unsteady legs and crashing against the wall.

  "God, no, you're just a kid for fuck's sake."

  It pushed up on arms that wobbled, but then jacked itself up onto all fours and hissed at Ruby. It jumped forward, and in two leaps was upon her. She grabbed it by the chest, gripping the clothes it still wore, and held it away from her, walking forwards. At the wall, she slammed it, again and again, trying to wrest the gripping fingers from her shoulders. Shimmying along the wall, she finally reached the open doorway of the master bedroom – thankfully left open – and threw it inside, closing the door before it had a chance to pounce back through. It launched itself against the far side of the door and slammed fists against it, hissing and screaming. But the door stuck in place.

  Ruby fell back on her haunches and scrambled backwards from the door until the side of the sofa was against her back. A dull pain from shallow scratches on both her shoulders slowly registered as she calmed down.

  "Fuck this," she said, grabbing her trainers and headed for the door.

  *****

  Wake up!

  Nate opened his eyes to see a couple of small birds, swifts or swallows, hopping around the edges of the mulch. They contented themselves with the rich and varied offerings that the area had to offer – no need to enter the poly tunnel.

  A scrawny tabby cat pounced f
rom the overgrown grass and landed its front paws on one, taking it in his mouth and walking away with its head held high. Nate said 'Boo!', but it merely paused and looked in his direction for a second before running off. "Truly your own masters again, eh."

  "Well this was a success." He stood full-height, feeling the calf- and thigh-muscles in his legs stretch, and his lower back tension discharge with a couple swings of the hip. He left the poly tunnel and headed back for the brick and concrete of the garden centre, with its solid, clean, floors. He sighed at the thought of having to find some new shoes again, as he squelched along. "Should've been more practical anyway," he murmured, the cool air circulating in front of his mouth.

  The centre was locked and Nate decided it wasn't worth investigating through the industrial use of a thrown brick or plant pot, at least for the time being, so left the plot for the road. No signs of life, anywhere, could be seen, heard or smelled. Passing the same houses as before, The Smell was stronger than he remembered, a symbolic sign post that said 'Do Not Enter'.

  Picking up the pace, he jogged, and then ran, the speed nullifying the constant ache in his stomach to a manageable level. Hedges raced past, debris gusted in his wake and settled in the gutters.

  He had always enjoyed running at night – with other senses dulled down it never seemed to hurt as much in the hamstring, or in the lungs, and it always felt as though he was running faster, with the legs pumping and nothing but shadows flying past either side. He'd even tried the treadmill in complete darkness once, treating it like a spin class, with the music loud in his ears, the only other sensation the forward thrust of the run. But it hadn't been the same. The wind against his face was everything.

  He was soon back at the car, finding his sprint had not tired him. He even considered carrying on, sprinting back into town – gotta get my fitness back up – but thought better of it. Already wasted enough time.

  He had to back-track a hundred metres or so to a front garden and driveway where a trailer was hooked up to a Range Rover. The door was locked. He looked momentarily at the dark house – nothing but birthday cards in one window, drawn curtains at the others.