by Ryan Casey
He listened to the cries some more and then he remembered.
Sam and Jenny. Candice, pushing her children out of her house and forcing them upon Jack. Forcing them upon a dad who had never been there for them. A dad who’d turned away from them.
A dad who never wanted to be a dad in the first place.
He shuffled some more. Tried to see what was clamping him down. Saw a Foo Fighters CD, a Biffy Clyro album lying above him.
He was in his car.
Shit. The woman on the road. The woman with the wrench who’d been standing in the middle of the road. Who he’d had to swerve out of the way of.
He’d crashed. He’d crashed the car. They were stuck, upside down.
“Kids, I…”
Sam and Jenny kept on crying. Shit. For all he knew, they could be in a horrible state. They could be wounded. They could have limbs hanging off and—
No. Don’t think about that. Just focus on getting out of here.
He tried to shift himself again. Tried to shift his legs, but they were stuck under the crushed dashboard. He lifted his arms. Tried to move the thing holding him down, tried to unbuckle his seat belt, but no use.
The more the seconds ticked by, the more this car felt like Jack’s coffin.
The shouts and cries of his kids cut through his foreboding realisation of imminent death. Shit—no wonder he’d never wanted kids. Noisy nuisances, that’s all they were. More hassle than they were worth.
“Kids, I… Please. I need your help here.”
“Is that the man speaking?” Sam asked.
“No, stupid. The man’s—the man’s dead. The man’s gone away like everyone goes away.”
“The man isn’t dead,” Jack said, as loud as he could. “He just… he needs your help.” He tried to lift the thing holding him down away again, realised it wasn’t metal at all. It was a tree branch. A thick tree branch that was trapping his seatbelt against him.
A tree branch that was shifting, ever so slightly, but something he couldn’t move himself.
“But we’re stuck here,” Jenny said. “We’re stuck here and the bad people are going to get us—”
“Sam. The opening at the side of you. The little gap. Can you get out there?”
Jack listened as Sam struggled around. Struggled to arch his neck to see the opening. “If… If I do, the bad people will—”
“If you don’t, the bad people will get us anyway. You need to get out of that opening. When I shout for you to pull, I want you to pull. It’s our only way out.”
Jack coughed at the smell of petrol. Sam made quivering noises, his breathing fast and heavy.
“But I… I don’t want to.”
“You’re going to have to if you want to live. If you want me to get you to Simon. Just, er… just trust me here. Seriously.”
Sam didn’t sound too convinced by Jack’s offer of trust. Then again, Jack would hardly trust himself either.
“We’re rooting for you, Sam. And… and it’s gonna be hard to pull, but you literally just have to pull it a little and I’ll be able to shift the rest with my weight. Just need you to get out there. Get out there, then we can get you and your sister safe.”
More quivering from Sam. More shaking. Complete wide-eyed silence from Jenny.
“Come on, kid. I trust you here. You can do this.”
Jack waited a few more seconds. Kept an eye outside the car, just in case anything was coming, but there was nobody. No sirens. No footsteps or engine noises or screams. Nothing.
And then he heard the clicking of the safety belt and the thump of Sam to the bottom—or the top—of the car.
“Come on, Sam,” Jack said, as his son struggled away, squeezed his way through the smashed-open window. “Watch out for glass. Watch out and you’ll be okay. And if you see anyone outside then… then tell me right away.”
More struggling from Sam. No speaking, just struggling, the car shaking as he wriggled around.
Sam was out of Jack’s view now. The smell of petrol was stronger than ever. “How you doing, kid?”
“Just… nearly… ow!”
“What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I just… Agh. Scratched my hand on the window. I—I can’t do it. I can’t—”
“You’re almost there, Sam. Almost there.”
Jack held his breath as Sam squeezed through some more. As he worked his way out of the window. As the car shifted and shook.
“Nearly there! Nearly made it!”
“Alright idiot,” Jenny said. “Stop going on about it and just do it.”
“I… I’m there! I’m out!”
Jack’s heart raced. He couldn’t help but smile. “That’s great, kid. Really great. Now… now quick. Get around to the front of the car and tell me what you see.”
Sam’s little footsteps pottered around the side of the car. Jack prayed the car wasn’t in too bad condition, or he’d be trapped in here. Kids would be going their own way, too. And they weren’t tough enough. No way near tough enough to make it through to Barnacre all on their own.
“There’s… there’s a big tree branch that’s coming through the front bit. And the window’s all smashed and in the ground.”
“Good… good. That tree branch. I… I want you to grab hold of it. I want you to pull back when I give you a shout, okay?”
“But… but it’s very big.”
“Just give it a try, Sam. Please. We need this.”
Exhalation from Sam. Struggling, and pottering against the metal of the car. Being upside down was starting to get disorienting, Jack’s head filled with the pressure.
“Okay. I… I’ve got hold of the tree. Got hold of it.”
Jack breathed in, flattened his stomach. Grabbed hold of the thick branch with his hands, and pushed his knees against them too. “Okay, Sam, I just want you to try and pull it back. Can you do that? It’s not too heavy, is it?”
“He won’t be able to lift it,” Jenny said. “He’s got noodle arms. Everyone says he’s got noodle arms.”
“I don’t have noodle arms!”
“Prove it,” Jack said.
The branch shifted around a little. If they could just get this out of the way, Jack would be able to drop down and climb out of one of the side windows. They’d be able to get away. All of them.
“You ready, Sam? Ready to pull?”
“Okay. I… I’m ready.”
“Okay. Here goes. Three, two, one… pull!”
Jack pushed against the branch with all his weight, all his strength.
The branch moved slightly, ever so slightly, but not enough to release the seatbelt from its grip, not enough to release Jack.
“Are you free?” Sam called. “Did I do it?”
Jack wiped his sweaty head. “I… Sam, we’re gonna have to try that again. On my count. Three, two, one… Pull!”
Another slight release of the branch.
Seat belt still caught around it.
Jack still bound to his seat.
“Did I do it this time? I’m not noodle-armed am I?”
Jack leaned back in his car seat. Faced up to the reality that he was trapped, hanging upside down, a prisoner of gravity.
“Does he want me to help?” Jenny asked.
Jack glimpsed at Jenny in the cracked rear-view mirror. Saw her sitting there, ever so politely, upside down.
“Can you do that, Jenny? Can you help your brother?”
She unclipped herself. Crawled out of the car at the speed of light. Jogged around the front of the car. “I can help,” she said.
Jack took a deep breath. Peered out at the light outside, at the road. Still empty. Still quiet. He became aware of just how alone he was. How alone, trapped in this car, waiting to die.
He realised that was why he hadn’t asked both his kids to help him out of here all along.
“Okay kids. On my count, I want you both to pull. You okay with that?”
“But I want to pull this side!”
; “But you aren’t strong enough to—”
“Any side will do,” Jack snapped, quietening his kids. “On my count. We can do this. Come on. Three, two, one… pull!”
The log shifted away as Jack pressed with all his strength.
It shifted some more.
And then the seat belt released and Jack tumbled head-first onto the roof of his car.
“We did it!” Sam shouted, as Jack turned around to climb out of the side door.
“Couldn’t do it without a girl’s help,” Jenny said. “Such a baby.”
“I’m not a baby. I’m older than you by one hour!”
The sound of his kids bickering was a weird kind of music to Jack as he squeezed his way towards the partly open car door, as he got closer and closer to escape.
But that sound of music came to a sudden halt when he heard footsteps on the road.
His kids continued to bicker. Continued to play-fight. Could it have been them? Their footsteps? No. They weren’t on the road. They weren’t…
And then he saw the bottom of the legs.
The bloody, burned flesh.
The mangled feet.
Walking down the road.
Walking towards Sam and Jenny, towards Jack, still stuck in the car.
FOUR
The mangled, burned legs got closer.
Sam and Jenny continued to bicker outside the car, unaware of what was coming their way.
Jack wanted to shout. He wanted to shout and tell his kids to get away, but he couldn’t because if he shouted, he might attract more of these angry bastards their way.
He wanted to whisper, but whispering was no use because Sam and Jenny were too far away.
And the legs were getting closer. The feet were getting closer.
He shuffled around. Tried to squeeze his way out of the cracked glass of the upturned car window. He caught himself on a piece of glass right as he was squeezing out. Scratched all down his leg, and couldn’t help but whimper.
“Is he here? Is he coming?”
Jack saw Jenny pop her head around the side of the car. Her elephant pyjamas were covered with dust, her hair with sweat. Sam had a scratched hand, which had splattered more blood over his Chelsea FC shirt.
“He’s here. We did it,” Jenny said.
“Into the trees,” Jack said, pointing to the right. “Do it. Now.”
Sam and Jenny looked at one another, as if to question what Jack was telling them.
It was then that they saw the thing coming their way, too.
It was standing in the middle of the road. Standing completely still. Burned legs. Charred, naked flesh all over. Everywhere except its face—or her face, rather. Looking at this thing, it was hard to believe she was actually a woman. A woman with a name. A woman with a life, a story, of her own.
Her eyes were glazed, just like Candice’s had been.
Jack backed away. Placed a hand on each of his kids’ chests, as the woman stared at him, and then looked at his kids, then back at him again. Completely still otherwise. Waiting for Jack to make a move.
“Run into the trees,” Jack whispered. “Right now.”
The second Jack’s kids ran from behind him down into the trees, the woman threw herself towards them.
She flew into Jack. Sent him hurtling to the ground. She scratched at his chest. Tore through his grey ASOS t-shirt, clawed at his already split red hoodie. He struggled. Tried to push her away.
“Get the fuck off me,” he said. “Get the… get the fuck off me.”
He knew his protestations were falling on deaf ears. He could see it in this woman’s eyes. Something wrong. Something off about her.
Something completely… distant.
She scratched at the side of his head. Clawed her sharp fingernails into his temples until he was sure they were bleeding.
He punched back at her. Punched and kicked and fought as dirty as he could. He just wanted to get her off him. He didn’t want to kill her. He just wanted to knock her down. To get her away. To…
His fist connected with the side of her head and she dropped to the ground, twitching, shaking.
Jack pulled himself to his feet. He was panting. Quivering. Swore he could taste the salt of tears on his lips. This woman, shaking away on the ground. He knew there was something wrong with her. He’d seen about the spread of violence on the news earlier—the way it started down south in the rural areas and then in all the big cities, and now…
Now it was here, he knew there was something very, very wrong.
Looking at the woman twitching away on the ground, eyes rolling into the back of her head, blood dribbling out of her body, down her chin; thinking back to the clogged-up motorway, the people being chased, torn to pieces…
This wasn’t gonna be something that was solved overnight.
He rubbed his sides, a sudden coldness coming over him. As he turned around to look into the trees where his kids had gone, he winced as a searing pain shot through his leg. The cut. Shitting sharp glass. Just what he needed right now. Medical assessment in a time where he figured the hospitals could do with a break.
Then again, he’d survived a car crash. Sam and Jenny had survived a car crash. Things could’ve been much, much worse.
They weren’t one of those things, either. That was a victory in itself.
“Kids?” Jack called. He stepped down the grass verge, into the trees that lined the motorway, which was so quiet. So quiet that he could hear the whistling of the tree leaves instead of the constant rattling of car engines, tyres on the road. Almost peaceful.
He moved down the grass verge. Squinted, wished he’d had that damn eye test he always promised he’d take. He’d been short-sighted for years, but he just couldn’t be arsed doing anything about it. He didn’t want to be a speccy four-eyes when he was in prison. And he could get by without glasses in the real world anyway.
But shit. What he’d do for some specs right now.
“Sam? Jenny?”
He climbed further down the grass verge. The trees got thicker. Felt like he was trekking through a jungle, into the unknown.
And then he saw them on his left.
Sam and Jenny were holding one another. The blood from Sam’s cut was oozing out onto his sister’s elephant pyjamas. Poor kid. He could do with a bandage. Both of them were looking at Jack. Looking at him, waiting for his call.
A look of trust in an adult.
A parent.
“Come on,” he said, feeling relieved that they were okay. “Need to get you to Simon. Might take us a bit longer on foot, though.”
Jenny looked at her brother. Sam looked back at her, tears rolling down his little cheeks.
“Come on,” Jack said. He started to climb back up the verge. “We don’t have all day.”
“What about the bad people?” Sam whispered.
“I dealt with her. She’s… she isn’t going to hurt you.”
“Not the woman,” Jenny whispered. She pointed over Jack’s shoulders. “The others.”
Jack’s stomach sank. His body felt like it froze completely.
He turned around. Looked up at the top of the grass verge.
There were seven people all standing there, looking down into the trees.
All of their eyes were glazed over.
FIVE
Jack Simm had stared death in the face more times than he was comfortable with this Wednesday afternoon.
And once again, looking down at him and his children from the top of the grass verge, death peered at him, all glazed eyes and charred flesh.
Jack kept very still. So too did Sam and Jenny. He didn’t want to run, because he knew they’d chase him, and handling one was different to handling seven of them.
He wanted to reassure Sam and Jenny. Wanted to tell them who he was—that he was their dad, and he was here for them as whatever bad things happened to them happened.
But he didn’t want to speak either in case it brought further attention.
; The glazed-eyed people were of all different ages, all different races and genders. One an Asian man in his late fifties. Another a girl who could barely be into her teens.
All of them holding knives, or spanners, or wrenches, or axes, or just tensed bloodied fists.
All of them watching.
And then there was a sound. A sound of an engine getting closer, coming from the left. The smell of burning growing in the air, drifting in from the motorway, or the nearby houses.
The glazed-eyed people all turned their heads at once. All looked at this speeding engine, getting closer and closer.
Jack held his breath, grabbed his children’s hands, and moved.
He didn’t look back as he ran through the trees, dragging Sam and Jenny along. He tried not to focus on the footsteps approaching, the shouts and the cries and the struggling from the road at the side.
He just moved through the trees. Moved away from the screeching tires of an approaching car.
Moved through the trees, and then over a little wooden fence and into a farmer’s field.
He turned around. Looked into the woods. Couldn’t see a thing. Couldn’t hear anything coming, either.
Looked back at his kids. Jenny was panting. Sam had his hands on his thighs, his right hand still bleeding out, spoiling his beige denim shorts now.
They sat down beside the wooden fence. Jack kept an eye on the surroundings—on the field, in case anyone came their way, on the road, but it looked clear, for now at least.
He leaned over to Sam. His hand was still bleeding, much worse than Jack’s leg was anyway.
“Let’s take a look at that,” Jack said.
Sam flinched his hand away. Peered at Jack with narrowed, untrusting eyes.
“Show him, dummy,” Jenny said, rolling her eyes. “He’s only trying to help.”
Jack felt a lump growing in his throat as Sam slowly moved his hand over to him. As he placed it in his hands. It’d been so many years since he’d held his son’s hand. So many years since he’d touched his warm skin. And now the memories were all flooding back to him. The good times. The times pushing them on the swings at the Clay Hole park, moving from Sam to Jenny and back again, eventually being knocked in the crotch by one of them as they laughed away, called for him to push them higher and higher.
