by Ryan Casey
Jack closed his mouth. Felt that his lips were dry. All of a sudden, Sam didn’t feel so warm in his arms. Not now he suspected. Not now the reality of fatherly responsibility weighed down on him.
“I… I dunno,” Jack said. “I guess she just—”
“I was just scared,” Jenny said. She stared at the ground. “I was… I was just scared. And I wanted a—a dad there for me.”
Sam looked at Jack. Stared at him for a few seconds, a rigidity creeping through his body now.
And then he let his muscles loosen again and nodded his head.
When Sam wasn’t looking, Jenny flicked Jack a half-smile.
Jack let out a quiet but long breath. He felt terrible for not being honest with Sam. If there was anything Sam could do with right now, it was a parent to help him through the horrors of this world.
But Jack couldn’t be that father. He couldn’t commit. People like him—criminals, layabouts—they could never commit anything but crimes.
It was better for the kids to just find somewhere new, someone new. That’s what he had to ensure here.
“I wish you were my dad,” Sam said.
Jack went weak at the knees. Couldn’t help it, it just happened.
He felt a warmth around his eyes. Licked the sweat from his lips. “I… I… We’ll get you safe,” Jack said. “We will.”
He held Sam tightly as occasional footsteps pottered past outside.
***
Jack wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there, holding his kids. Just that his face was burning in the sun, and he could smell charring flesh. He looked down at Sam’s hands, saw a redness about them. The redness that could only be from a burn.
“You been on holiday this year?” Jack asked. He hadn’t noticed the burn before. Looked pretty recent, in fact.
Sam shook his head.
“Simon’s boring,” Jenny said. “Scared of planes. Only likes staying in England.”
Jack half-smiled. Nodded.
He could see a redness on Jenny’s nose, too. A crispiness where she’d been exposed to the sun.
He thought about the runners. The way they only came out in the light. The blaring September sun.
And then he felt a vibration in his pocket.
He didn’t understand it at first. It’d been so long since his phone had vibrated that he’d grown used to the inactivity. He’d given up checking for network coverage hours ago.
But he’d felt a vibration. A definite vibration.
He squeezed his hand into his pocket.
“Was that your phone?” Jenny asked.
“You felt it too?”
She nodded.
Jack pulled his phone out. If it vibrated, then it meant there was a signal. It meant things were back on track. That systems were restoring.
When he saw that the vibration was from a “Low Battery: 5% remaining” notification, he almost smashed his phone into the ground right there.
He sighed. Rubbed his face with his left hand. His heart was still racing from thinking he had a signal. Shocks like that, they should be banned. It’s like thinking you’ve won the lottery only to realise you’re a number or two off at the last second.
Or like waking up thinking it’s a Saturday in the middle of the week, the inevitable disappointment crushing.
“What’s that little writing? At the top of the screen?”
Jack looked at his phone. Didn’t have high hopes. Jenny probably didn’t have an iPhone, so didn’t know how it worked.
But when he looked at his phone, he saw something unfamiliar.
It was in the top left. Where the network symbol usually was.
It read, “LIMITED EMERGENCY COVERAGE,” stretching along the top of the screen.
And he had one bar of signal.
He cancelled the low battery message. Tapped on Safari. If there was signal, then he could work out what this thing was. Where to go. What to do.
“What’s happening?” Sam asked. “Are we being saved?”
“Ssh!” Jenny said. “Let him concentrate.”
Jack typed in the BBC News address, his hands shaking. First thing he could think of. They had to have emergency information. Some kind of details from the army, or people like that.
Loading.
Still loading.
And still loading.
“Why’s it not working?”
Jack hit refresh. Then hit it again. He noted his battery: 4%. Fuck. He had to hurry. The battery usually cut out anywhere between 5% and 1%. He didn’t have long. Seconds. Maybe less.
And then the BBC home page loaded up.
Only it wasn’t the BBC page he remembered.
It was a full-page note. A letter, addressed to the British public. Shit. For the letter to be on the BBC website, this thing had to be serious. And it had to be nationwide.
He started reading, his kids peeping over at the screen.
Dear British Public,
As you will know, a great tragedy has occurred, resulting in a nationwide state of emergency.
The streets are no longer safe. Please stay in your homes and lock all windows and doors to avoid riots. Keep lights off if possible.
If you have to travel, travel at night, but be vigilant.
There are currently a number of unofficial public shelters listed below. Travel to one of these shelters only if you live close by. Otherwise, it is better not to risk departing your homes.
Please be patient and please be cautious while we work on dealing with this crisis.
Yours truly,
The Prime Minister.
It took Jack a few moments for the letter to settle in. For the realisation of the truth to hit him.
A nationwide state of emergency.
The government telling people to stay in their homes.
“Morecambe,” Sam said, pointing at the screen. “Morecambe’s where Simon does like going on holiday.”
Jack looked back at the phone.
Noted one of the many shelters was on Happy Mount Park, Morecambe.
And then the phone cut out and the battery died.
Jack put the phone back in his pocket. Put his arms around Sam and Jenny again, who were completely still, completely silent.
He looked over at the gate. Listened to the distant footsteps, further away, not as imminent a threat. Felt the sun burning through the cool breeze.
“Looks like we’re going to Morecambe then,” Jack said.
FIFTEEN
“Are we clear?”
Silence for a few seconds. An aching in Jack’s shoulders.
“Looks clear.”
Jack lowered Jenny down. Winced as he did. God, he was getting too old to be giving piggybacks. He’d given one too many to friends on wild nights out when he was younger. Done his back in time after time.
Scrapping in prison a few times hadn’t helped his physical condition, either.
Jack keyed in the code to open up the gate. Listened outside for any sounds, but it was all quiet. There was an orange glow to the sky, as the three of them had sat around doing absolutely nothing all day just waiting for sunset to come.
He’d tried to get the kids to sleep. Tried to catch some sleep himself.
Easier said than done when the world was collapsing around you.
The green light pinged on the keypad and the gate opened. Jack stayed in front of his kids, wishing he hadn’t left the torch back at the chemist’s, as darkness grew.
But he knew the worst monsters were hiding in the light anyway.
“I’m so hungry,” Sam said, with a yawn. Little dark circles under his eyes. Jenny’s eyes were bloodshot, too.
“We’ll get food soon. You should’ve got some sleep. We sleep in the daytime now.”
“Outside with all the bad people at the other side of the fence?”
Jack sighed. Nodded. Sam had a point.
“You two stay close. Hold my hand. See anything weird, you squeeze it. Really tight. Okay?”
They
both nodded back.
The three of them left the grounds of the large detached house behind. They walked down the A6 a way, as the sunset glowed up ahead. Looked for movement, looked for signs of life.
Nothing yet. Which was a good thing.
They walked until it was pitch black and then they walked some more. Walked past cars, which had been abandoned in the middle of the road. Walked down the A6 and towards the motorway. They had to get to Morecambe. Get to the shelter there.
Jack had to take his children there and do everything he could to ensure they got there safely.
That was his duty.
They entered a darkened Spar shop on the way down to the motorway. Gathered chocolate bars, crisps, but also healthier options like tins of beans and tuna. What was left of the food, anyway—the shelves had been mostly raided.
Jack figured the shelves would be completely emptied after the next day.
They travelled further down the A6 until they reached the Broughton roundabout. Jack stared into the road that led right down into the countryside. They could go there. Stay there for a while. Catch rabbits in the wild to eat. There was even a fisheries around Langley Lane, so they could find food there.
But doing that was admitting defeat to this new world. Doing that was accepting a new life.
A life of a father.
No. He had to get his children to Morecambe. Get them to some people who could really protect them.
Then he had to move on.
“You don’t speak a lot,” Sam said, crunching away on some Walkers crisps.
Jack shrugged. Walked up the elevation in the road that led to the motorway. “That’s relative.”
“What’s relative mean?” Sam asked.
Jenny tutted. “He’s saying you talk too much.”
“Oh,” Sam said. “Do I talk too much? I don’t think I talk too much. Although I did get my name on the board for talking too much in class once and—”
“Like I say,” Jack said. “Relative.”
When they reached the top of the elevation, Jack got a good look down the motorway, which was enshrouded in darkness. There were cars scattered here and there, but not too many. This section of the motorway was mostly clear. But the problem came at the other junctions. The junctions and stretches of the motorway that were crowded. He couldn’t risk finding a car and driving down the motorway because he had no idea what he was driving into, even if a drive to Morecambe did only take forty-five minutes direct.
“We’ll have to take the back roads,” Jack said, checking one of the abandoned cars. If he had some tools, he’d be able to rig up one of these things to drive, but he figured there must be a car or two lying around with keys left inside. Chaos and panic did that to people. “The scenic route.”
Jenny nodded. She seemed more trusting of Jack now. Truth was, she hadn’t been the same since entering the grounds of that posh house. None of them had, really. Not since seeing the man brutalised in the street. In a way, that seemed to hit them more than anything else—more even than watching their mother disappear.
It was evidence of the brutality of the new world.
Evidence of what they’d become if they didn’t run. Didn’t grow up.
“We could take the A6 right up to Morecambe and be there in about an hour. But it’d go right through Garstang and Lancaster and… and I’m not sure we really want to go through any populated places right now.”
“But it’s nighttime,” Sam said. “The bad people only come out in the daytime. So we’ll be okay going that way. Right?”
Jack opened the door of another car—a black Honda Civic. He smiled at Sam. Kid had a point. They could speed down the A6 in the darkness and be in Morecambe in an hour. All this could be over in an hour.
But there was always a risk. A risk they’d break down. Run out of petrol. Run into trouble.
Yet still, even if they did, they’d have a chance to get somewhere safe before morning. Somewhere to hide.
Jenny shivered. Rubbed her arms and looked around.
“You okay Jen?”
She sniffed some snot. Nodded. “Just a… a little cold.”
Jack lamented the fact they’d never had more time to look around the chemist’s. They could’ve really raided the place. Stocked up on food, water, all sorts.
And clothes, too. Jenny’s thin, blood-soaked elephant pyjamas were hardly attire for a September night.
“Just keep close to your brother. Don’t want your feet freezing or anything.”
Sam’s eyes widened as they continued to search the motorway entrance for a suitable car. “Could that really happen?”
Jack opened a car door. Smiled. “It really—”
He felt something tug his arm. Heard a screech, as he tumbled into the car, as this thing holding him kept on yanking and pulling.
He looked up. Struggled around.
There was a woman opposite him, illuminated by the interior light that came on automatically. Dark, matted hair. Blood dripping down her chin.
She scratched at Jack’s cheeks with her nails, as he tried to struggle free. She seemed strong. Hard to shift. Like she was putting everything she had into beating him.
She thumped him in the stomach. Scratched his cheeks some more. Dribbled out some ghastly-smelling saliva onto his face, her bloodshot eye just inches away.
Jack reached for something—anything. Didn’t find a thing.
She tugged at his short hair. Pulled so hard he felt and heard a clump tear out.
He let out a shout. Struggled away from her, his eyes filled with inadvertent tears.
And then he heard a thump and a crack and the woman tumbled backwards.
Jenny had smacked the door against her.
He lifted himself up without thinking. Pressed the woman down. Pushed her into the driver’s seat, kicked her away.
He shuffled out of the car door. Slammed it shut, just before the woman could reach the door.
He stepped away. Stepped away with his children. The woman struggled around in the car. Struggled in the light, eyes bloodshot, heavy breathing frosting the windows.
Jack knew she could open the door. If she wanted to, she could open the door.
But if she opened the door, she’d be in the darkness. Out of her comfort zone.
“Come on,” Jack said. He took the hands of his children. Walked away down the motorway dip back onto the A6.
They all watched as the woman continued to struggle, to cry, to shake the car.
And then the light went out and the car was still.
SIXTEEN
They found a car with keys in the ignition just past the motorway entrance.
Jack and the kids got inside. Scanned the Honda Jazz first just in case anyone—anything—was lying around, but they were in luck. The car stunk of minty air freshener that Jack was certain would be replaced with the smell of his and his kids’ sweaty bodies in no time.
But they had a car. A car with half a tank of petrol. Enough to get them to Morecambe.
They set off down the A6. Jack kept the headlights on as they moved down the long, straight road, desolate and empty. He figured if he saw any movement in their beams, he’d switch them off right away. He needed to know where he was going. Needed to see. Couldn’t take any major risks, not now.
“Are we there yet?” Sam asked.
Jack looked in the mirror. Saw Sam smiling as he snacked on Walkers.
“You a Shrek fan then?” Jack asked.
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Never shuts up about it.”
“Stu-pid don-keh!” Sam said, in his best Scottish accent.
Jack couldn’t help but smile as he drove further down the A6, ignoring the red lights. The roads were quiet. Completely quiet. He wondered how many survivors there were. How many hadn’t turned into runners. How many hadn’t been affected by the event.
Whatever the event was. Some kind of solar event, by the sounds of things. Something to do with the sun. But he was guessing.
/> “What about you then, Jen?” Jack asked, keeping close watch on the road as they passed through Broughton and headed towards Barton, further into the countryside. “What’re your favourite films?”
“Jenny likes scary stuff,” Sam said.
“Scary stuff, eh?”
“Yeah. Like The Grudge and—”
“I didn’t like The Grudge,” Jenny said, blushing. “That one wasn’t even scary.”
“Is that why you weed your bed that night you watched it?”
Jenny’s eyes glanced into the rear-view mirror. Cheeks went even redder, as Jack looked back at her. Raised his eyebrows.
She punched her brother in the arm.
“Hard to believe you two are twins sometimes,” Jack said.
Sam crinkled his eyebrows. “Who told you we were twins?”
Jack’s heart picked up. Shit. Another slip. “Er—”
“I did,” Jenny said. “In the chemist’s. Told him you were my twin brother. But that I’m the better twin because we know that’s true.”
“That’s so not true.”
Jack left the pair of them to bicker in the back of the car while he continued to drive down the A6. In truth, he was just pleased to hear them acting like kids. After the things they’d seen—the things they’d been through in the last two days—it was amazing just how strong, how resilient, kids could be.
He drove for thirty minutes and didn’t see a single person. The kids quietened, and when Jack looked around he saw they were fast asleep, lying on one another’s shoulders. Really, he knew the kindest thing to do would be to wake them up. Make them save sleep for the daytime, let their bodies adjust to the new clock.
But they were just about an hour, maybe less, from Morecambe. Maybe they wouldn’t have to adjust.
Besides, they just looked too damned cute to disturb.
It was on the thirty-first minute that Jack saw someone.
They were up ahead. Right in the middle of the road. Jack dipped his headlights, then cut them, unable to make out who this guy was—whether he was runner or human or what.
Shitting hell. Should really have got those glasses. Should really have got those pissing glasses.
He started to slow down the car. The guy was just standing there, completely still, impossible to see in the dark.
