Sunlight

by Ryan Casey

  “What’s happening?” Jenny asked, yawning.

  “There’s a man there,” Sam said. “Are we gonna stop for him?”

  Jack slowed down even more as he approached the man. He was quite a bulky guy, that he could tell. Very tall too, dark hair.

  Everything else, hidden by the nighttime.

  “We should stop,” Sam said. “See if he wants help.”

  “But he could be a bad person,” Jenny said.

  Jack battled away in his own mind, too. Battled away, tried to work out what to do, what action to take.

  This man could be a runner.

  But he could also be a human. And at the end of the day, what was Jack if he abandoned a fellow human? Left him in the darkness, alone, until the sun rose?

  He pulled up beside the guy. Lowered his window slightly.

  He could hear the man breathing from here. Hear his rattly, short breaths. Could see the breathing clouding up out of his mouth, lit by the light of the moon.

  “What you doing out here?” Jack asked.

  Nothing from the man.

  Tension started to build up inside Jack. He readied himself to lift the window. Readied himself to speed off into the distance before anything shitty could happen. The darkness outside. The silence of the night. He didn’t like it.

  Something was wrong here.

  “Do you need help, mister?” Sam asked.

  “Sam, shut up,” Jack said. “I’m gonna ask you again and then I’m gonna drive away. What are you doing out here—”

  “You need—you need to get away from here.”

  The voice took Jack by surprise at first. Froze him again, stopped him winding up the window.

  “What… what you mean?”

  No response from the man. Just that crackly, shallow breathing.

  Sam and Jenny stared on, still, quiet.

  “We’re leaving now,” Jack said. Hit the window button. Watched it rise. “We’re leaving and I suggest you get out of the—”

  “You don’t want to go down this road,” the man said. “You don’t… the sound they make. The noises. The—the scratching. The scratching. It’s in my head and it won’t go away. They won’t ever go away.” He slapped the side of his head.

  Jack looked back at his kids. Checked they were okay.

  Still staring. Still quiet.

  “Look, we’re going to Morecambe. Trying to get there before it goes…”

  When he looked back outside his car window, the man had gone.

  Jack stayed still. Squinted outside the window, into the darkness. Looked ahead, looked behind, looked all around.

  “Do you see him?” he asked.

  He looked around. The kids didn’t answer. He kept on peering outside, craning his neck to try and see where the man had gone. He couldn’t just disappear. He couldn’t.

  “Kids, do you—”

  “He’s there,” Jenny said.

  Jack looked around. Looked back at Jenny.

  She was pointing ahead with a shaking hand. Her eyes were streaming.

  “He’s with his friends too,” Sam said.

  Jack turned back around slowly, back to look out of his front windscreen, to where Sam and Jenny were staring, transfixed.

  “They’re out for the midnight dance,” Sam said, his voice calm, cool, collected.

  Jack hardly even registered his son’s voice.

  He was too busy staring ahead at the masses of black silhouettes drifting down the road in their direction.

  SEVENTEEN

  As much as Jack wanted to get away from the crowd of dark silhouettes drifting in the direction of the Honda Jazz, he couldn’t bring himself to put his foot on the gas.

  They wandered towards the car. Wandered down the middle of the A6. Wandered slowly, zombie-like in their manner, although somewhat more… dainty. Like it was all a dance to them. A transfixing dance.

  Like they were ballerinas of the night, dancing to the song of the moon.

  “What are they doing?” Jenny whispered, but nobody responded to her, and she didn’t seem to expect a response herself, just thinking aloud.

  The silhouettes surrounded the car, in the middle of the darkness.

  Jack kept very still.

  When the silhouettes reached the sides of the car, Jack could hear a noise. A tiny noise cutting through the silence, like chalk scratching against a whiteboard.

  And scratching.

  And scratching.

  Louder and louder.

  The car shook slightly from one side to the other as the weight of the bodies surrounded it. It was like being inside a motorised car wash, only a shitload more terrifying. And that was saying a lot from Jack, who’d had a phobia of those things since being stuck in a malfunctioning one for hours as a kid.

  He kept one hand on the steering wheel.

  One on the gearstick.

  And his foot dangled precariously over the accelerator, ready to move if needs be.

  He didn’t want to turn. Didn’t want to arch his neck to have a good squint at the figures walking past. His heart pounded. The more that came by, he could see them clearer. People with glassy eyes. Wandering, as if lost in space, homeless, soulless.

  “They’re the bad people,” Jenny whispered, and Jack found it hard to argue with her. “Are they sleeping?”

  “They’re dancing. The dance of the stars.”

  Sam’s voice made Jack’s arms creep up with goose pimples as the figures continued to surround the car, seemingly oblivious of its presence. He’d heard Sam say something earlier about dancing and midnight, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Thought it was just child-speak.

  But these words. They were so… so assured. So confident.

  Sam spoke like he knew what was happening.

  “Why can’t they see us?” Jenny whispered.

  And Jack wanted to respond to her. He wanted to give his daughter the answers. But he couldn’t because he didn’t know them. Just like he hadn’t known the answers to which diapers to buy when they were kids, or which baby milk mix to purchase, or how much child benefit he had to pay when Candice and he split up.

  He didn’t have the answers. He never had the answers.

  “They can see us,” Sam said. Still assured. Still calm. “But they see beauty in the dark.”

  “Sam, what are you on about?” Jenny said. Her voice was a little scared, faltering.

  The figures completely swallowed up the car now. Jack could smell the mass of sweat through the open vents. He could hear their footsteps pattering against the concrete. And now his eyes had adjusted, he could see their aimless, directionless stares wandering, content, unaggressive.

  And then he heard a coughing and a spluttering on the back seat and Jenny let out a squeal.

  He looked around. Sam was shaking. Completely rigid, lying across the seats, shaking. Saliva dribbled out the sides of his mouth. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, distant.

  Jenny tried to hold him. “Sam? Sam… what’s—what’s happening to him? Sam?”

  The figures outside the car continued to wander, unknowing, distant.

  Jack leaned over to the back seat, being careful not to rock the car too much. Fuck, Sam was fitting. Having some kind of seizure. Jack tried to think back to his days as a failed medical student. Tried to remember the basics on seizure management.

  “Jenny—you… you need to rest—to rest your brother’s head on your leg. And don’t hold him down. No, let go. Let go of him. Can you do that?”

  Jenny was crying now. She sniffed up, completely pale, her brother shaking away, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

  “Good girl. That’s it. Very good.” Jack looked up again. Looked outside the car window. Still, the people outside continued to wander, transfixed and in a world of their own.

  But Jack didn’t want to take his chances. He didn’t want to rock the boat.

  He ejected Sam’s seatbelt, which was still draped around his fitting body. Gently opened his mouth and st
uffed the belt in there, folded it between his teeth, which fortunately weren’t clamped down.

  “People can lose teeth fitting,” Jack said, stroking his son’s greasy hair. “They… fingers have been bitten off too. Just got to let it run its course. Hold his head back and let it run its course or it can do more damage. Has he done this before?”

  Jenny stared on. Stared down at her brother, his head resting on her lap, as he shook from side to side, arms and legs flapping everywhere.

  “Jenny. Has your brother done this before?”

  She glanced up at Jack, broken from her trance. Shook her head. “He… No. Never.”

  Jack turned around. Sat facing the windscreen, staring out at the figures in the darkness. There was a gap forming. A gap, just ahead. He could see the road opening up in front of him. Hear the scratching noises—the scratching noises that the disappearing man had warned him about.

  His vision was getting better, and that was because the moon was emerging from behind some thick clouds overhead. He stayed still. Clenched the steering wheel. First moment these people walked away from his car, he and the kids were gone. Down the road. Out of here.

  But as the moon started to come more into view, as Sam continued to fit, Jack noticed the figures outside slowing down.

  The scratching noise got a bit louder. He looked in his rear-view mirror—saw the figures looking back at his car, a recognition returning to their eyes. Heard them panting, their walking getting clumsier, less dainty.

  “The moon,” Sam muttered, spitting out a bout of saliva.

  Jack dismissed it. Something to deal with later. Something to ask Sam when they were out of this. No time for questioning things now. They were in trouble. The figures, they were stopping. Turning around.

  “We see you clearly in the moonlight,” Sam said.

  And then it dawned on Jack exactly what his son was telling him.

  “The moon. Shit.”

  Before he could press his foot on the accelerator, one of the figures had already thrown itself at the back window of the car.

  Jack tried to steer away but this runner was holding on. Holding on, as the full moon glowed bright above them, no more thick clouds surrounding it. He swerved from left to right. Tried all he could to get it off, but to no avail.

  “We see you clearly in the moonlight and you are ours and you are ours and you are all ours.” Sam was laughing now. Laughing, his eyes completely rolled back, saliva dribbling down his face. Jenny had pushed her brother aside. Shifted to the corner of the back seats, staring on in fear, panting in terror.

  “Dad, what’s happening? What’s happening, Dad?”

  Jack accelerated. Did all he could not to look in his rear-view mirror even though he could still feel something clinging on to the bumper, could hear the gasps and footsteps of the runners catching up with him.

  He held his breath and swerved from side to side. Focused, even though Sam spluttered on, struggled away.

  He swerved from side to side, the tension getting lesser, sensing he was getting closer.

  He swerved once more and he felt something slip from the back of the car and he knew they were free.

  He pushed his accelerator down. Drove as fast as he could in the darkness, right down the A6, the runners following them.

  Sam continued to fit.

  He drove some more. Saw a cloud approaching the moon. Just creeping over the edge of it. Enough to buy them some time.

  He felt them scratching at the bumper of the car.

  “You are ours you are ours you are ours,” Sam blabbered on, striking out at his sister and everything around him.

  And then the cloud covered the moon and the scratching noises, the gasps, the footsteps all stopped.

  So too did Sam’s seizure.

  Sam blinked a few times. Looked around the car, scratched his head and squinted, disoriented. “Where are… are we there yet?”

  Jenny stared on at her brother, terrified.

  Jack finally let go of his breath.

  As he drove down the A6, away from the static silhouettes watching in the darkness, he swore he saw the bulky dark-haired guy who’d disappeared watching at the front of the pack.

  EIGHTEEN

  Sam didn’t remember anything about his seizure.

  He lay across the back seat of the Honda Jazz. He rested his head on his sister’s lap, but whenever Jack looked back at them in the rear-view mirror, he could tell Jenny was rigid in the darkness. Like she was scared of her brother. Scared of the things he’d said, the words he’d muttered.

  You are ours you are ours you are ours.

  The A6 was empty after the run-in with the runners a way back. The moon stayed hidden behind the clouds for the most part. When it did peek through, Jack stayed alert. Looked around. Listened for footsteps outside, for cries.

  Nothing.

  The car smelled of sweat. Jack felt a stickiness all over him. His hair was greasy, and his mouth was dry. He needed a shower. A shower and some decent food. He hadn’t even eaten anything on the road. Wanted to save the crisps and the chocolate for the kids.

  His stomach cried out for a proper, decent meal, and he knew that if the runners didn’t kill him, hunger would.

  The kids were quiet in the back of the car. Jack thought he heard Jenny sniffing. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but he didn’t want to pry. Figured it was best to let them come to terms with things on their own, while knowing he was there for them all the same.

  A delayed reaction, that’s what it was. Because at first, this whole world must’ve seemed like a novelty to the kids. Hell—it seemed a novelty to Jack. He still felt like he’d be going back home, sitting in his lounge in front of whatever shitty daytime TV was on. Felt like this chaos was something he’d chat about with Andy and Jake in the pub.

  But this was reality. This was the new normal.

  This was the world he lived in now. The world everyone lived in.

  “I saw you. When I… when I had the fit thing.”

  Jack didn’t look back at first. Figured Sam was speaking to his sister in his meek, tired little voice.

  “I saw you.”

  Jack glanced in the rear-view mirror.

  Sam was looking right into his eyes.

  Jack turned back to the road. Squinted out into the darkness, swerved around an abandoned pair of motorbikes as the small town of Garstang got closer.

  “You saw me, huh?”

  “It was like… like a dream. But a really clear dream. And you were there. You were playing with my… with my feet. Tickling them and smiling and I was laughing like I was a baby. You looked younger too.”

  Jack’s eyes welled up. He felt his throat tightening. “Sounds… sounds like some dream.”

  “And you were saying something too. Something about the—the ticklemonster. ‘Ticklemonster’s coming for you!’”

  Jack felt hot tears seep down his cheeks. Tasted their saltiness on his lips. He thanked God it was dark because he couldn’t let his kids see him crying. “That… Strange dream.”

  But it wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory.

  Jack used to tickle Sam’s feet when he was just a baby. Tickled them, pretended he was the Ticklemonster. Sam howled with laughter for minutes and for hours. In fact, Candice insisted Sam’s first word was something like “Tick-monser” when he was a little baby.

  Sam didn’t seem to have put two and two together. Which was a good thing.

  As much as Jack wanted to tell his son who he was—be honest with him—they’d be in Morecambe in less than an hour.

  They’d be with someone who could really look after them.

  “Remember anything else?” Jenny asked. Short. Snappy.

  Sam shook his head. “Just… just lights, too. Like moonlight. Really strong. And lots of voices. Lots of people and voices talking really fast.”

  “What were they saying?” Jenny snapped.

  “Jenny,” Jack said. “He doesn’t—”

 
“I couldn’t hear them properly. But at first they were scary and then I realised when I got closer to them they were nice. They made me feel nice inside.”

  More silence followed Sam’s words. More blank stares.

  They reached Garstang five minutes later. The moon was still guarded by the clouds, but Jack didn’t want to take any chances. He drove slowly through the town centre. He knew any lights around, the runners would go for them. But it was dark. Cars lined the pavements, untouched. Shop windows were guarded by shutters. He knew other survivors were behind them. They had to be. Him and his kids, they couldn’t be the only survivors in the world.

  But they could only trust each other. At least, until they got to Morecambe.

  They got through Garstang pretty quickly and without trouble, to Jack’s relief. Back on the open road of the A6. Jack clocked the digital watch on the dashboard—11 p.m. Plenty more darkness left. Plenty more shadows to hide in.

  But after the altercation back down the road with the crowd, he wasn’t sure how light-reluctant they were in numbers after all.

  He wasn’t sure of anything.

  “I remember something else too,” Sam said.

  The hairs on Jack’s arms rose in a way that he’d only thought a cliche in the past. Possibly for the first time in his life. “Something else?”

  Sam nodded. “The man. The dark-haired man. The tall big man we saw back there outside the car. He was there too. He was asking me to come with him.”

  Hairs on Jack’s arms pricked up some more.

  He put his foot down and continued to drive.

  They left the outskirts of Garstang without any problems, without so much as seeing anyone else. Plenty of time left too. Lancaster next, and then Morecambe. They’d be at the shelter soon. They’d have a chance to put their lives back together. A chance to build a way up in whatever new society formed.

  Because one thing was for sure—the old society was gone.

  In the distance, in the darkness, Jack saw the high-rise flats of Lancaster approaching. Kept an eye on his kids a few times—sleeping, mostly.

  Almost there.

  Almost safe.

  Almost—