by Ryan Casey
“I don’t know, Sam,” he said, keeping on walking down the narrowing country pathway. “But I do know it’s safer there than anywhere else.”
“How do you know that?”
Jack couldn’t look at his son when he asked that. “I just… I just know.”
“But sometimes Mum used to say that. Used to say she knew stuff. And really I don’t think she did know everything. I think she just said that to pretend.”
“Well duh,” Jenny said. “Mum worked as a cleaner. She wasn’t like, a rich person or anything.”
Jack took a few moments to respond. To his right, he could see the sun beginning to peek over the horizon. “Sometimes you… you just need to learn to trust people.”
“Why should we trust you?”
Jack stopped. Looked around. Looked right at Sam. He looked more inquisitive than Jack had seen him. Sure, he asked a shitload of questions as it was, but this was more… interrogative.
Jack actually felt under the spotlight.
He tightened his fists. Felt his heart picking up again. He knew he should probably tell Sam who he was. Be open and honest with him. After all, where was Jack going to go when they reached Morecambe? Off on the road on an adventure while crazy people tore the weak apart? No. He was staying put too, for now, whether he liked it or not.
“Sam, I…”
He heard the rustling of leaves up ahead.
The three of them all looked around. All stared ahead, tried to figure out where the rustling came from.
“What was that?”
“I still hear it,” Jenny said. “Ssh.”
They waited. Stood still. Slight breeze made fallen leaves scrape against the ground. The sky got ever lighter.
And in the hedges to the left of the narrow road, the rustling turned to thuds.
Heavy footsteps.
“Quick!” Jack whispered. He pointed ahead. Crouched down and pottered down the pathway towards an opening in the tall grass up to their right. He crouched inside it, the footsteps getting closer, the thuds getting stronger.
They crouched down in the grass. Held their breaths.
The leaves of the hedge shook as the thuds were joined by grunts.
Jack bit into his lip.
Waited.
A man appeared out of the trees. Grey and balding. Quite short. A little on the lanky side.
In his hand he had a long, sharp blade, which was covered in blood.
Jack bit his lip some more.
After the man came through the branches, a woman followed. Dark hair, greying at the roots. Even skinnier than the man. Also holding a weapon, only this time a hammer, similarly blood-soaked.
They stood there, totally still, for a few seconds. Looked around. Seemed to sniff the air.
And then from behind them, a dark, curly-haired boy emerged from the hedge.
They whispered something to one another. The man put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. They didn’t look like runners, not since the kid had come out of the hedge. They didn’t interact in that stilted way the runners did. Neither did they have that glassiness about their eyes.
But Jack still didn’t want to engage in conversation.
He just wanted them to carry on walking. Numbers were a liability, especially out here in the middle of nowhere. He and the kids were better as a three.
Jack watched them walk away. Watched the little boy in his blue Adidas hoodie and dirty white Nike trainers linger behind his parents. Looked at them, their weapons raised in the air, as they scanned the hedges, scanned the whole area, walking further and further away.
“Not long now,” he whispered to his kids. “Almost gone.”
It was just as the trio were about to make a left turn off the pathway that Sam started to shriek.
Jack looked at him first. Looked around. There had to be a runner around. Something had to have happened to him. He had to have seen something.
But he was just lying there, staring up into the lightening sky, eyes impossibly wide. Screaming at the top of his lungs.
Jenny backed away. The family looked around. Raised their weapons. Stumbled in Jack’s direction.
Jack tried to cover his son’s mouth, but he just kept wriggling free. And he knew it was too late anyway. The family were coming. Coming, with their bloodied knife and hammer.
Couldn’t trust anybody.
Couldn’t trust anybody, especially with his kids by his side.
“Hold onto Sam,” Jack said to Jenny, who looked terrified at the prospect of going anywhere near her brother. “Now!”
She held onto him. Hugged him as he shook and fitted, like she was being forced at gunpoint, which she kind of was.
Jack took a deep breath. Took a deep breath of the cool country air, and he stood up, hands raised.
The family all stopped. Stopped, weapons still in the air. They looked from Jack to where Sam was, where he was still screaming away, unstoppable, not even taking a second to breathe.
“Your name,” the man said, knife in the air.
Jack couldn’t focus on him. Not properly, with Sam screaming, with everything feeling so sudden, so uncalled for.
“Tell us your name or we’ll end this right now—”
“Jack,” Jack said. “And… and the kids. Sam and Jenny.”
“The kids can speak for themselves,” the man said.
“Jeff, don’t—”
“You know how it works,” he barked in his wife’s face. “Kids. Two of them. I want them to stand up and tell me their names. And I want him to shut the fuck up because he’s gonna attract nasties.”
Jack looked at his kids. Looked at Sam, still wide-eyed and hysterical. Looked at Jenny, tears streaming down her cheeks as she glanced from Jack to Sam to the people, unsure of where to look.
“Come on, Jen,” Jack said. “Tell ‘em.”
“But Sam—”
“Tell them. Now.”
Jenny moved away from her brother. Left him there shaking on the ground. Broke Jack’s heart to see it. To see Sam all on his own, abandoned even by his twin sister.
The trio backed off slightly when Jenny emerged. She rubbed her arms. Looked at Jack again.
“Your name. Tell them.”
She looked at the ground. “Jenny.”
The man nodded.
“And my brother’s name is—”
“Your brother can speak for himself.”
Sam continued to cry out. Less pronounced, but he was wailing in pain, like a hot poker was pressed up against his skin. Snot was dribbling from his nostrils now, too, his face paler than Jack had ever seen it.
“He can’t talk.”
“Then he’s one of them,” the man said. “Step away.”
He walked towards Sam, knife raised. His son cowered behind his mum, who looked terrified.
“Woah,” Jack said. He stepped right in front of this guy. Pushed him back. “You don’t move another inch towards my son.”
The guy’s face muscles tensed. He came back at Jack. “Don’t make me kill you too.”
Jenny began to cry.
Jack’s body burned as the man came back towards him. As he pointed his knife at him. He wanted to kill his son. This fucker wanted to kill his son.
That wasn’t happening.
“I’m warning you,” Jack said. “Stand back.”
“And I’m warning you,” the man said. Pressed his knife right up in Jack’s chest now. “Step away or you’re all—”
“Sam.”
The voice didn’t come from the man. Didn’t come from his wife, or from Jenny. For a moment, Jack thought it was Sam who’d spoken, but when he looked at his son, although he’d stopped screaming, his eyes were closed and blood covered his face.
It was the man’s curly-haired son that spoke.
The man looked around at his son, knife still pointing at Jack.
“What did you say?” his mum asked.
The curly-haired boy sniffed up. Tears filled his eyes. “Sam. The
boy. His… his name’s Sam. And he’s one of us. He’s okay.”
Jack looked at the kid’s mum, confused. The dad frowned with even more confusion.
“How do you… Thomas, did you know this kid? Because if you knew him at school, he’s not the same now. He’s not who he was. We’ve been through this—”
“I saw him in the dream,” Thomas said.
More silence.
“The dream? Which dream?” the mum asked.
Thomas sniffed again. Scratched his arms. Opened his mouth to continue.
“The one with the lights.”
The voice didn’t come from Thomas’ mouth.
It came from Jack’s left.
He looked down. Looked down at the grass.
Sam was sat upright, wide awake.
He was smiling at Thomas.
TWENTY-TWO
The two trios walked slowly down the dirt track.
They didn’t speak much. Jack didn’t want to be the one to break the silence either, not really, as the daylight crept even further over them. Especially after the man, Jeff, had threatened his children earlier. Especially after how close he’d come to ending Sam’s life.
And then the talk of the dream from Sam and Thomas. The recognition. They knew each other. Somehow, they knew each other.
“Must’ve met at school,” Jeff grumbled to himself. “Friend’s party. Something like that.” His wife, Elissa, just held her son’s hand, looked from left to right as they passed thicker and thicker hedges, the sound of the wind brushing against the newly fallen autumn leaves making them flinch.
It was warm for an autumn day. Very warm. Jack figured it had to have something to do with the sudden change in people’s behaviour. Light, it was involved somehow. Sunlight.
But it wasn’t his mystery to solve.
His task to follow out.
His task was to get his children to Morecambe, safely. Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.
Jack looked back at his kids. Jenny led the way, a distance between her and her brother. Sam lingered behind, right beside Thomas. They chatted like old friends. Laughed and smiled like nothing else was going on in the world around them. Like normality had returned.
“Strange shit’s happening though,” Jeff said. He chopped away a protruding tree branch with his bloodstained knife.
“You’re telling me.”
Jeff tutted. “With our boys. Thomas, he had a fit like your boy did last night. Nose was bleeding, all that.”
“Did he say anything while he was fitting?”
Jeff shrugged. “Summat about us being his. And about lights. Seemed pretty peaceful when he woke up. Creepy shit.”
Jack nodded. He could agree with that.
“Where are—where are you heading?”
The voice came from behind. From Elissa. She was slight. Nervous, cautious. Jack wondered if she’d always been that way, or whether it was just the changing of the world that’d made her like this.
“Morecambe,” Jack said. “Some safe place or another.”
Jeff huffed. “Safe place. Ain’t no safe places anymore.”
They slowed down as the dirt track they were on started to descend. “Do you know that for a fact?” Jack asked.
Jeff lifted his hands up. “Look around. Look at the crazies on the street chasing people around, beating ten shits out of ‘um—”
“Jeff, don’t swear in front of the kids.”
“—look at them and tell me there’s any safe place. Safe place. Bullshit.”
He huffed again, then focused on the path ahead.
Jack checked his surroundings. Checked for movement in the wall of hedges either side of them, listened for footsteps or gasping or the rustling of leaves. These checks were becoming second nature. Becoming a habit to him. Soon, they’d be as automatic as checking mirrors whilst driving.
“So where are you going?” Jack asked.
Jeff looked back at his wife. Nodded at her.
“Figure we’d just take our chances on the road. Walk up the coast. Move from place to place. Go with the tide.”
“So you’ve no end goal in sight?”
Jeff glared at Jack. “What makes you think there are end goals anymore, mate?”
Jack held Jeff’s stare. Didn’t like this guy’s attitude. His negativity, Jack couldn’t have it rubbing off on his kids. “If there’s no end goal, then what’s the point?”
“Ants are very intelligent little buggers,” Jeff said. “They move about from place to place doing their little daily duties. If their home gets screwed, they move on. Rebuild. Regroup. Don’t dwell. That’s what this is. All this bullshit. It’s testin’ our adaptability. Humans, we’re too fucking sentimental—”
“Language, Jeff.”
“—and it drags us right down. Drags us in to war, conflict, censorship, all that crap. And now all that’s out of the way, all we’ve got left is living. Which is kind of magic, in a way. Don’t you think?”
Jack shrugged. He didn’t agree with what Jeff was saying. It all seemed pretty hopeless. But he did have a fair point. Maybe that’s what this was. Humanity coming full circle. Survival to thriving to surviving again. A cyclical thing.
“Think I’ll take my chances on Morecambe,” Jack said.
Jeff half-smiled. Shook his head. “Don’t pin all your hopes on one thing, mate. The hopers, they’re the people who don’t survive now. This world’s a world for the acters. The takers. No more room for the freezers.”
They stopped a little further ahead. Sat down in the middle of the pavement, circled so there were always eyes on their surroundings. Elissa had a big black rucksack, which they all soon found out contained cans of tuna and some leftover lemon meringue pie. The kids wolfed down the tuna in brine, as disgusting as it looked. Sam and Thomas chatted, smiled some more. Jenny ate slower, more contemplative, with a distance from the other kids.
“Good to see them like this, isn’t it?” Elissa said.
Jack chewed down on the hard meringue. Remembered how damned sick lemon-flavoured desserts made him, but it didn’t matter because his stomach was absolutely begging for food. “Mmhm.”
“Smiling. Happy. Don’t know about your son, but I’ve not seen a smile on Thomas’ face since this whole mess started.”
Jack winced a little when Elissa said the word “son”. He knew he’d mentioned he was Sam’s dad earlier when Sam was fitting. But after that, he’d tried to play it down. Tried to avoid the questions of parenthood. He didn’t want Sam to find out this way, not yet.
Shit. He didn’t want Sam to find out at all. Not if there was a chance they were all getting to Morecambe.
They finished off the picnic. Gulped down some water from the many bottles inside the rucksack. Drank enough to get them by for the rest of the day. Two days, at a push. They chatted some more. Jack learned that Elissa used to be a solicitor, but took early retirement a few years ago. Jeff was a geography teacher, although he insisted he didn’t give a shit about his job and he was only really in it for the money.
It was strange, talking about their past. It was like they were talking about another life completely. Another world, another time, where status and occupation were relevant.
It scared Jack how distant that world felt. How alien talking about it all seemed.
They reached a country road at the end of the dirt track. Jack had got a bit disoriented on their walk, but considering the sun was still just to the east, he figured he was heading in the right direction to get to Morecambe.
“You’ll wanna take a left to get to Morecambe,” Jeff said. “If you’re really still crazy about that mad idea.”
Jack looked at his kids. They half-smiled back at him.
“I… Yeah. I need to try it. Need to see it for myself.”
“Well if you change your mind,” Elissa said, pulling a leaflet out of her green coat pocket. “White Moss Caravan Park. That’s our next stop. Way out in the woods just past Arnside. Barely anyone there in the
peak season as it is. You know where to find us. Unless we have to move on. You know how it is.”
Jack nodded. Put the leaflet into his pocket. “We do. Thanks. And likewise.”
Jack shook Jeff’s hand. Gave Elissa a hug, ruffled Thomas’ hair. Thomas and Sam begged to stay together for a few seconds, and Jack insisted that they’d meet again some day. There was a falseness about it all though. Like it was a stage play, like they all knew they were acting the part of being polite.
Like they all knew their likeliest fate.
Jeff, Elissa and Thomas trekked down the winding country road in the direction of the hills. They turned around. Lifted their hands. Waved.
Jack, Sam and Jenny waved back at them.
And then they disappeared around a bend and they were gone.
Jack felt an emptiness inside. He didn’t like people, not really. But it was just a relief to have those three there for the last few hours. People to share conversation with. People who weren’t trying to tear him and his kids apart.
The three of them started walking down the country road in the opposite direction.
“It’s a shame what’s going to happen to them,” Sam said.
Jack looked down at his son. Did a double take. He looked sad. Sad, but content.
“What do you mean?” Jack asked.
Sam opened his mouth. Looked at his sister. Then looked at Jack.
He shrugged. Shook his head. “Nothing.”
TWENTY-THREE
Jack and the kids walked until the sun was dead centre in the sky above them and still they hadn’t come across a soul.
Jack’s head was boiling. He could smell the grass in the fields beside him charring like it always did on a dry, hot summer’s day. There were no birds in the sky, no sheep in the fields and no cows. The only sounds were the breeze, and the patter of his and his children’s feet against the warm road.
“Is everything always going to be this boring now?” Sam asked.
Jenny tutted. “Just put up with it. Not like we can do anything about it.”
Sam had perked up a bit since the meeting with Thomas and his parents. He asked a few times about whether they could turn back. Whether they could go stay with them in their caravan in the Arnside woods.
