by Ryan Casey
The dance. The dance of the stars.
THIRTY-THREE
Three days passed without much sign of change for Jack, Rodrigo and the kids.
The caravan site was quiet. The days were getting shorter as autumn progressed, which was a good thing. They didn’t step out of their comfort zone much, though. Didn’t want to take any chances, any risks.
In a weird sort of way, they had a good thing.
Or at least, a decent thing. They were alive. Healthy enough. That was about as good as they were going to get at the end of the world.
They’d seen the red streams from the sky again twice more. A different location each time—one over the sea at Morecambe, another in the woods to the right. Still, they were no closer to figuring out what they were. Jack wondered how any mystery would be resolved in days like these with zero technology, zero research, survival the only objective.
The dance of the stars.
Jack heard a crack behind him from the kitchen area. The snapping of the lid on a can of beans. Rodrigo, dressed in an oversized grey jumper and some tight green jeans he must’ve found in some of the cupboards. A mixture of Jeff and Elissa.
“Tell you one thing,” Rodrigo said, smelling of BO, familiar smile on his face. “I won’t get sick of these pissing beans when we run out.”
He poured them back into his mouth. Cringed as the cold, sloppy mixture drifted down his throat.
“Same,” Sam said. “I want bacon. More than anything!”
Rodrigo gasped as he gulped down more of the beans. “Bacon would be nice.”
“It’s not happening,” Jack said.
Sam lowered his head. Jenny kept on drawing with a worn-down pencil on some paper she’d found. The curtains kept out the daylight, just a little crack allowing it to seep through.
The electricity had gone two days ago.
Something had happened. Jack wasn’t sure why, but one minute the electricity worked, the next, it didn’t. And they had to accept that. They had to adjust to a life without iPods, without lights, without television.
And it wasn’t as hard as it could have been, not at first. They’d got used to no reception on the televisions, no Wi-Fi coverage or signal on phones. They’d got used to keeping the lights off during the night.
But it was the microwave that made it worse. The microwave, the electric oven in this caravan. Even the shower was electric powered, so freezing cold water trickled out of the head.
Cold beans. Raw eggs. Tins of tuna. Gourmet diet of the new world.
“Tell you what,” Rodrigo said. He crouched down beside the kids. Ruffled Jenny’s hair. “How about we go hunting tonight? Catch a rabbit. We can get a fire going. Have a barbecue, something like that.”
Sam fist-pumped the air. Jenny smiled too.
“Yeah!” Sam said.
Jack watched as Rodrigo said the right things to his kids, the right words. “I… I dunno about that. We still don’t know how safe it is out there.”
Sam’s face turned to disappointment. Rodrigo looked up at him. “We can’t stay cooped up in here forever, Jack. We’re gonna have to go outside eventually.”
“Dad’s just boring,” Jenny said. She smiled at him, so she was showing good humour, but Jack’s neck itched and his skin heated up.
“Kids. In the back room. I need to talk with Rodrigo.”
Sam and Jenny looked at Rodrigo for approval. Looked at this man they’d barely known for three days.
He nodded at them, and they sighed and slumped off to the back bedroom.
This man they’d only known for three days, they were treating with more respect than their dad.
Then again, Jack had hardly known his kids a long while either.
Rodrigo stood up. His knees clicked as he did. “Sorry. I don’t mean to interfere with—”
“I think maybe it’s time you started looking. You know?”
Rodrigo’s lined forehead crinkled. “Looking?”
Jack felt a tight grip on his throat. Didn’t like to do this, didn’t know whether he was just acting from pure jealousy, but he had to do it at some stage. “Your own place. The caravans down this road, they all look good. It’s just… it’s getting a bit cramped in here. Don’t you think?”
Another twitch of Rodrigo’s forehead. He stared intently into Jack’s eyes. “But I…”
“You’re a good man. You’ve been good to my children. They see something in you that they don’t even see in me. But I… I’ve got to be a dad to them. And this caravan site, it… it’s not the Ritz, but it’s good enough to live in. Close to the sea. And—and still plenty of food supplies until we…”
“Until we run out,” Rodrigo said. He lowered his head. His brown eyes were filling up. “I get this. You’re rationing. Preserving the remains for you and your kids. I understand that—”
“No. That’s not what I’m doing,” Jack said. “Not at all. You can take your share of the food. That’s not the issue here.”
“I thought… I thought this world was about sticking together.”
“And it is,” Jack said. He stepped up to Rodrigo. He wasn’t used to seeing him like this. He placed a hand on his shoulder. Rodrigo flinched, then looked at it with his tearful eyes and let it rest there.
“We’ll stick together. We’re just… I think we should think about broadening our horizons now. This isn’t a holiday. This is life. And I… I’m not sure it’s right for the kids having… having you around all the time. It’s confusing for them.”
“What’s so confusing about it?”
Jack started to reply but then thought better. He didn’t want to explain his past to Rodrigo in too much depth. Didn’t want to start telling him about how he’d abandoned his ex-girlfriend and his kids many, many years ago in favour of a wild lifestyle and plenty of booze. Didn’t want to tell him about his crimes, his time in prison. There was something about Rodrigo. He was a decent guy, but there was something about him that told Jack he wouldn’t take nicely to revelations like that.
Better to just play it civil. There were enough enemies out there in the daylight. Didn’t need to go picking up any more.
“You’ll only be a few doors down. We can meet up every day. Play Monopoly with the kids. Eat food at our place or yours. It’s just… If this is it—if this is our existence until… well, if this is our existence. It needs some—some order. A new normal. And this is a good start. Right?”
Rodrigo sniffed again. Started nodding slowly. Head bobbed from side to side a bit.
He looked up at Jack. Tears filled his eyes. His right eye looked slightly wonky, something Jack hadn’t noticed before.
He smiled. “Of course. It… Sorry.” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Just… Just thinking of Samantha. Just… Just all came back to me. The thought of starting—starting again without her.”
Jack patted Rodrigo again. “I know. I lost too. I understand. But we’re here for you. Those kids, they think you’re a laugh. And you’re a decent guy. Could’ve been anyone when you walked up to our caravan that night, but we were damn lucky it was you.”
Rodrigo smiled some more. Patted Jack back on his shoulder. “I… I suppose I… I should get a bag packed. Say bye to—to Jenny and Sam.”
“You don’t have to go now,” Jack said.
“No, no. You’re right. It’s the right thing to do. I need to—to stop dwelling on the past. I should make a start right now. No better time. Right?”
Jack half-smiled at Rodrigo as he wandered away from the kitchen, went into one of the two rooms at the back of the caravan.
Jack heard him mumble a few words to the kids. Heard him rustle around with a rucksack. Watched him step out the room, grab a few cans, put them into his rucksack.
“Do you need a hand looking?” Jack asked.
Rodrigo shook his head as he stood by the door. “I’m good. I’ll let you know when I find somewhere. Just, er… Just bring down some food for me when you’re ready. And bring the kids along fo
r a—a Monopoly game too.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll do that. See you later.”
Rodrigo looked at him like he was never going to see him again and he smiled.
Then, he opened the door, checked outside, and walked down the concrete steps.
Jack closed the door behind him. Went over to the window, pulled the curtain to see if he could see him walking down the street.
Rodrigo was standing in the same spot Jack had seen him when he showed up four nights ago.
He stared at Jack. Smile twinged at the corners of his mouth.
He walked.
THIRTY-FOUR
Rodrigo walks away down the road and he keeps his lip quivering just long enough for Jack to think he’s sad.
But he isn’t sad. Not really.
He is angry.
He is angry that Jack let him in and made him feel one of the family. Angry that Jack has used him. Used him to look after his kids. Used him to be the stupid fun kid-pleaser for him while he sulked around and did fucking bullshit serious stuff.
He looks back at the caravan window. There is a red blotch in his eyes blocking part of his vision. He knows what Mummy would be saying, as he tastes copper on his lips from biting his tongue too hard. Should’ve taken his tablets. Should’ve taken them to calm him down.
But he is sick of tablets. No more tablets.
No more Mummy.
No more nothing.
All he wants is Sam and Jenny. He wants them to be his. He wants them to look at him like he is their dad and more than anything, he wants to be loved.
He wants to feel love and he wants to give love and he doesn’t want to be rejected again.
He won’t be rejected again.
He sniffs as he walks down the road. His head is dizzy, spinning. He can smell sour. Sour, like Mummy smelled of when he hit her with the sword. Didn’t mean to. Just everything built up inside him and—bam! The right thing to do.
He feels the sour smell build up again, feels himself getting dizzier and dizzier, and he knows what he has to do.
He walks to the left. Walks over to the hedges. Looks over his shoulder just to check the curtains of Jack’s caravan aren’t twitching anymore.
When he is absolutely sure they aren’t, he reaches into the hedges and pulls out the sword.
The sword still has blood on it from where he’d hit the angry people when he’d first got here—the ones that had attacked his tractor. But it was as sharp as ever. As shiny as ever.
As beautiful as ever.
He carries the sword with both hands and he walks down the road, looks at each and every one of the caravans.
He never wanted to do anything to Jack. Didn’t want to make him suffer.
He really does want friends. He really wanted everything to work out, for them to be one big family.
But they can’t be. Not now. Not anymore.
He is going to be a better daddy than Jack has ever been.
He is going to prove to Mummy, prove to Daddy, just how strong he is.
THIRTY-FIVE
Jack waited for an hour or so before even thinking about going to see how Rodrigo was getting on.
His kids looked at him funny. Weren’t speaking to him much, as they sat there in the middle of the lounge. Jenny sketched doodles on her pad. Sam did his best job to ruin them.
“Dunno why you had to kick him out,” Sam said.
“He was our friend.”
Jack scratched the back of his neck. Walked over to the sofa and peeped out of the curtain. “He’s only down the road. Besides, it’s about time we had some time to ourselves.”
“What if we don’t want time to ourselves?” Jenny said.
Jack looked at her. Narrowed his eyes. He thought about shouting at her for a minute. Telling her off for being rude. But even though he was her dad, he still wasn’t comfortable stamping down his authority. He’d been away from his children for so long that he didn’t want to risk driving them away, especially when things were so shitty in these new times.
“Like I say,” Jack said. “We can go see him whenever we want. It’s just… You know the world we live in now, kids. It’s… it doesn’t look like it’s changing.”
“We haven’t seen any bad people for ages,” Sam said. “Maybe they’ve all gone away.”
Jack looked out of the window again. Inhaled the muggy, stuffy air of the caravan front room. “I dunno. I… Hey, look. Someone’s waving at you.”
The kids hopped up onto the sofa. Peeped out of the curtains.
“Woah, he is close!”
Rodrigo was standing outside a caravan just up the road. Four, five caravans away. He was waving at them. Smiling. Certainly looked a lot more content than he had when he’d been saying his farewells.
“When can we go see him, Dad?” Sam asked. “Can we go soon? I really wanna see his new place.”
Jack smiled. Ignored the twinge of jealousy at his children’s obsession with this man. “Give him chance to move in at least.” Jack wanted a word with Rodrigo without his children. A private word to say the things he hadn’t been able to say earlier. A thank you. A thanks for being there for his kids.
“I should… I should take some food around for him.”
“Can we help?” Jenny asked.
Jack shook his head. Walked over to the cupboard and started filling a black rucksack with food cans, bottled water. “You stay here. Hold down the fort. I’ll give you a wave when we’re ready.”
“Oh, please, Dad,” Sam said. He looked gutted. “Let me help please. Let me help you carry things.”
“You’ll do as you’re told. You stay here and you don’t move a muscle. Okay?”
Sam lowered his head. Muttered a few things under his breath, wandered back to his sister, where they both sat there looking grumpy.
Jack didn’t like the glimmer of detestation in their eyes. The same way he’d imagined them looking at him so many times, when he walked out on Candice, walked out on them.
“I won’t be long. I promise.”
They didn’t say a word in reply.
Jack put the rucksack over his shoulder and stepped out of the caravan, long kitchen knife in hand in case he ran into trouble. Took a deep breath in of the fresh sea air. The sun was still glaring down, no sign of it easing off any time soon. He walked down the stones. Checked the road, up towards the dead end where there were just three caravans. Checked the other side—the side he was walking on.
Nothing. All clear. As clear as it had been for days.
He walked down the road. Walked over the spot where Thomas and Jeff had been lying, where they’d disappeared from. He still didn’t understand where they’d gone, right to this day. Figured something moved them—a surviving animal, or even the runners themselves. He didn’t know how they worked. What they were. Were they zombies? What constituted zombies, anyway?
He didn’t know and he sure as hell didn’t think he’d be finding out any time soon.
He walked up the stones that led to Rodrigo’s new static caravan. A nice spot, overlooking the sea from more of a height than Jack’s and the kids’. Slightly older caravan, with tinted glass windows. Grass was overgrown in the garden, swallowing up the gnomes, uncut over summer and never to be cut again.
A statue of an open-mouthed hawk homing in on its prey watched Jack as he knocked on Rodrigo’s glass door.
Jack saw movement behind it. A shuffling around, heard footsteps clunking against the carpet. “Just a sec,” Rodrigo called.
Jack smiled. Nodded. Looked around at the sea. Squinted as far as he could over at Morecambe in the distance. No sign of smoke rising from it anymore. No sign of anything. The place was dead. It was like they were living life with the pause button switched on. The fact that they hadn’t seen any runners for days only added to that.
A clink of the door handle. The door opened up.
“Jack!” Rodrigo said. He smiled. Smiled so wide that he looked as if he hadn’t seen Jack for days. “Wher
e’s the kids?”
Jack pointed over his shoulder back at his caravan. “Just… I wanted to have a private word. And I brought some food for you.”
Rodrigo rubbed his hands together. They looked chapped. Cut, even. Blistered. He nodded fast. “Good, good. Thanks. I, er… come on in. Might as well have a quick beer. Found a few Buds in the fridge.”
“I shouldn’t stay,” Jack said. “I… like I said. Just dropping these off. And I wanted to thank—”
“At least have a look at the living room. You’ll love what I’ve done with the place.”
Jack looked back at his caravan window. Suddenly felt very stupid for leaving his kids alone, as a cool breeze started to blow through the site, autumn leaves scratching against the tarmac. He saw his kids peeking through. Saw them waving.
“Just a quick look then. But I have to get back soon.”
Rodrigo took the food off Jack and wandered through the caravan. Jack stepped inside. The lounge area was immaculate—a new flatscreen television mounted on the wall, glass cabinets filled with liquor and all kinds of liquor glasses. Even an imitation fireplace that looked better than the real thing.
“Taking to this idea of yours. Y’know, this stretching our wings thing. All I need now’s a nice woman to settle down with in here.”
Jack walked through the kitchen. Clean pots hung up above a sparkling clean—albeit unusable—oven. “Swear this van looks older than ours on the outside.”
Rodrigo, who was pissing in the bathroom, chuckled. “Not always about what’s on the outside though, is it? Can’t go taking everything at face value.”
Jack kept on walking. Walked through the kitchen, through to the hall, stopped right outside the bedroom opposite the bathroom Rodrigo was in.
If he’d been thinking straight—thinking logically—he’d have taken the tall, bloodied sword standing just outside the entrance to the bedroom a little more seriously.
He frowned. A toilet flushed. Something made him want to get away—away from the pink flowered walls, from the smell of fresh berries—but he stepped inside the bedroom. Stepped inside, to see what the hell the sword was all about. It couldn’t be Rodrigo’s. Rodrigo didn’t have a sword.
