Survive The Darkness | Book 2 | Escape The Darkness

by Ryan Casey

  “Look away if it bothers you that much, lad,” she said.

  She went to pull back the rock and throw it at the window when something caught her eye.

  Footprints.

  Footprints in the ground beside her.

  Footprints and…

  Oh shit.

  Footprints and blood.

  She lowered the rock. Followed the trail of prints. Saw exactly where Max had got to. And she kept on following them deeper into the woods. Rex sniffing out the trail. But not straying close from her side.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking when she saw the patch on the ground.

  It was a space. A huge space where someone had quite clearly lay.

  And the blood and prints—prints that had looked more like fall prints than footprints—suddenly ended here.

  She looked up and around. Max had reached this place. He’d got here, and then something happened to him.

  Something to prompt that shout.

  She listened to the wind against the trees. Heard Rex whimpering, clearly not enjoying any of this. Especially not after sniffing the spot where Max must’ve gone missing.

  She looked around for another sign of prints. Because someone must’ve been here. They had to have been here.

  And then they caught her eye.

  Footprints.

  Footprints leading off into the woods.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Her stomach turned.

  Someone was here.

  Two people had been here.

  And…

  That’s when she suddenly became aware there was somebody here.

  Somebody right behind her.

  She wasn’t alone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “He’s awake.”

  Max heard the voice above and felt a bolt of fear right away. He opened his eyes, but everything looked too bright. So fucking bright that he closed them again right away. It was like someone was hovering above him, shining a torch right into his eyeballs.

  He just wanted to drift off. To go back to sleep. He felt comfortable there. Happy, even.

  But now he was awake, he felt in pain.

  He was freezing. Or maybe he was hot. It was hard to tell. A weird combination of the two, hard to describe. He could hear muffled voices all around him. People walking around. Talking. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, though, or who was talking. Just that he had company, and that in itself was odd because when did he have company?

  He thought about Aoife and Rex. Wondered if it were them. If they’d come back for him. Wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Mixed emotions, really. But he figured he had to be grateful.

  But that voice. The one he’d heard when he’d woken.

  It didn’t sound like Aoife.

  It sounded like a man.

  He opened his eyes again. Just a little, this time. Didn’t want to be bombarded with bright light. Cracked his eyelids open just enough that he could let a little light in and then opened them more when he was comfortable. God, he felt like shit. His head ached. His whole body was on fire. His throat was dry, and he could smell his own sweat—and it didn’t smell good.

  When he opened his eyes more, he realised he was in some kind of house.

  It was a living room area. Much like his own, in fact. But not his because there was a wall in front of him covered in books. Cobwebs and dust everywhere. Weird ornaments with smiling monkeys staring back at him.

  Wherever he was, he wasn’t home. And whoever he was with… well, he didn’t know who the hell they were.

  Just that he needed to figure out where the hell he was and what the hell was going on.

  “You should drink,” a voice above him said. Muffled and distant, but to his right.

  He turned around. Fuck, even moving his neck hurt a hell of a lot.

  Looked up.

  Saw a man standing over the sofa. Quite an old-looking guy. Probably in his sixties.

  He had a thick white beard. White hair. His face looked weathered from too much sun over the years. And he looked down at Max like he’d pissed on his sofa or something. Which Max, for a moment, worried he might actually have done in his state of suffering.

  The man held a glass of water out to Max. “Drink. Get it down you. You need more fluids. Or you aren’t gonna make it. Damn, you’ll be lucky if you make it anyway.”

  Max reached up for the glass with a shaking hand. Deep down, he wanted to resist. Didn’t want to go blindly trusting anybody, especially when he didn’t know who this guy was.

  But he took a sip of the water, felt it hit his dry lips, and before he knew it, he was gulping it down, gulping it so fast it sparked a coughing fit.

  “Whoa,” another voice said. A woman’s voice. High-pitched, grandmotherly. “Watch yourself, love. Don’t want to be bloody choking to death. Take your time.”

  Max looked around and saw the woman standing at the foot of the leather sofa he was wedged into now. She was old, too. Short. Curly hair. Thick glasses. But she had this smile to her face. The sort of smile that survived any crisis.

  “Don’t listen to my husband’s doom and gloom,” she muttered.

  The man sighed. “Moira, I’m just being straight—”

  “Well, I think the last thing Max here wants is for you to be giving him a death sentence. Isn’t that right, Max?”

  Max frowned. “You… you know my name?”

  “Of course we know your bloody name,” the bloke said. “We end up with delivery folks here half the time. Have to send ’em to yours, ’cause we never order nothing.”

  “Harold,” Moira said, rolling her eyes. “What’s he like? Anyway. Max, we’re your neighbours, love. I know it’s a bit weird round here. Not exactly next door. We live about half a mile away from you. But we’ve seen you about. And like Harold says, very occasionally we’ve directed the delivery folks your way.”

  Harold shook his head, tutted. “‘Very occasionally.’ It’s every bloody week, Moira.”

  “What…” Max started. “How did…”

  “We found you out there,” Moira said.

  “I found you out there,” Harold interrupted.

  “Our son, Nathan. He was laying some traps down. Came across you. Shouted for help. Us three dragged you back here. You looked in a bad way. Still do if you don’t mind me saying. But you’re in good company now. You’ll be safe here. For now, at least.”

  Max closed his burning eyes, sighed. He didn’t like being dependent on other people. Especially not bloody neighbours. He preferred keeping his distance from his neighbours. He’d always been the same. Keep his distance, keep himself to himself. He didn’t need their support. Their pity.

  “I appreciate you pulling me out of the woods,” Max said, turning over and climbing off the sofa, “but I think I’d better…”

  In an instant, he went dizzy.

  Fell to the floor.

  Moira let out an “ooh” as he fell.

  “You daft bugger,” Harold said. “You’re gonna bloody kill yourself.”

  And as Max crouched there on the floor of the house, he realised that, like it or not, he was going to have to depend on his neighbours. He was going to have to rely on their help. Because he didn’t have much of a choice.

  A hand on his back. He looked around. Saw Moira staring down at him, smiling.

  “We’ve got you. We’re gonna look after you. You just need to trust us. Come on, love. Let’s get you back to your feet. And then we can…”

  The door opened.

  Moira looked around.

  Max looked around, too.

  The first thing he saw was Rex.

  Running over to him.

  Licking his face.

  “Need to keep that bloody dog back,” Harold said. “And we definitely don’t have space for a mutt, anyway. Who the hell is this?”

  But Max didn’t need to hear anything else.

  As Rex licked away at his face, he saw the man—presumably Nath
an.

  And he saw the woman beside him.

  “Aoife,” he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Aoife stepped inside Nathan’s parents’ house, and the first thing she noticed was Max, lying there on the floor, staring up at her.

  Rex raced over to him in an instant. Started licking his face. And the most remarkable thing? As ill as Max looked, as pale and sweaty as his skin looked, and as much as his body shook with fever, he actually looked happy to see Rex. He was laughing. Smiling.

  He looked around at Aoife, still stroking Rex, and stared right into her eyes.

  “Aoife,” he said.

  She could hear it in his voice immediately. The relief. The sense of relief that she was here. That she hadn’t walked away after all.

  And she could tell from the way he looked at her that, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, he was sorry.

  “Who’s this, Nath?” a woman—presumably Nathan’s mum—asked. She was short, wearing a cream cardigan. Had a little smile on her face, a kind look to her.

  “Aoife,” Nathan said. “She knows Max here. Said she was looking for him.”

  The bloke—Nathan’s dad—shook his head and grumbled. “Want to stop dragging strays in here. Barely got enough to get us by, never mind two more and a dog.”

  Nathan’s dad definitely didn’t look as friendly as Nathan’s mum. Grey hair. Green gilet. Sleeves rolled up. Looked like a farmer type. Half expected to see him puffing on a pipe and donning a farmer’s cap.

  “Oh, Harold,” Nathan’s mum said. “You don’t have to exaggerate.”

  Nathan walked past, over to his mum. Aoife had run into him out of nowhere. One second, Aoife had been following the footprints and blood trails in search of Max. The next, this man appeared out of nowhere.

  Tall. Dark-haired. Well-built. Probably around her age. Wasn’t a man of many words. Didn’t seem to smile much, either. Looked like he had a strange balance of his dad’s frostiness and his mum’s compassion.

  But he’d startled her. She’d turned around and seen him standing there, right in the middle of the woods.

  “Looking for your friend, I guess?” he’d asked.

  She’d nodded. Instantly trusting him for reasons she couldn’t explain.

  Possibly because he reminded her a bit of Jason?

  Possibly because she fancied him, just slightly?

  Sure. Possibly.

  But there was just this air about him. An aura of trust.

  “Why’s he on the floor?” Nathan asked.

  Harold sighed. “Because he thinks he’s a lot bloody stronger than he is.”

  “He should be on the sofa. He shouldn’t even be awake. He should be sleeping and recovering—”

  “I want to go home,” Max said.

  “And you’ll get home,” Nathan said. “But only if you rest. Come on. You’re in the right hands. I’m a doctor.”

  Max glared up at him. And Aoife could see his eyes drifting. He was sick. Really sick. Looked borderline delirious.

  But for all his protesting and all his fight, he sighed, shoulders slumped. Defeated.

  Nathan and Harold dragged Max’s grunting body onto the sofa. Rex stood by, watching the whole thing. Growling every now and then.

  And once Max was on that sofa, Aoife went over to his side. Looked down at him.

  He looked pale. Even paler than she’d remembered. His face was all cut and bruised, clearly from the fall he’d taken.

  But what struck Aoife more than anything was his eyes.

  The way they stared up at her.

  Desperate.

  Afraid.

  Alone.

  She crouched by his side. “I would ask how you’re feeling. But you look like shit, so I won’t patronise you like that.”

  He opened his mouth. Those dried lips. He looked like he was going to apologise. Then he closed his mouth again, shook his head. “I need to be back home.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Aoife, I—”

  “You don’t have a lot of choice right now, Max. I know it’s hard to accept, especially when you’re so used to not accepting help from others. But it’s the way it is. You’ll be back on your feet soon. I really believe that. But right now… you need to rest.”

  He looked back up at her with those wide eyes again, and she couldn’t believe how much older he looked in just a short time. Shit. He was sick. He was really bloody sick.

  “Rest,” she said. “And then once you’ve rested, we can think about what we’re going to do next.”

  Max opened his mouth again like he was going to say something, like he was going to argue.

  And then he just closed his mouth, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “Good,” Aoife said.

  She looked around. Saw Harold, Moira, and Nathan all standing behind the leather sofa Max lay on. All chatting about something in heated but hushed tones.

  “Everything okay?” Aoife asked.

  Nathan turned, rubbed the back of his neck. Not quite making eye contact. Never quite making eye contact. “My parents. I’ve not had the opportunity to introduce you.”

  “Understandable considering,” Aoife said, nodding at Moira. She didn’t give Harold the same treatment. Not with that grumpy expression etched onto his face.

  “He’s really sick,” Nathan said.

  “That much is clear.”

  “Sicker than I first thought. I can clean up the wound area, and I can keep on doing that. But he needs strong antibiotics. Stronger than I have. Stronger than any of us have here.”

  “Then it’s useless,” Harold said. “We don’t have what we need to help him. No bloody point even wasting food on him if he’s gonna bloody die on us.”

  “Harold!” Moira said, elbowing him in the arm. “Keep that booming voice of yours down.”

  Nathan shook his head, rolled his eyes like he was used to this.

  “The kind of antibiotics we need,” Aoife said. “Where can we find some?”

  Nathan shrugged. “The hospitals are a no-go-zone right now. Can’t imagine the surgeries or pharmacies are much better. But they might be our only hope.”

  Aoife nodded. “Then that’s where we go.”

  “Wait,” Nathan said. “I’m serious. This infection. It’s… it’s bad.”

  “All the more reason to get a move on then.”

  “It could kill him. I don’t know for certain, but he’s… he’s showing signs of slipping into sepsis already. And if that’s the case, we need antibiotics, intravenous fluids, blood products, steroids…”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Nathan opened his mouth, then he shook his head, sighed. “The cities. The towns. You been back there since the power went out?”

  “I was stuck there during the first night. Guessing it’s bad?”

  “Worse than bad,” Harold muttered. “And it ain’t gonna be much better today, either.”

  “What Dad’s trying to say is…”

  “I know what I’m bloody trying to say. I’m trying to say there’s not a cat in hell’s chance you’re going out there, Nathan. Especially not after yesterday. No chance. We wait here. We’ve got everything we need up here. If the army comes and saves us eventually, then so be it. But I ain’t moving from here, and neither’s anybody else. Other than you if you really want to.”

  He looked at Aoife when he said that, and she felt cornered. She felt torn. On the one hand, Max, shivering away. In need of help. Rex sitting beside him on the floor, ears raised. Big sad eyes.

  And on the other hand… the pragmatism and practicality she knew she had to follow.

  The knowledge that she should stay out of populated areas. Stay well away. Because going into those areas willingly was dangerous. And there was no way of even knowing if Max would pull through anyway.

  She felt these rival forces tugging her in either direction, but she knew there was only one choice.

  “I can’t let him die,
” she said. “I can’t just leave him. I have to try. And even if nobody else helps me… then I have to.”

  She looked at Nathan. Saw his wide eyes. That desire to help people, too.

  And then she saw Moira, head lowered.

  Harold, shrugging.

  “Do what you want,” he said. “But don’t come running back here when you—”

  A smash.

  Something smashing, right at the front of the house.

  Rex kicking back and barking.

  Aoife turned round.

  There was a brick on the lounge floor.

  Remnants of the glass lying in the middle of the living area.

  And outside, she could hear people laughing.

  Someone was here.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Max heard the window smash and knew immediately something was wrong.

  He could hear noises outside. Voices. Sounded like laughter. And sounded like lads, too. It was weird, hearing troublemakers up here in the middle of nowhere. After all, people moved up here to get away from the trouble of the inner city. Preston wasn’t all that bad as cities went, but it was still much nicer to get out into the middle of nowhere.

  But seeing this brick on the floor of Harold, Moira, and Nathan’s place—a place just like his—he knew right away that the rules outside were already changing.

  And his first suspicion was one of the knobhead kids from the new estate who’d been venturing further and further up into the woods in the last few years.

  Aoife went over to the window. So too did Nathan. And Max felt weirdly protective of Aoife. He didn’t want her to stand too close to the window. Didn’t want her to get herself into any trouble.

  “Aoife,” he muttered. But speaking itself was a challenge, now. Fuck, he felt like shit. His chest was all blocked up. His body felt like it’d been painted with ice. His muscles were seizing up. There was no denying it anymore: he was ill. Very ill. And he needed help. Soon.

  But all he could do right now was watch as Aoife and Nathan walked over to the window. As they stood there and stared out.

  “Little shits,” Aoife said.