In The End (Book 1): In The End

by Stevens, GJ

  Lifting my arm in an attempt to track its movement, I shot again, but with each bullet I knew the angle of my arms hadn't caught up enough as it punched through the air.

  Again and again I pulled back the trigger, the gun exploding each time, rearing back in my hand. One shot hit. Its body deflected, sending it spinning to the right as I caught its shoulder, but there was nothing going to stop it falling on me with its full weight.

  Still, I fired and fired again. Its body, a projectile itself, crashed against my torso, sending me sprawling to the ground and crushing against my chest.

  As my back hit the ground, I caught sight of a dark, hunched shape lunging out from the woods, leaping just like this creature had. My head hit hard against what felt like a rock, stars burst across my darkening vision. The weight on my chest was no longer noticeable as I felt powerless to stop my eyes closing.

  34

  My eyes had closed, but just for a moment. The chaos of a pitched battle, yelps of pain and beasts locked in combat pulled me back.

  I heard two slathering, growling creatures. I heard blows pounding, rending flesh from bone. Twisting, flushed with relief the abomination was not at my throat, I looked down to make sure my entrails were not on view through an open belly.

  I was intact.

  Leaning to the left, I cursed bruised ribs and saw the tangled battle. A dark, crazed hound was at the throat of the creature I'd stared down; the creature who'd tattered my plans. My aim leaving me when I needed it the most.

  I rolled, finding the gun underneath me, swearing as it dug into my crushed chest. I rotated back, pulling it up from my side, its weight more substantial than it should have been.

  Still leaning, I pulled the trigger. Repeating twice more. The body of the creature rocked, blow after blow crushing into its head. The shadowy hound flinched with each round, but still it ripped at the throat, locking on for one final rend of flesh before it released, coughing up what it hadn't meant to swallow. A sensible creature.

  I could feel myself passing out under my weight. I closed my eyes, but knew I had to stay awake or be at this rabid creature's mercy. I was on my back, looking up at the clear blue sky, the gun still pointed across the ground. I could feel the animal walking slowing, stalking forward, its paws light on the short grass.

  Letting the pain calm, I rolled to my side, outstretching the gun. The first I saw was the still body of the beast which had terrified me as it pounced, its head a pulp.

  I'd hit with all three; its neck wide open, muscle, tissue and veins out for all to see. Thick, dark blood crept out like treacle.

  The slow step of the hound flinched my gaze from the body. As I caught its shape, it took another step forward with its head bowed, eyes on me. Its long teeth bared, sticky blood mixed with foam, white saliva dripped along it lips to the grass.

  The gun was still out and I straightened its weight. It was heavier than ever but I knew the opposite should be true. The dog, a pet before today, had saved my life, but looked like it had done so to take me for itself.

  I'd had animals as a child; dogs, hamsters, no cats, but not while I'd been an adult, convincing myself I didn't need a companion.

  My heart sank as I thought of the rabid, demonic animals joining the list of things we would have to fight and compete with if we were going to survive the next few days. They weren't spared the same fate as their owners, no immunity from this horrific disease making us fight for our lives to get out of the South West.

  I locked gazes with the animal and stared as it inched forward. I knew what I had to do. So many lives had been lost and it was dead, after all, but pulling the trigger was one of the hardest things I'd done.

  I closed my eyes and nothing but a hollow click came. The gun was empty. The world had made its choice.

  I had no fight left. A melancholy weight fell over me but somehow a brush of wind blew it away. I had to go on; there were people depending on my survival.

  Dropping the gun, I took up on my elbows, edging at a snail's pace towards the tree-line, pain radiating from my chest, sending stars across my vision with each tiny movement.

  The soft footsteps were close. I knew it was waiting for me to drop, but there was nowhere to run. Even if I had the energy.

  I was on my last calorie when my left elbow slipped, back dropping to the ground, my eyes falling closed.

  I let the breath push out from my lungs and hoped it would be quick, grateful for the end of the worst twenty-four hours of my life.

  35

  JACK

  The first sign was the heavy knock at the door, Rusty's bark booming as he barrelled down the stairs.

  My room was dark, but I couldn't tell the time, the red numbers on my Spiderman clock not there. Still, I knew it was late. The music from downstairs had stopped; my parent’s friends gone as the wine ran out.

  Outside was an eerie brightness, but our narrow didn’t have street lights until you got near town, I climbed from under the covers to investigate.

  Standing on my toy box under the window, I saw a long white coach, the headlights marking out the lane stretching past the house.

  We were the only house for a quarter of a mile.

  The coach was full of people staring back as I peered out the window. Their eyes glazed, half asleep. Maybe they'd just got woken too?

  The second sign was Mum bursting through the door, her hand reaching to the switch. It clicked, but the room stayed dark.

  Still, I could see she had my school bag and told me to pack essentials, then repeated as I glared back.

  “Pants and socks, warm clothes,” she explained. “No toys,” she said, adding, “don't be scared,” as she left.

  Scared? I didn't understand what she meant. The last five minutes had been the most interesting thing to have ever happened.

  I grabbed the top three comics from the shelf. Pushed them to the bottom of the bag, then emptied my drawer of pants and socks, throwing in two t-shirts, stuffing a pair of jeans after.

  Apparently, I was supposed to know I had to get dressed too. Adults need to say what they mean!

  I was only half-dressed when my mum was back again and practically dragged me down the stairs to where Dad was half asleep with my sister, Tish, in his arms, his breath sweet and sickly.

  At the front door was a solider, dressed just like Action Man Paratrooper, but his gun was smaller and strapped to his waist; the first time I'd seen one in real life.

  The night was getting better.

  He smiled as I stepped past, ruffling my hair. If my mum had done it I would have given her such a hard time.

  We nearly took the last of the spaces on the coach and it looked like it was mostly families on board; the kids were asleep, the dads staring through the misting windows. The mums were either crying or trying not to.

  There were grandparents, too. One granddad was pale white and with every other breath he rattled the windows as he coughed. The only free seats were at the back.

  We took the furthest row, leaving the last two seats empty in front of us. As we sat, I was desperate to get moving, desperate to see where the surprise would end up.

  Mum made us sit either side of her. Dad to her left, his lap piled high with filled carrier bags. The inside lights turned off as we pulled away. It was nearly pitch black, but it didn't stop Mum rearranging. She was a constant sorter and could rearrange an empty room. I watched as she took my bag; could just see her looking down her nose as she saw how I'd loaded my pack. She pulled the comics and threw them on my lap, pushing in bottles of water and cans of something. She'd obviously forgotten to make a picnic.

  The lights were back on as we stopped and the soldier stepped out. We were at the neighbour's. They'd only just moved in, Mum was saying to Dad, their house bright with candles flickering in the windows.

  I took the chance to read my comic. A classic Wacky Racers my granddad left me when he'd died, with a little note to make sure I kept them in the plastic sleeve. I would be thankful w
hen I was older. I don't know why.

  Outside there was loads of noise. A woman with a cigarette in her mouth and a small dog in her arms. It didn't look like they'd been woken from their beds. She was arguing with the solider, arms waving back and forth. Why she wanted to bring a dog on a trip, I don't know. Unless it was the seaside, of course.

  “Mum,” I said, but didn't wait for her to turn my way. “When are we going home?”

  “Don't worry, dear,” Mum replied, her hands still diving in and out of bags. She always used the same tone when I wouldn't like the answer.

  “Rusty?” I said and she shot a look to my sister, forcing her finger to her mouth as she looked back. She didn't know.

  Stuffing back the tears, I didn't want to start Tish off and turned to watch the woman still shaking her head. She would freeze if she didn't get on soon, just dressed in a short top with thin straps. It was the middle of winter.

  In the end, the dog was returned to the house and she came back with her friend who had more sense and was wearing a coat.

  The old man was coughing again, but it sounded like he was getting better. The coughs were more gentle, quieter and whoever he was with, a woman about his age, stood and asked if there was a doctor on the bus. Everyone seemed to ignore the question.

  The neighbours were soon swaying down the aisle, filling the air with the smell of garlic bread and strawberries. It was a strange mix but made me a little hungry.

  The woman whose husband was sick shouted to the driver as he closed the door. He looked kind of sad in reply, shaking his head and said there were doctors where they were going. Lots of them.

  The lights were left on at her insistence and I tried to block out her sobs but was thankful she didn't do it as loud as my sister.

  When the tears weren't getting in the way of my concentration, it was the neighbour talking like she was alone with her friend, or if everyone else was joining in the conversation. They woke Tish with their laughter.

  I stared at my sister, looking to see if when she finished rubbing her eyes she was going to spit the dummy and make us all miserable with her own shrieks of pain, but instead she just kept pointing at the woman, shouting Mickey.

  That's when I saw the tattoo on the woman's neck; Mickey Mouse as the apprentice from Fantasia.

  Right on cue, the woman erupted in a chesty laugh, just like Muttley from the comic in my lap.

  I was still smiling at the coincidence when a scream ripped through the coach and we shot forward, the soldier slamming on the brakes. It was the old woman again; she was screaming her husband was dead.

  I felt sorry for her, but I don't know why we had to run off the coach.

  36

  Tish wailed. The soldier screamed.

  He waved the gun in his hand, shouting for everyone to get off the coach.

  Confused, I turned to my parents, but they stood, peering over the seats and watched as everyone rose. I stayed where I was, the aisle already blocked.

  The coach had come alive with movement. Everyone was awake and pulling on coats, grabbing their belongings.

  Mum pulled up bags from the floor. Dad tried to making himself taller to peer over the crowd, but no one seemed to move down the bus.

  Screams took up from all around. A wave of motion radiated towards us. I saw five or six people who had been pushing up the aisle now backed up, the last of them on top of me.

  Mum was screaming, as was the majority, her hands flapping, looking to Dad for answers. I turned back to the aisle and saw the neighbour with the tattoo.

  For the first time, she wasn't laughing, instead pushing her way past the guy who was about to crush me. I thought she would clamber over to get to the window, but she looked down and gave a slow smile before leaning over and swinging a stout bottle she'd pulled from under her arm.

  Ducking when the window shattered, I almost said a bad word as the glass showered down. It was my only answer to the craziness but I stopped myself as I felt the rush of cold air.

  She hoisted me up, her hands in my arm pits like I was five again and angled me through the window.

  I watched as people turned toward us and pushed at her back, their faces screwed up as they tried to get past her.

  Without realising, I'd scooped my bag up in the crook of my arm and was out the window and into the darkness quicker than I'd expected.

  Dad lowered Tish into my arms; the screams roaring from inside were louder than her wailing like she was under attack.

  I stepped back from the bus as more people appeared from the sides to climb out of the missing window, but the lady who'd helped me, the one with the tattoo, she'd disappeared.

  Other faces, other families took her place and were climbing over the back seats, hands out, pushing others aside.

  Seven or eight people were out by now, each running or limping down the road until they disappeared from view. The screams were fading, but my sister's weren't. I felt like my head would explode, then Dad appeared at the space where the window had been.

  His eye dripped with blood and it was obvious he couldn't see properly, his hands reaching for the edge of the windowsill, knocking down cubes of glass to join the rest under my feet.

  “Dad,” I shouted and a great smile grew on his face. He turned his leg over the side of the sill and he fell to the road with a great oomph of air.

  I rushed over and helped him to his feet. He was blinking more than normal, blood pouring down the side of his face.

  “It's okay, baby,” he was saying over and over as he got to his feet, then held his hand against her chest.

  Tish seemed to quiet at his words. Her eyes were still dripping wet, the dummy hanging around her collar from the string tied to her top button hole.

  I pushed it back in her mouth and she sucked at a furious rate.

  “Where's Mum?” Dad said, his eyelids squinting as he slowly moved his head.

  I felt myself gag on the words, tears coming as I did.

  “She’s not out yet,” I said, comforting Tish when all I wanted was for someone to do the same for me. “Mum,” I said, my voice strained, an explosion of panic gripping my insides.

  Dad's face opened up, his eyes were wide even though I saw it hurt so much. He was looking up to the gap and grabbed up high onto the edge of the sill, but couldn't pull himself to any useful distance. He let his arms drop and streaked blood from his eye across the back of his hand.

  A fresh set of screams came from inside. I stood like a statue as he bent at the waist, holding me firm by the shoulders.

  I knew what was coming. “No, Dad,” I shouted.

  He knelt and patted my shoulders as glass crunched under his knee.

  I could smell his alcoholic, metallic breath as he leant in.

  “No, Dad,” I said, whimpering.

  “Look after your sister, keep yourselves safe,” he said. “I have to go get Mummy.”

  He was gone before I could grab him.

  I thought of running after him, chasing him along the side of the coach. Tish had calmed. She was heavy, but I had her tight. She played her fingers through my hair.

  Any other time I would have snapped at her to stop, despite knowing she'd still carry on, squealing and laughing. Everything a game.

  I said nothing, just backed away with glass scraping under my trainers.

  As the gun shots came, I ran.

  37

  I couldn't see, but still I ran. Swerving to avoid a short wall as it loomed out of the darkness, I kept running until my feet found grass where I slowed and turned to make sure I could still see the white of the coach.

  Looking up, the half-moon seemed brighter than I'd ever seen, but still it was such an effort to make out shapes in the darkness.

  I'd expected to see people from the coach crowded around; people calling to gather everyone up and making sure we were safe, counting our heads like they did in the playground.

  I couldn't see anyone. I was alone. Now I had to be the adult.

&n
bsp; Crouching, Tish’s weight seeming to grow in my arms; I leant my back against the stone, hoping it would stop my body from shaking. Her fingers were still moving gently in my hair and I listened to her slow breath, the rhythm of her suck as she comforted herself.

  With my free hand I wiped my face, the drip from my eyes was so cold I was scared it would freeze.

  I stared at the coach, tucking Tish in closer. Her hand stopped moving, her breathing slowed.

  Nothing was moving, but everything was. The breeze in the trees, the bushes swaying. There were no lights coming from inside the coach. No one moving around, that I could tell anyway.

  It was good news, wasn't it? Dad would be out soon with his arm over Mum's shoulder. I was ready for her to be hurt, knowing it to be the reason why she hadn't climbed out straight away; the reason she'd stayed behind. It wouldn't have been her choice.

  It was nothing to do with what happened yesterday, my little, barely noticeable crime. Not even a crime really; taking a few crisps from the table when I was supposed to be brushing my teeth. No, not that. Couldn't be. And it definitely wasn't the reason Dad had left us to find her. He hadn't chosen Mummy over us. Had he?

  He'd gone to get her and if she didn't come, he'd be back out on his own. He would come out of the coach and call our names. He’d open his arms and I'd run toward him, where he'd scoop us both up and take us somewhere safe. Nanny's, maybe? It was a boring place. No comics. Nanny didn't like to have them around. Didn’t like to be reminded of Grandad. Why wouldn't you want to be reminded?

  At least it was safe and a long way away, which looked like the best place to be right now.

  I think it had been maybe ten minutes or more. Each moment since I'd crouched I thought I would get up, but couldn't, backing out at the last second; each moment expecting sirens and blue lights bright in the distance.