In The End (Book 1): In The End

by Stevens, GJ

  After not too long, I headed back to the first house, to where people had lived who I didn't know. I smashed my elbow through the glass in the front door; had the place open in no time at all.

  Inside was decked out for Christmas. Long lines of decorations ran along the hall ceiling, tinsel wrapped around the phone just inside the door. I batted the stuffed Father Christmas to the floor and pulled up the receiver, pushing the three digits even though I hadn't registered the tone I needed to hear.

  I let the phone drop as no one answered and stared out at the flames as the roof caved in on Mike's house. He'd lived there for five years. He’d bought the place with the girlfriend, but would have to sell; not anymore. It was someone else's problem.

  It was warm in the house and I wandered around, trying to think of what I should do next. We lived in the middle of nowhere, all the cars gone. I would have to walk to find out what the hell this was all about.

  The rest of the house was decorated the same. Not one corner had escaped the cheap, plastic-coated decorations. The tree sat in the corner of the front room; the presents gone from underneath; the lights washed out. Unlit, the switch not working.

  I sat in a great armchair and dust flew up. I could smell the owners and stood. A shadow passed the window. There was someone in the road; someone had heard my calls and ambled down the street in awe of the fire.

  Rushing out of the front door, I saw a young, twenty-something brunette, my eyebrows rising; things were looking up. Her clothes were a little ragged, jeans had some dark mark across the front and her top was ripped open, a white bra exposed. I could see her full cups. Things really were looking up.

  She hadn't noticed me yet. Her eyes stared at the fire as her feet rose slow, one after the other, heading towards where my friend had died.

  “You okay?” I said from the doorway and she turned to meet me.

  Above her eyes shined a great bruise; blood had dried as it had rolled down from the injury. Her gaze latched onto mine. She was pale and seemed a little dazed. It was clear she'd been in a car accident and I looked down the road for the car but saw nothing.

  Running inside, I pulled a coat from the hook and rushed back over, offering out the warmth. She couldn't take her eyes off me. Things were looking up, but first I needed to get her to the hospital.

  59

  Her hand reached out, batting the coat to the side. I took a step nearer, raising the best smile my banging head could manage but I drew back as I caught more than just the acrid smoke still burning inside my nostrils.

  Turning on the spot, I searched again as I tried to figure out how I would get her to the hospital when I couldn't even get myself a ride.

  I stepped around her, attempting again to push the coat to her shoulders, but she twisted and followed my turn in stiff, unnatural movements. I started to think maybe the head wound had done substantial damage.

  Reaching her hands out, the smell of the acrid smoke intensified as she grabbed hold of the arm of my jacket. With a tremendous grip, she wouldn't let go, her mouth opening and closing, leaning to pull me closer.

  I flinched away, protecting my hand as she drew it to her mouth. She was in serious trouble, her brain damaged. I hoped the doctors could do something about it.

  I pulled my arm clear and stepped away, over and again as she reached out, unrelenting. The neighbour's coat fell from her shoulders.

  The roar of an engine broke the cycle. Finally, someone was coming who could help the injured woman to safety.

  Stepping backwards, I carried on around in a circle, with her continuing to follow in the middle of the road as I kept an eye on the building rumble.

  I expected to see one of those coaches from the night before, or a fire engine, an ambulance, police maybe; hope holding out they weren't a thing of the past.

  I hadn't expected the Land Rover Defender rocking on its squealing tyres as it barely made the corner. I hadn't expected to see someone in the driver's seat I recognised more as he grew closer. Although still hopeful, the shine of his bald head and the snarling grin couldn't have been anyone else.

  It was Damien Edwards. We'd gone to school together; we were at the same school, at least. He was a loner. He was someone who hung at the periphery of our large group, but no one would have called him a friend. He was troubled. Conflicted. One moment full of confidence, talking for hours about nothing at all, the next bullying some kid; whoever he'd picked out at random to break the boredom.

  I'd rarely been his target, but I'd watched many others in his crosshairs. He'd done all the maturing he ever would long before he joined halfway through secondary school. He was the kid who'd pulled the legs from a spider, then ate the rest just to show you he could. When we laughed, he'd tell us to go fuck ourselves, punching out in a random direction. He'd been a skinhead ever since he'd joined; we had no idea if his hair could grow or if he shaved every day.

  He'd left school at sixteen like the rest of us and got a job, but was fired more times than I could count. He didn't play nice with others. Each time I saw him, usually for an awkward conversation in the pub, he'd have another tattoo to show off. Now he drove down the road in a car which couldn't be his, wearing a broad smile as he saw me fending of the mentally damaged young woman who needed help.

  “Mackenzie. Fucking knew you'd get left behind. Did they miss you because you're so fucking short?” he said as he pulled up.

  When I didn't reply, he turned to Mike's house as more of the roof caved to the ground. “He toast?” he said, eyeing up the burning house.

  I didn't know what to say, distracted by the ever-increasing ferocity of the woman flinching towards me.

  “She fighting you off?” he said, eyeing her up and down.

  I looked back and he must have seen my glazed expression; he jumped from the driver's seat as he pushed the door wide.

  Forcing the woman away again, I noticed the triangle of the long knife gripped tight in his right leather-gloved hand.

  “You don't get it?” he said, laughing as he spoke.

  I shook my head. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

  “You think she's fit, right?”

  I stepped back, not responding. The woman swapped her attention to Damien and let me step back without following. I watched as he offered out his left hand.

  The woman snapped her teeth together before lurching forward and biting down with a snap as she just missed the thick leather. Damien grabbed her by the hair before she could rise for another strike and her eyes rolled to see what had her in a hold.

  “She's not there anymore,” he said, twisting her face toward me.

  I shook my head. What I saw was a woman in trouble. I tried to protest, but the words wouldn't come.

  “Still don't get it, do you?”

  When I didn't reply, he thrust her head forward. Her bloodshot eyes snapped wide, latching onto mine. I jumped back and she lurched again, her hands grabbing my arms. I stumbled backwards to the ground and she came after me, her body and the wicked stench falling.

  I tried to scrabble back, pushing hard with my legs, but they couldn't move against her weight.

  Her head punched forward. She had my arms pinned to my side. Her breath stank like rotting shit, the stench forced out with her every effort. I looked deep into her features, hoping to see I'd been right, but there was something missing; everything missing. Only decay left.

  In my peripheral vision I saw Damien's boot arrive by my head and he leant down.

  “You get it now?” he said; his breath didn't smell too much better. His hand reached out to her hair, pulling her head up.

  She didn't complain; her mouth continued to snap open and closed.

  “Choose. I haven't got all day.”

  I turned to see the sun glinting off his knife as he knocked her right grip from my arm and pushed the handle of the blade into my hand, letting go of her hair.

  Her head snapped forward and without both my hands to keep her at bay, I watched he
r wide mouth fill my view.

  60

  Teeth snapped, grazing my nose and her head pulled back, saliva dripping cold to my cheeks as she dived for a second try.

  Despite knowing she was trying to take off my face, every muscle in my body felt tight and wouldn't release. My mind couldn't let me muster the will to take her life, my hand frozen around the handle of the knife.

  She lurched forward again, her perfect white teeth snapping together. I knew there was something wrong, something alien; absent, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

  I did the only thing possible in the moment. Closing my eyes, I gave up.

  Feeling her weight collapse over me, the air forced from my lungs and my eyes shot open. I rolled her to the side, turning away as her blood, cool as ice, splattered across my face.

  Panting for breath, I looked up and saw Damien standing over me, a wide, yellow-toothed grin beaming down, blood dripping from a paring knife in his right hand.

  “I saved your life, you pussy, now you owe me,” he said, and snatched the knife from my hand. “Welcome to the new world, baby,” and jumped back in the Land Rover, leaving me laying, panting on the floor.

  With his door slamming closed I stood staring at the body, her brown hair still perfect with just a thin line of blood running slowly from the wound at her temple.

  “Get in,” Damien shouted, but I didn't move. I was still transfixed on the dead woman at my feet. He repeated, his tone sharper. This time it wasn't a request.

  It was time to choose again and I took the cowardly way out, climbing into the passenger seat, knowing I'd failed the test. I couldn't protect myself and knew the only way I was going to survive was to surround myself with those who could to what needed to be done.

  We didn't speak. The hierarchy had been established. Instead, I watched out of the window, stared along the empty roads; the parked cars all gone, too. The streets empty of life; only farm animals out in the fields.

  We drove for about ten miles, not seeing a soul while the fires on the horizon grew in number. When eventually we saw people in their cars, they were queuing. I could see some sort of checkpoint way off into the distance, but I couldn't even muster the courage to tell Damien to stop the car and let me out as he turned the wheel away, following his instinct to keep from anything official.

  His only reaction was when we came across a small group of what seemed to be people he knew. I was barely introduced to the four when their intent became clear; they were breaking into a small group of houses, helping themselves to everything of value.

  Damien was happy to go along and so was I, apparently. I did what I was told, stayed at the back of the two cars while Damien was posted at the front and we watched, waited; me with an iron bar I'd been handed, Damien with a baseball bat.

  I didn't know my role until I spotted someone coming up the road, their walk so much like the woman who'd been killed whilst on top of me, as were the five others following behind.

  My muscles froze, giving the same reaction as before. A tension gripped my chest and my limbs locked up. I could barely muster the words to call Damien, my voice high and feminine when I eventually did.

  I watched on, managing only to move well back while Damien called for the others. They exploded out, bombarding each of the things my head couldn't give a name. They barely had time to fight back under the unflinching onslaught. All I could do was lose whatever I had left in my stomach on the side of the road as one by one they passed me, looking down their noses, my eyes to the ground.

  And so it went on for the next two days. I'd watch as they'd go around the houses, smashing down the doors, pulling out everything which once had a value. Most times I would just have to stand there; every so often I would call and have Damien take care of those we happened upon. I tried once more to build myself up, to take control, but my body wouldn't let me, even though it had become obvious those things weren't recognisable as human. I was barely of use, no more than a lookout and it was how I was treated.

  In the evening, before darkness took over, we'd head back to a warehouse on a tiny industrial estate. All the buildings were abandoned, like everywhere else. There we'd pile up what we'd found; cash, electronics and food. A fire would be started; burning pallets soaked in petrol for warmth and we'd each be handed our share of the spoils.

  I was given the smallest share, barely a portion, but I didn't complain. I knew there was no one to come along and help if they kicked my ass and left me for dead.

  The next morning, I woke up determined to change my situation. Fixed on getting past my fear, I was intent on getting respect.

  We started the day like the previous. It was a small group of houses, but we didn't get any visitors. With each downward look from the others, my resolve increased. I wanted to be treated as an equal and the only way was to ditch whatever was stopping me from killing these creatures.

  The second set of houses proved more promising. Not long after we'd arrived I saw one of those creatures heading towards Damien's end; a farmer it looked like from how he'd dressed.

  Damien dealt with it. I followed up behind as I saw another, but my chance had gone. He'd despatched him before I got near.

  I followed him to the garden and spotted the inside of the house, a glitzy, modern style full of loot. My mum would have gone mad; she hated anything but the traditional.

  Damien seemed pleased when I pointed it out and let me break in, allowing me to tag along to gut the place and letting me talk now we were alone.

  About to finish and being called back to the road, I opened a cupboard door and there stood one of the creatures. It launched an attack, knocking me to the ground, shooting past me and going for Damien.

  I hadn't frozen. I knew this was my chance, but another launched out, blindsiding me.

  Shaking off the blow, I saw her on Damien. She was easy to deal with and I pushed her to the side. It was my turn to save him, to get even.

  Snatching the crowbar from the nasty wound in Damien's neck, he fell on top of the creature who'd attacked me. This was the moment I would prove my worth.

  61

  LOGAN

  “Noooo,” I screamed, with the short guy’s gaze intent on mine, the word coming slow as adrenaline pushed my senses to the limit for what I knew could be the last time.

  I watched his eyes change, saw them widen; a light blinking on behind. The crowbar still swung but veered off to the side and I felt the pressure on my chest as it crashed down on the slumped, shiny smooth head of the man already dead.

  In his eyes I saw the confusion, saw his battle; saw Cassie rise high, my screwdriver in her hand and watched as he noticed her, but not until it was too late, the tip of the driver plunging past his eyes, buckling his legs. His arms fell moments after, the crowbar clattering to the floor alongside his body.

  I tried scrabbling up, tried pushing the dead weight from my chest. It had only been moments, but the smell already caught in my lungs; flesh putrefying.

  Cassie stood, her mouth agape and breath panting hard, blood rolling down the side of her face. She turned, saw my struggle and helped me pull the body by the arm.

  I saw the moment she caught the fetid smell; her nose turned up, features hardened. The body was off and I knelt to the bed, wiping my face of blood on the once-pristine covers. Turning as I climbed to my feet, I saw the end of the crowbar diving deep through the skinhead's eye socket as Cassie let go.

  A second booming gunshot rattled the house; a shotgun, I was sure, as we caught each other's glances before running to the window.

  From our new vantage point, we watched the older of the looters staggering backwards along the path from the cottage we'd last seen his group attacking. Behind him, he left a trail of blood, his face fixed through the open door.

  A flash of light lit up the inside of the neighbour’s cottage, followed by a third boom which came louder than we'd yet heard. The guy’s body shook, but he hadn't been the target.

  “Look,” C
assie said, and I turned, following her bloodied, outstretched finger in the direction their cars had first arrived.

  Blinking away the drying blood, I rubbed my eyes, hoping when I opened them the first vision would have gone. As my view cleared, I saw twenty or more of what appeared to be old-age pensioners in gowns, jumpers and tweed jackets, each walking with a new lease of life; their posture hung over and their pace slow, but still they looked too pronounced, too put together for the age they'd been before they'd died.

  “Where the hell are they all coming from?” I said, not expecting an answer.

  “We weren't the only ones left behind,” Cassie said, as another gunshot rattled the window. As our heads turned the length of the window, we caught sight of the old guy I’d seen lifting the net curtain as we’d jumped from his garden, his hands rushing to reload a long shotgun.

  Continuing the turn with speed, we twisted our heads in the same direction. We were both desperate to look past the buildings blocking our view, trying our best to reach out to know if our friends were okay. Could they hear the shots? Would they be ready if we couldn't protect them?

  “We need to…,” I was saying when I turned, but Cassie was already moving, already grabbing the baseball bat from the floor. Already at the door.

  I followed, holding my chest and limping on my knee, only stopping to pull the crowbar from the skinhead's eye whilst trying not to listen as it sucked out from the deep wound.

  “Get to the cars,” I shouted, as I followed down the stairs, rushing as fast as I could to get to where she waited at the backdoor smashed to the side, weaving around the obstacle course of TVs, consoles, DVD players and plastic boxes overflowing with designer shoes.

  Out of the door, Cassie looked left and right. Our eyes met only for a moment, hers dropping to my knee as I leant heavy against the wall. She paused, offered me the baseball bat and I shook my head; I didn't need a walking stick.