chapter 13
When Wren woke the next morning, it was not with a hangover, but her head was a little fuzzier than usual. She smacked her lips; her tongue felt like it had a layer of carpet on it. She looked across at her sister, who was still fast asleep. “It’s time to get up,” she said, pushing her, but there was no response. “Bobbi, it’s time to get up.”
Robyn slowly stirred, lifting her face up and flopping it back down on the pillow in Wren’s direction. “What time is it?” she asked, barely opening her eyes.
“Morning.”
“What time in the morning?”
Wren looked at her watch. “Quarter to six.”
“Ugh! That’s still night. We’re not on Thomas’s clock now,” she said, closing her eyes again.
“C’mon, we’ve got a lot to do,” Wren said, nudging her sister again.
“Just a few more minutes,” Robyn replied, turning over again.
“Remember,” Wren said, “You brought this on yourself.” Wren angled herself around and pushed her sister out of the bed with her feet.
“Aaaggghh!” Robyn screamed as she thudded to the floor. “You bitch!” she yelled, climbing to her feet. “I can’t believe you just did that!”
Wren leapt out of bed. “I warned you.”
“Warned me? I’ll warn you,” she said, storming towards her sister, with an outstretched palm, ready to slap her.
“I’ll make us some breakfast and coffee,” Wren said.
The venom left Robyn’s look, but she still brought her face to within an inch of Wren’s. “Never do that again.”
“We’ve got a lot to do, and we need to get an early start.”
“You want me to start early, bring me coffee and talk to me nicely. Do not kick me out of bed. One way will get a good reaction; one way will not. You annoying little tard.”
“Whatever,” Wren said, leaving the room.
Robyn flopped back down on the bed. “Give me strength,” she pleaded into the pillow.
Five minutes later she was at the kitchen table. “Baked beans for breakfast,” Wren said.
“Great. Another fart-filled day. We need to make some bread.”
“We’re not going to have much time until we block that entrance off. Once we do, things will be better.”
“Whatever.”
They ate in silence. It was obvious to Wren that Robyn was still in a bad mood, and after her earlier outburst, she did not want to say anything that would antagonise her further. When they had finished eating and the dishes had been cleared away, they got dressed, put on their boots, picked up their weapons and left.
Wren looked back at the house as they walked across the farmyard. “Maybe we can sew a thicker lining into the curtains so we can have a light on at night or something.”
“We can’t bake bread, but we can have a sewing bee. Yeah, that makes sense.”
At the end of the drive they stopped to check the lane in both directions before turning left. They walked in silence for several minutes, their eyes transfixed by the road ahead. It had rained during the night, and although the smell of a new morning filled their nostrils, they could not fail to think about the previous day.
They had literally run for their lives down this very lane while an army of vicious, flesh craving creatures were—both girls had the same thought at the same time, and spun around to look into the distant skies. There were no massive plumes of smoke like there had been the day before, only smouldering wisps in the distance. They looked at each other with the same sad but relieved expressions painting their faces.
“Hopefully that means the fires are out once and for all,” Wren said.
“Looks like it really came down. I didn’t hear anything, though.”
“Me neither.” They carried on walking. “I had fun last night.”
“Yeah, me too. It was nice.”
“Sorry about this morning.”
Robyn smirked. “You’re my little sister. It’s your job to be an irritating little arse.”
“I think I’m pretty good at it,” she said with a smile.
“You’re the best.
They carried on walking, and when they finally reached the turn to the field with the polytunnels they glared at each other with confused looks on their faces. “Erm. How did we miss it?”
“I don’t see how we could’ve.”
“Maybe it got pushed off the road by the horde?”
“There was sixty kilos in that wheelbarrow, Wren.”
“Well, it can’t have just rolled off on its own, can it?”
“No. I don’t suppose it can.” The two girls turned around and started walking back. “You check the ditch on that side, I’ll check the ditch on this one.”
They retraced their steps, casting the occasional glance back, paranoid from the events of the day before. The road was still unfamiliar to them, and every bend looked like the last, so neither of them could say with any certainty where exactly they had left it. They continued walking until the home strait was in view.
“Erm…”
“Yeah...erm.”
“That’s not good,” Wren said.
“Do you think?”
“There’s no need to be snarky.”
“Somebody’s nicked our wheelbarrow.”
“I know.”
“Who though?”
“How do I know? You realise we’re going to have to go all the way back now and bring those bags here one at a time.”
“Get lost.”
“We left three bags there; that’s all we need to get this job done. We’ve got to go back.”
“That’s going to take us all day.”
“It is not going to take us all day.”
“Well, it’s going to take ages.”
“What are our options?”
“What time is it?”
“Five to seven.”
“Not even seven o’clock and already the day’s turned to shit.”
“Look, we can stand here whining about it, or we can get on with it,” Wren said, turning around and heading back towards the polytunnels.
Robyn’s shoulders sagged, but she began to follow Wren. She caught up, and the sisters walked in silence back down the winding road until they reached the field again. When they arrived, they found the wheelbarrow there with the three bags still in it. They looked at one another and goosebumps rippled up and down their arms.
“What the f—”
“What’s going on?” Wren asked. “I don’t understand.”
“You and me both.”
“This is too weird.” They stood there for the best part of five minutes, shifting on their feet, looking at each other, looking at the barrow, looking all around them.
Eventually, Robyn spoke. “I suppose we’d better head back.”
“You don’t want to find out how this got back here?”
“Of course I do. But how are we going to do that? Look around you. There’s nothing. There are fields and trees and walls. There’s not another person or building in sight.”
“I don’t see any footprints, so this must have been before the rain last night,” Wren said looking at the ground.
“So, you’re a tracker now? My sister, Pocahontas.”
“I’m just saying.” She picked up the handles of the barrow and started pushing. She put them down again almost straight away.
“What is it?” Robyn asked.
“The tyre. The tyre’s been pumped up.”
“Don’t be stupid, that’s just your imagination,” Robyn said crouching down and squeezing the tyre hard. “Erm...I stand corrected. What the hell is going on here?”
Wren grabbed the handles once more and carried on walking, while at the same time scouring the perimeter. “So…somebody finds the wheelbarrow in the lane, pumps up the tyre, then brings it back to the field and just leaves it here...we should do a stakeout.”
“What?”
“We should stake it out. Whoever it is, is bound to
come back. They wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble for nothing.”
“And what if they don’t come back? What if they come back in a week? What if they come back in a month? Wasn’t it you who pushed me out of bed, telling me we had a lot to do?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect this.” They left the field and turned right back onto the lane. “Deja vu much?”
“Listen,” Robyn said.
“To what?”
“No squeak. The wheel. The wheel was squeaking yesterday.”
“So basically, what you’re telling me is Grandad’s around here somewhere.”
Robyn let out a small laugh. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s the apocalypse and Grandad is saving mankind by pumping up flat tyres and oiling squeaky wheels.” Wren laughed too, but then both of them continued their journey in silence, knowing the laughter was simply bravado. The events of the morning had unnerved them both.
When they reached the farmyard, Wren pushed the wheelbarrow over the threshold onto the white stone chips bringing it down to rest. “Wheels or not, that was still heavy. I’m going to get a drink,” she said, and Robyn followed her into the kitchen.
“So, what’s next?”
“Well, we’ve got two choices.”
“Ooh, I get a choice, that’s awesome.”
Wren ignored the sarcasm, taking a drink from the bottle. “Do we get on with the fence straight away, or do we head back to the house and get all the rest of the stuff?”
“Oh crap!”
“What?”
“I’d forgotten about that.”
“I think we should go back there and get it out of the way. It’s a bit like ripping off a plaster: the sooner it’s done, the sooner we can recover.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
They finished their drinks, collected their empty rucksacks, picked up their weapons, and headed out once more. The two of them walked over to the barrow and hefted the contents out and onto the ground, then Robyn lifted the handles again. They walked along the lane, still contemplating the bizarre events of the morning, but as they turned onto the drive to the lochside cottage, their thoughts jerked back to the day before. They were immediately greeted with bodies of the dead decorating the area in front of the large swing gate.
“Shame whoever fixed the wheelbarrow didn’t fix this too,” Wren said.
“Yeah.”
Wren unlatched the long gate and opened it wide for her sister to walk through with the barrow, before closing it again behind them. She shot a glance out to the road, and then followed her sister.
They parked the barrow outside and walked through the back door. The smell of death hit them like a burst sewer pipe. They had not lingered in the house long after the attack, and now they were more in control of their senses, their senses got to work straight away.
“Gross. Let’s make this quick,” Robyn said.
Wren headed to the sink and opened the cupboards underneath, pulling out two packets of Marigold kitchen gloves and a roll of refuse sacks. She rifled through the drawers and found two tea towels which she laid out neatly on the kitchen surface. “Right, let’s get to work,” she said, putting the plug in the sink and pouring in half a bottle of bleach.
“What’s that for?” Robyn asked.
“I don’t want chunks of flesh and stuff on my bolts; did you want to keep the guts on your arrows?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I’ll put a kettle on the stove. It will be better with hot water,” Wren said, throwing her sister a packet of the rubber gloves.
A few minutes later when Wren re-entered the kitchen, her sister was still stood there, with the packet of gloves in her hand, looking down at the fallen creatures.
“So how do we do this?”
Wren went to the kitchen counter, put her own pair of gloves on, and walked straight up to the creature lying in front of Robyn. She put her foot on its chest, grabbed hold of the shaft of the arrow protruding from its eye socket, and yanked swiftly. The stainless-steel arrow head slurped out of the hole, and Wren handed it to Robyn. “There you go, Princess. Don’t break your nails.”
Robyn gagged. “That is the grossest thing I’ve ever seen, I’m gonna hurl.”
“Yeah, well, make sure it’s outside. It already smells bad enough in here.” Wren moved on to the next body and then the next. Occasionally, she pulled out an arrow that had warped, or fractured; those she tossed aside.
Robyn watched her for a little while with a grimace before finally starting to help. “Worst. Job. Ever.”
When they had collected all the arrows, Wren went back into the living room to fetch the kettle. She poured the steaming water into the sink, and the acrid smell of bleach attacked their nasal passages, almost bringing tears to their eyes.
“You scrub, I’ll dry,” Wren said, handing her sister the washing up brush.
“No chance. I was for leaving these bloody arrows; we’ve got loads. You can scrub,” she said, pushing it back into Wren’s hand.
Wren did not say anything, but took the brush and submerged the end of the first arrow, dragging the bristles back and forth over the stainless-steel head as well as up and down the shaft as she turned it. When she was happy it was free of zombie residue, she handed it to Robyn, who still had a look of abject disgust on her face, but proceeded to dry it, just as if she was wiping down a kebab skewer.
“First one’s always the worst,” Wren said, picking up another arrow. It still had half an eyeball attached. Robyn turned around and immediately vomited. “Or not.”
“Ugh,” Robyn said, wiping her mouth clean on the back of her hand. “It’s like a rotten olive.” She retched again.
“Oh my god, Robyn! Entrail hors d'oeuvres!”
The mood lightened somewhat, they finished with a neat collection of freshly cleaned and dried arrows on the kitchen surface, and Robyn placed her tea towel down over the pool of vomit. “Let’s get the rest of the stuff we came for and get out of here,” Wren said.
Robyn did not need asking twice. She immediately headed out of the kitchen, taking the roll of refuse sacks with her. She opened the small linen cupboard where a hundred holiday makers had once found fresh bed linen and towels, and began to place them into one of the sacks. She carried it out to the wheelbarrow and took a greedy breath of fresher air as she escaped the confines of the house. She could still smell the odour of death, but it was better than the kitchen of carnage. She put the sack in the barrow and headed inside again, going to the room which she had claimed. She had stripped it of all her personal belongings when they had loaded their rucksacks the day before, but now, she scanned it with an eagle eye to see if there was anything that they could use across at the farm house.
She felt a presence and turned to see Wren at the doorway. “It seems stupid taking all this stuff, when we’ve already got more than we need over at the farmhouse,” Robyn said.
“They won’t be stocking the shelves again, ever, Robyn. Everything could be useful these days.”
“I don’t see anything else in here.”
“What about the bedding?”
“I’ve just taken a load from the cupboard.”
Wren walked into the room and pulled the quilt and pillows off, grabbing one of the bags and stuffing the bedding inside. Robyn shook her head, but just let her sister get on with it, not having the will or the energy to argue.
Wren thrust the bag into her sister’s arms, before picking up the two heavy bags she had left out in the doorway. “What’s in those?” Robyn asked as her sister struggled with them down the hall.
“Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Stuff. Knives, containers, cleaning fluid, tea towels, rolling pin, first aid kit, weed killer...stuff.”
“I swear you were a bag lady in a previous life. It’s an illness, y’know. Hoarding.”
“I am not hoarding,” Wren said, opening the door and dumping the two sacks into t
he barrow, “I’m provisioning.”
“Yeah, right. So, how many sisters under the age of twenty do you know who have six changes of bedding each and fifteen bath towels?”
Wren turned from the doorway to look back at Robyn, sticking her middle finger up. “Trust me, you’ll be grateful one day.”
“Yeah, in twenty years when the fourteenth bath towel has finally become threadbare, I’ll be so grateful we spent extra time in a foul smelling, disease ridden death house to grab that fifteenth one.”
“Go grab the arrows and the bolts from the counter top, and then we’re done here.”
“Finally,” Robyn said, disappearing down the hallway and into the kitchen. She re-emerged at the back door, having tied two plastic bags around the shafts of the arrows, so they were in one neat bundle. She presented the bolts to her sister, wrapped in a tea towel and placed inside a refuse sack.
“Thank you.”
“There wasn’t any gift paper in there, so that’s the best I could do.”
“Let’s go get our weapons, then we’re out of here.”
Robyn grabbed her bow and quivers, Wren grabbed her javelin, and they made their way back outside.
“Thank god,” Robyn said as the door clicked shut.
“It’s a shame. Such a beautiful house, beautiful location. I suppose it’s nice that at least we’ll be taking a part of it with us so its memory can live on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the gate, remember? We’re going to use the gate.”
“Crap. So we do have to come back here again.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have to go inside or anything.”
They looked at the house longingly. Wren sighed and lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and the pair of them headed to their new home.
chapter 14
Robyn and Wren found places for all their booty from the holiday home, and finally decided on permanent rooms in the house. Wren took the room the sisters had been given on that first night, while Robyn claimed Kayleigh’s room. It had been left exactly how it was before she went away to university; Black Veil Brides and Bring Me The Horizon posters adorned the walls, and if it wasn’t for the fact that it was impeccably neat, it could have been mistaken for Robyn’s room back at their old house in Edinburgh.
The End of Everything Box Set, Vol. 1 [Books 1-3] Page 31
