by Kolin Wood
John looked back down at the dirt.
“You said so yourself that you’ve seen nobody, right? The entire length of your journey down here? Why do you think that is?”
John shrugged. Not much had made sense since he’d left; certainly nothing to explain the disappearance of so many people.
Saul continued. “We think it started in that flooded town; the one that you passed through on your way down here. Something malignant happened up there, a change, something in the water perhaps. People just started getting sick and before long they were dying. We stopped going up there, but it didn’t take long before the same thing started to happen here too. I guessed from the start that it was something to do with the rats—” He stopped as if the sound of what he was saying out loud was unnerving to him. For a few moments, he said nothing. When he stopped digging and looked up again, John could see a scared look in his eyes. “The world is a shit storm, John… crazy motherfuckers eating people and shit, but until the sickness, the gangs mainly stuck to the countryside, or the outskirts at least, hunting in packs, picking off the lonely and the unprotected. We found bones, skulls… It was just the way of things and we accepted it. They were a threat but contained, you know? Manageable. They were still human in part. But soon after the sickness began, something happened. The gangs broke up and the crazies started to attack more regularly, without fear or concern for their own wellbeing. They began venturing deeper into the town.”
He swallowed hard and John watched him blow some of the sweaty brow out of his eyes.
“People have always eaten the rats… of course they have; all the food ran out in the cities years ago and meat is meat, right? Only, I’m thinking that this time it was different.” He looked away and continued to dig. “I’m guessing maybe it’s like some sort of natural defence, a brain parasite or something, and the human body is playing host. When the crazies eat the infection, either from a rat or a body, it gestates and turns them. Well, that’s my theory anyway.”
“A theory?” John asked, confused, trying to keep up with what he was being told.
A frown creased Saul’s brow. “A theory, John, yes!” he spat as the hard look returned. “The bloodshot eyes and foaming mouths… an apparent immunity to pain… a theory!”
John looked away. He felt foolish. Of course it was only a theory. Things were bad and educated guesses culminating from the experiences of those closest to the war zone were about the best that you were going to get.
“There’s still books about, medical journals, libraries… I read about them. Nothing specific, but there’s things that are similar… tests done… rats going crazy, cannibalistic tendencies… I read about brain parasites turning people crazy before.” His voice was quick and rambling. “They spread their sickness then come in and mop up the mess, utilitarianism at its most effective. Did you know that a single rat can have as many as two hundred young in a year? Well, now there are millions of them and nothing to stop the growth except a lack of food. I’ve seen people eaten alive…”
He stopped and for a few moments, neither of them said anything. John could do nothing but stare at him. When finally Saul spoke again, this time he seemed calmer and more measured.
“Look, whatever the reasons for it are, the rats and these new crazies that are left only seem to hunt at night. That’s good for us. It means that, for now at least, we can keep on planting… surviving. We can move.”
John could tell that he didn’t believe what he was saying.
“But we don’t hunt the meat. For all we know, other animals are infected so we have to keep our shit clean… like spotless clean. Even without the crazy rat meat, they are filthy motherfuckers… piss on everything… you name it. That’s how the sickness is spreading. All this fresh food is grown under lock and key. So far, we’ve managed to keep them out and we’re still here. We clean ourselves with chemicals and keep our hands away from our faces—basic stuff really. Try to avoid the places that the rats would go, the dark buildings, the subways…”
John immediately thought about the car park and how perfect a breeding ground it sounded to him, a strange place to choose even with the heavy doors and sand bags. He glanced down at the loaded crossbow on the floor by his feet and suddenly realised its true purpose: protection.
Saul followed the look and laughed. “Yeah, sorry, pal. Vegetable broth is as savoury as it gets, I’m afraid. Ah ha!” He raised his hand to reveal a large, earth-covered potato and grinned. “Look at this beauty!”
With a forced smile, John turned his attentions back to the dirt. How could he be so excited about a potato when the city around them was in the midst of a full blown pandemic?
“But that’s not what I brought you up here for,” Saul said, this time without looking up as he stowed the potato in a sack. The moment of brevity had already passed, stored along with the potato. Whatever he was going to say, he clearly felt uncomfortable looking John in the eye as he did so.
“I’m listening,” John said.
“Becca’s young and a little naive, but she’s quick, strong, and resourceful and she knows what’s what. She can show you how to survive.”
John looked confused.
She can show you?
As if in answer to his question, Saul suddenly blurted out, “I want you to take Becca with you.”
John’s mouth fell open and he struggled to think of what to say. For a few moments there was silence.
“But…”
“No butts, John. You’ve obviously fared all right, a little skinny perhaps, but you are alive. You’ve survived alone so clearly you can hunt, fish… that’s more than can be said for most, even though hunting is off the table now. It shows me that you are resourceful. And… my sister likes you, I can see that.” He looked up, blowing the sweat-heavy strands of hair out of his eyes once more. “Every day this place becomes more and more unstable. It’s only a matter of time until we are overrun completely.”
“And what about you?” John asked, confused by the sudden praise and indication that Becca liked him.
Saul shook his head and leaned forward to turn the earth with his hands once more, this time with only a token purpose. “Me? Not much I can do, is there? I’m gonna stay here, with Mum, till it’s time.”
John continued to stare as his brain turned circles. He liked the idea of spending more time with Becca, there was no doubting that, but to take her away with him alone? Away from the people she loved?
“Mum is weak and sick. She’s been declining for a year now. I can’t take her anywhere, and there’s no fuel left in the cars.”
John nodded. He understood; he wouldn’t have left his mother either, even though he could no longer remember who she was.
“Bec told me last night that you came down from some farmstead up north, is that right?” There was hope in his voice.
For a few moments, John said nothing. He’d mentioned it, but fleetingly and without going into any detail. Every minute he spent in the town the more precious a commodity the solitude of the farm seemed.
“Well, take her back up there with you? With a bit of luck, you’ll avoid the plague and live out your lives in peace as you have been doing.”
John considered the question. If things were as bad as Saul was making out, then the idea of traveling into the centre of a second pandemic sounded like suicide, even if the story of the rats did sound a little over the top. And perhaps Ryan had already arrived at the Refuge, realised that his mission was futile, and turned back. It was certainly possible. He had always known that Ryan was no fool. But then again, what if his friend was in trouble? What if he was lying somewhere, alone in a rented room, with nobody to help him, and the plague unfolding outside his window? He had promised to come back and John believed that he would have tried. No, he couldn’t abandon him; he owed Ryan his life.
Looking away, John shook his head. “I… I can’t do that, not yet. I’m sorry.”
Saul nodded as though expecting the answer.
“Don’t eat the meat. Stay away from the rats… not that you’ll need convincing of that when you see them. Give yourself the best chance.” He wiped the hair from his eyes with a swipe of his forearm, leaving a muddy smear on one cheek. “Will you do it?”
But this time John did not reply. His head was spinning; his thoughts lost in questions of his own bounded mortality.
9
The night proved to be a broken and emotional affair as news of the plan was relayed to Becca and her mother. Crying eventually gave way to sobs and hushed whispers carried on deep into the night; not that John had any way of telling what the time was.
In the morning, he dressed and washed using water from a large plastic drinks dispenser. Breakfast was a hearty soup of potatoes and greens, and the unusual liberalness of the seasoning danced along to melodies on his tongue. Throughout the meal, Becca would not look at him.
Eventually, after further sobbing from the hearth room beyond, Saul emerged. He looked bleary eyed and his arms were weighed down with equipment and supplies.
“They are packed well,” he said in a low voice. “I had them ready for Becca and me…” He trailed off, smiling instead as he handed John his pack. It was red and ran the full length of his back, with straps for his chest and waist to help support the extra weight.
John nodded his thanks and looked over at Becca, but still she would not return his look.
Alongside food, a little water. and cooking utensils, was a sleeping bag, a fire steel, some waterproofs, and a crossbow complete with a slither of bolts which he attached to the belt on his leg and allowed to hang down to the side of one thigh. A thick pair of gardening gloves completed the ensemble.
A tearful Becca was given similar provisions.
Standing there now, with weapons and a heavy bag on his back, John realised for the first time how woefully naive and unprepared he had been to undertake the journey in the first place. But he had been lucky, and he was learning.
“Stick to the big roads, the motorways,” Saul said. “Find cars with glass intact to sleep in. No fires after dark. When I’ve packed up everything here and found a way to transport Mum, I’ll follow along behind.”
His advice was stern but heartfelt and John could see sorrow behind the hardened facade on his face. He knew that he was lying. At that moment it was clear to John that Saul believed that he was likely never to see his sister again.
“Please, Saul, just come with us, now!” Becca begged as tears streamed down her face.
John looked away.
“You know I can’t,” Saul replied firmly. He was doing well not to let his emotions in. “Somebody has got to get to Redwood and warn Uncle and everyone else what is coming… There’s no time left. John can’t do that alone.”
Saul turned to John and offered him his hand and John took it in as strong a grip as he could manage.
“Look after her,” he said. “And, John… Trust no one.”
***
The three of them travelled in silence. John followed Becca as she picked her way through the destroyed carcass of the town, never once looking back. As before, the warm sun and blue skies brought a serene calm to the space, the quiet of which was only broken by the sound of their feet on the drying foliage and the squawking of birds above.
Murphy, overjoyed to be out in the fresh air again after the oppressive confines of the underground rooms, strained on his new lead, pulling John along with staccato steps, a thin, nylon makeshift-muzzle now securing his jaws closed. Much to John’s horror, Saul had suggested leaving the dog with him, a suggestion that he had point blank refused. The muzzle had been a compromise.
As he walked, John peered into the smashed fronts of the buildings, suddenly convinced that hundreds of red eyes were watching him. He thought back to his first day in the city, when Becca had ventured off alone and told him to remain still and quiet in the road. How close he had been to entering the foyer of that smashed up hotel, the moving shadows that caught his eyes and he had blamed on sun blindness… The thought made him shudder.
Soon, the imposing height of the buildings began to diminish, giving way to a more industrial landscape. The increased space and light around began to make John feel more at ease. He continually threw glances over at Becca, trying to think of things to say but coming up short each time.
The girl was dressed in the same dirty, quilted jacket that he had first seen her in, except this time she had on ankle high, sturdy-looking boots. She carried a backpack similar to his own, only hers was green in colour. Her frizzy red hair was tied back and up in a scruffy bun on the back of her head revealing a neck that was pale and slender. She had since stopped crying but her eyes were still bloodshot and her face had a blotchy veneer. Once or twice she glanced up and caught John looking, and each time he turned away, his own face flushed with embarrassment.
“I don’t know him, you know,” Becca said after a time. The three of them had just turned onto an A-road signposted for the motorway. “My uncle. I have never met him.”
John looked over at her, baffled. The impression that he had been given was that the family were close.
“Back when the cars were still working, Saul used to go with Dad on the runs down to the Refuge. I never was allowed to go.”
“But he’ll recognise you, won’t he?” John asked, confused.
Becca reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a faded, worn photograph. “That’s him, on the left, with my dad.”
She handed it to him. His hands felt sweaty in the gloves. The scene depicted two men with arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling. Looking now, John could see a family resemblance between Becca and the men. He supposed that it would be proof enough.
The farther out of the town they walked the more unrecognisable the roads became. Green spaces clogged with bramble-covered car wreckages, were flanked on either side by massive, open air car parks and huge, metal-clad, derelict properties.
Every so often, Becca would look down at the watch on her wrist, clearly very nervous about the prospect of sundown. Strangely, John did not harbour the same worries. Now clear of the press of buildings, he had started to feel better again. With the crossbow in his arms, he felt a peculiar sense of power, something that had been missing during his hunts with Ryan. Sitting out in the early morning to hunt a rabbit or some other small mammal for food was a world’s difference away from the prospect of having to point and shoot a bolt into a man—or a rat for that matter. Even the bigger animals and game back home—deer and sheep—did not constitute any thrill due to their domesticated nature. Sure, they roamed wild, but they were also in regular enough contact with the humans that lived there not to run at the first sight of one. The kills were easy… and clean. The thought of having to put down a fully grown adult, crazed from the ingestion of infected human meat, kept a constant drip of adrenaline fuelling his bloodstream, making his legs feel lighter than they probably should after so much walking.
Up ahead, a large roundabout covered in bushes and small trees came into view. Beyond it, a dual carriageway stretched onward, cutting a gash through the thick forest on either side. Long grasses swished and swayed on the banks. Patches of brambles hung heavy with green clumps of unripe berries. Kerbs, fences, and almost anything else symbolising a man-made border were long gone.
Becca looked up at the sky. “We should find somewhere to camp,” she said.
John
stopped, breathing heavily as he looked up as well. The sky told him that there was still a good few hours left, and with so much ground still to cover, the early abandonment of the days’ travelling seemed somewhat unnecessary.
“Really?” he said, looking around. “Shouldn’t we at least try and make it to the motorway before we stop?”
Becca shook her head. “With those woods on either side of us? You must be joking.”
John still did not fully understand, but yet again, he decided it best not to contest her decision. He followed her to a scrum of cars—all of them in various states of decomposition—and watched her pick one out for use. The rusted door hinges screamed as she pulled it open with a groan of exertion.
“This one will do,” she said, after peeking inside.
John put his sweaty, gloved hand against the green of the back window and lowered his face to the glass to see in. “We are all gonna sleep in there?”
Becca nodded, her face looked frustrated. “Unless you wanna camp out here… but I wouldn’t advise it,” she said, without a hint of sarcasm.
Again John looked around. Sure, the woodland was thick and dark, but it was also as quiet as a grave; nothing stirred for as far as he could see. Sensing his doubt at her decision, Becca straightened her back. “Look, John, I know that this is all pretty hard for you to believe, but what my brother told you is the truth. We need to stay hidden at night. If we carry on walking and don’t find shelter on that road…” She stopped, as if not wanting to even imagine the outcome.
Her anger was enough to set him straight and this time John nodded. “Hey, I’m with you. Car it is. C’mon Murph… in ya get.”
The dog just looked at him miserably. John was unsure as to whether it was the prospect of sleeping in a stinking old car, or that he still had his mouth tied shut with nylon; he guessed probably both. Reluctantly, Murphy climbed in and the pair of them followed, John joining Murphy on the back seat while Becca extended the passenger side until it was fully reclined. They stowed the bags on the front seat with easy access to their weapons.
