by Ryan Casey
Or keep.
No. Don’t think that way. He was going to make it through. I was going to help him survive this.
I ripped my shirt as I headed back outside and I felt guilty right away. Sarah had bought me this shirt last Christmas. I hadn’t been fond of it at first, but I’d insisted I liked it, mostly because I didn’t want to upset her. It was a bit too fancy for my liking. But I’d worn it for my smarter occasions, mostly to keep a smile on Sarah’s face.
I felt bad ripping it up because it reminded me of her. The small problems in life. The things that were so insignificant, especially now, in the grand scheme of things.
What I’d give for things to be back to normal.
What I’d give for things to be back to the way they were.
I got outside and I saw that Stuart was lying on his back.
My stomach sank.
The pool of blood underneath him reflected the moonlight. It was deep. Really deep.
And the side of his head…
This was more than just a little wound.
His head looked like it’d been caved in by that baseball bat. There was a section of his skull that looked like it’d bent.
I thought back to the crunching sound I’d heard when the bat hit him and I knew I should’ve been there to help him right away. I knew I should’ve stuck by his side and tried to keep him alive.
But I’d been busy trying to defend his home, his supplies.
Surely that’s what he would’ve wanted more than anything?
Surely that was the most I could do?
“Come on,” I said, pouring a little of the alcohol into the cap and leaning over Stuart. “You just keep still. We’re going to get you through this.”
I held my breath and poured the alcohol.
Stuart let out an agonised groan.
I saw him shake his head. The blood flow got worse.
“That’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay now. We’ll get you bandaged up. We’ll get you through this. I promise.”
But as I reached for the makeshift bandage, Stuart grabbed my arm.
I looked at him. Looked right into his eyes. And I saw from that expression that he didn’t want me to do what I was doing. He wanted something else from me.
He was pointing at something with his other hand. Something by my side.
I followed his finger and his gaze.
When I saw it, my stomach sank.
The shotgun.
“Stuart, I can’t—”
“Pl…ease,” he said.
It was such a pitiful noise. Such an effort to say that word. And when he said it, the realisation built up inside me. Stuart was in a bad way. A really bad way. Worse than perhaps I’d even realised.
He didn’t think he was getting out of this one alive.
He wasn’t even sure he wanted to get out of this one alive, because of what sort of a life it would be if he did.
So he was asking me to take his life away.
I felt my eyes welling up as Stuart held onto my arm. I shook my head. “You know I can’t do that.”
“It’s my time,” he wheezed, as more blood pooled from his skull. “I’m… in… I’m in pain. Help me. Please. Help me.”
I knew then that the outcome of this situation was inevitable. I knew I didn’t have an option. Didn’t have a choice.
Stuart wanted me to take his life.
He didn’t want to spend any more time in agony.
He wanted me to finish him off.
I shook my head as a few tears trickled off my face and onto the ground. “Don’t make me do this.”
“You’ll be… helping me. Helping me.”
Hearing Stuart speak the way he was, I knew he wasn’t going to get back to normal anytime soon, as hard and as bitter a pill as that was to swallow.
You’ll be helping me.
You’ll be helping me.
I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t.
But I had to.
I stood up, slowly. My heart raced. My chest tensed.
Then, with my shaking arms, I reached for the shotgun.
Holding it again felt alien. I wanted to throw it away. To forget I’d ever held it. I wanted to go back to a time before I’d pulled the trigger, before I’d done the things that I’d done.
But there was no going back.
There was never any going back.
I watched Stuart continue to struggle as I moved the barrel of the gun over his head.
I watched him stare up at me, right into my eyes, as I rested it against his forehead.
“You look after… look after…”
I didn’t know what he wanted to say next. Myself? His house? I didn’t know. I wasn’t even sure Stuart was. Just that the sentiment was there and it was strong.
And yes. I was going to look after those around me, no matter how hard it was.
I felt my bottom lip shake. Specks of rain began to tumble from above. “I am sorry about this,” I said, my voice quivery. “Truly.”
Stuart grabbed the sides of the shotgun lightly. And as I looked down at him, one final time, I saw a smile on his face.
“Good friend,” he said. “You… good fr—”
I didn’t wait for him to repeat the word friend.
I pulled the trigger.
A blast followed.
Ears ringing.
Muscles tensing.
A wet warmth against my face.
I didn’t look at Stuart’s body. Not for a long time.
I didn’t have to.
I knew he was at peace at last.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When I’d finished digging the grave in the back garden, the sun was already midway through the sky.
It was a nice day. Much nicer than the unpredictability of yesterday. The birds were singing in the trees, not a care in the world. I supposed to them, the world wasn’t really any different. Probably better if anything. Fewer threats, like cars and tools that could take trees down. The natural world would be taking a collective sigh of relief as the man-made world came to a standstill.
But my life couldn’t come to a standstill.
Not with the body at my feet.
I looked down at Stuart closely now. I looked at where his head had been. There were no remaining features there that identified this man as Stuart. Not after I’d shot him. Of course, I’d done what he’d wanted. He’d been in pain. He knew he was in a bad way. And he’d wanted to die on his own terms. I couldn’t hold that against him.
But the knowledge that I’d killed three people in the last… well, matter of hours… that knowledge was enough to make me want to throw up.
But I had to face it, head on. I had killed. Two of the people I’d killed, I’d done it because they were threatening to take supplies from Stuart’s house. They were trespassing. I’d told them to leave and they hadn’t. They’d pushed me to the brink. What else could I have done? How else could I have reacted?
And Stuart, too. I’d killed him because they were his final wishes. I didn’t like that I’d had to do it. Of course I didn’t.
But I respected him enough to give him what he wanted.
I reached for Stuart’s sides and pushed his body down into the hole I’d dug.
I watched it fall gracelessly. There was no drama to his fall. No slow motion, steady landing. Instead, his neck cocked back, his arms and legs flailed, and he landed in an unflattering heap.
But he was in the ground now. He was at rest.
I had to cover him up and then I had to do what I knew I had to do.
I had to do the only possible thing that was next.
I dug the earth over him, shovelling and shovelling. I heard voices and sounds on the street every now and again, but I didn’t let them distract me. I couldn’t. Man was destroying itself. It was slowly realising that things had changed—perhaps eternally. When the people woke up and realised the power still hadn’t returned, that first-day anarchy would turn into fear,
and then eventually that fear would drive people into doing things even they didn’t think they were capable of. Things far worse than the things that had been done already.
And as I shovelled that earth onto Stuart’s body, despite everything I’d been through, despite the breaches of trust I’d witnessed, I saw the reality of my flaw. People had to pull together. They had to work together. They had to be selfless, and they had to be kind.
Just because I’d killed those two men didn’t make me selfish all over again.
I’d done what I’d done because I had to.
And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Those people were causing chaos. They were the kind of people who didn’t care about humanity getting back to its feet. They would’ve kept on bullying their way through this world, and if I hadn’t stopped them, who knows how far they might’ve got?
Hopefully what I’d done had planted the seed of realisation in the survivors’ minds that they couldn’t just go through this world taking, taking, taking. That they’d have to cooperate. Their own survival depended on it.
I wasn’t the enemy. I was helping them out, if anything.
I just wasn’t too sure they’d see it that way.
More fool them if they didn’t.
I finished shovelling the soil over Stuart’s body. When I looked up, covered in sweat, I saw the sun was even further to the west. I’d spent a lot of time burying Stuart. I’d used up a lot of energy. But this wasn’t something unnecessary. It was something I’d had to do. Something I’d had to put to rest. Only through doing so could I hope to move forward.
I looked back at the house. There were supplies in there. Lots of supplies. And lots of them would be useful.
I knew I could stay here. Find a way to make it work. I could be like Stuart, only more suspicious of the outside world, boarding up the windows and battening down the hatches.
But at the same time, I’d already seen an alternate version of myself in the Stuart I’d met last night. Looking out for himself and no one else. Not stepping into the outside world, leaving humanity to fall apart. He’d found the courage in his heart to believe in me. And I recognised that.
I leaned on the shovel and took a deep breath.
I could stay here. I knew I could.
But it just wasn’t a possibility.
Not really.
Not when I knew what was waiting for me just a matter of miles away.
I looked down at the grave where Stuart rested.
“Sorry, friend,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind if I take some of your stuff. I’ll look after it. I promise.”
Then, after spending a little time by the side of Stuart’s grave, I turned back to the house and I walked.
It was time for me to gather some supplies.
It was time for me to begin my final journey.
It was time for me to find my wife and son.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The sun was already making its descent and it felt like compared to day one, day two had been pretty damn uneventful so far.
I had to be okay with that. I had to hope there were plenty more uneventful days on the horizon. I was going to need them, even if just to recuperate after the many undoubted days of chaos.
The weather was humid and the air was thick. I was walking down a country lane between Chorley and Preston. It was quiet. Birds singing, as usual. Leaves brushing against each other in the wind. A real calming atmosphere.
But I knew well just how quickly a calming atmosphere could turn sour in this world. I had to have my wits about me.
Every now and then, I passed abandoned cars. Some of them were in a state, like they’d felt the full force of the EMP. Others were crashed, with people still behind the wheel; people who had seen their final moments. Others were just left there, abandoned. I thought about all the people that must’ve owned those cars. I thought about their stories, where they’d come from, and where they were going to. Because at the end of the day, if everyone in this world was united by one thing, it was by their collective lack of knowing what the hell was going on when the blast first struck.
And if that wasn’t enough to bring people together, then I didn’t know what was.
I felt a renewed surge of energy as I carried a rucksack of things from Stuart’s house over my shoulder. I had a handgun, which already put me at a big advantage over 99.9% of the British population. And my bug-out-bag was in a very healthy state at this point.
Water was of course the priority, but it wasn’t possible to carry all the water I needed simply because of how much space it took up. I’d skipped the plastic bottles and gone for a stainless steel flask, which I could boil water in if I needed to—which I would, in order to purify it. And for when I didn’t have the time to boil the water, Stuart had a few water purification tablets lying around, which would definitely come in handy.
As for food… well, Stuart certainly had some treats stocked up. The most interesting were these massive calorie-rich food bars that put the typical energy bars to shame. They had almost all the daily recommended number of calories stuffed into this 18oz slab, which was quite something. I’d grabbed a few of them, which I knew would keep me going for a few days.
There was also a few freeze dried meals I’d gathered, as well as the usual cutlery and that kind of thing.
I’d also taken along Stuart’s portable stove. It added a lot of weight, and I knew I could survive without it, but it certainly made boiling and cooking a lot faster.
Oh. And multivitamins. They would come in handy, I was sure of that.
I’d got myself some fresh clothes, one of each item, as well as a sleeping bag that I knew I might have to use at some stage. There were also a few other things in my bag—matches, a lighter, some vaseline (which ignites well), not to mention the usual first aid supplies including a few other things like super glue to heal up some cuts and duct tape for the deeper wounds.
I had a few things on the survival front, too. A handgun that I’d found in Stuart’s lounge. A decent compass. A survival knife and a multi-tool.
And my favourite?
A Rubik’s cube. Something to pass the time.
I’d felt guilty about taking them, of course I had. After all, they didn’t belong to me.
But I thought about Stuart, and I thought about what he would really have wanted. He took a shine to me. He told me to look after… well, look after something or someone. And it would be a shame for his things that he cared about so dearly to go to waste.
And as the sun beamed down, even though my feet were aching like mad, I wasn’t going to let anything dull my optimism today. Because before the sun set, I was reaching my family. I was making sure they were okay. I was finding them, one way or another.
But as I walked, a darker thought entered my mind. A thought I hadn’t allowed myself to entertain, not really. And that thought was a “what if?” In my experience, “what if?” thoughts were always the worst, most poisonous kind, too.
This “what if?” was a killer.
What if my family weren’t at home?
What if they’d already gone?
Or worse… what if someone had taken our home?
I shuddered at the thought and shook my head. I couldn’t allow myself to think that way. I knew Sarah. She might’ve rolled her eyes at my “doom-mongering rubbish” sometimes, but surely now she’d seen enough to know that leaving a home as good as ours, with its setup and its supplies, was madness in a world like this.
But what if fear had taken a hold?
Or what if someone else had taken the decision out of their hands?
I might have faith in my family to make the right decisions. But I couldn’t account for the actions of other people. Desperate people, who might see somewhere like my home as an opportunity.
Or someone who just wanted to cause chaos.
I shook my head again. I had to focus. No point worrying about “what if?” when I had a whole road ahead of me to worr
y about.
I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I almost missed the group of people sitting by the side of the road.
There were four of them. Two women and two children.
Only there was a problem.
One of the women and one of the children were clearly dead.
I felt my stomach sink when I saw them. I could see the misery on the faces of the pair who were still alive. The woman, dark-haired, with big bags under her eyes, looked up at me, almost as if she was expecting me to show no kindness.
Maybe the old me would’ve walked on.
Maybe the old me would’ve been worried about how many supplies I had, so kept on going.
But I wasn’t the old me anymore.
I’d changed.
I reached into the rucksack and walked over to the pair of them. The child, a boy, with short blond hair, didn’t even look up at me. He was just staring at the woman on the ground, the girl beside her.
“Hey,” I said, holding out one of my huge energy bars. “Take these. Please.”
The woman half-smiled, but she still looked uncertain. The child looked even more uncertain.
I didn’t want to push them, so I placed the energy bar down on the ground in front of them. I wanted to move on now. I wanted to keep on walking. But something was holding me here. The urge to help. The urge to stick by these people. Because that’s what we all had to do. Stick together.
“Where are you heading?” I asked.
The woman cleared her throat, wiped her eyes. “I don’t know. I just… I just don’t know.”
“Well I’m heading Preston way,” I said. “So if that’s where you need to go…”
The woman half-smiled again, like my words were just glossing over her, barely taking them in. “Thank you. Truly. You’re a kind man. But we… we just need some time. Some time to process things. Please.”
I was caught in two emotions. I wanted to help. I wanted to be selfless. But at the same time, I didn’t want to force these people into doing anything. If I did, what made me any different to the army who claimed they had the best interests of the people at heart?
