Autumn: Aftermath

by David Moody

  “You okay?” Harte asked, nudging him gently.

  “What? Oh, sorry,” he said, feeling both sad and embarrassed, and also annoyed with himself for getting so easily distracted. Regardless of his assumptions, just because he hadn’t been attacked so far, it didn’t mean he was completely safe. He wiped the rest of the identity badge clear and then looked up into the dead face it belonged to. After seeing what she used to look like, he almost couldn’t bare to look at what was left of this woman now. Her dry, discolored skin, patchy hair, misshapen face and unnaturally prominent bones left her looking like a grotesque caricature of the person she’d once been. A large circle of skin around her top lip had been eaten away. Despite the obvious individuality of each corpse’s decay, in some ways they all looked the same as each other now, strangely featureless. “This is Michelle Bright,” he announced.

  One of the men said something flippant and unnecessary, but the others paid him no attention because their sole focus was now the dead woman standing in front of Michael. At the mention of her name she’d reacted. She moved forward slightly, then lifted a tired arm up closer to her face. Barely able to control her awkward movements, she lightly placed what was left of one of her hands against her hollow-sounding chest. “Me,” she seemed to be saying.

  “Fuck me,” Howard said.

  “I’d rather fuck her,” Harte mumbled. Michael turned around and scowled at them both.

  “This is all well and good,” Caron said, completely sober now, “but it’s not actually getting us anywhere, is it?”

  “Depends on your perspective,” Michael said. She was about to ask him what he meant when Lorna distracted her.

  “Look at that,” she said. “Where the hell are they going?”

  They watched as a slowly moving queue of corpses traipsed away in the direction from which the living had entered the dungeons, back toward the center of the castle.

  “They’re trying to get out, aren’t they?” Kieran said. “They’re trying to get into the castle.”

  “I think that’s exactly what they’re trying to do,” Michael agreed. “They know they can’t go the other way because it must be blocked, so they’re trying to get out the way we came in.”

  “Then we should let them,” Lorna suggested. “It’ll get them out of our way…”

  “… and give the fuckers up there something else to worry about. Good thinking.”

  “But when Jas and the others see them, they’ll go crazy,” Harte said. “They’ll probably batter hell out of them.”

  “Look at the state they’re in,” Michael said quietly, almost as if he didn’t want the dead to hear him. “It’d probably be for the best.”

  He was about to talk to Lorna again but it was too late, she was already gone. He watched her disappear back in the direction from which they’d just come, and by the sounds of things she was opening both doors they’d come through too, clearing the way back out to the gift shop. She quickly returned to the chamber where the others were waiting and snatched Caron’s torch. She took Michelle Bright’s corpse by the arm and gently led it up the slope into the other chamber. The dead girl walked slowly forward, then stopped. Lorna let go and pushed her forward again. She began to walk toward a dull patch of light in the distance where Lorna had left her torch, following an unsteady queue of other corpses which had already started to move. She left Caron’s torch on the ground too, hoping to help guide the dead along.

  Following Lorna’s lead, Howard, Harte, and Kieran began to do the same, pushing lethargic bodies up toward the dull lights. They followed each other out of the caverns in a bizarre and surreal parade; a horrendously overdue funeral procession.

  “Let’s get moving,” Michael said, pushing still more of the creatures away, ready to go deeper into the darkness.

  “Wait,” Caron said, holding on to his arm. “What did you mean about perspective just now?”

  “All those thousands of bodies outside this place,” he explained, continuing to watch the dead march. “We assumed all they wanted to do was attack.”

  “That’s because they did. We all saw more than enough of that. Nasty, vicious things.”

  “All I’m saying is, that might well be what they did do, but the real question is, why did they do it? Why did they constantly herd around us in massive numbers? We assumed it was because they saw us as a threat to them and they wanted us dead, but like I said, it’s all about perspective. Having seen what I’ve seen in here today, I think we might have been misreading the situation. They wanted our help, that’s why they wouldn’t leave us alone.”

  “That’s preposterous,” she scoffed.

  “Is it? I’m not sure. They wanted our help, but they couldn’t control themselves sufficiently to make that clear. We misread their actions as being all about anger and hate. Maybe they were just scared? I think they knew a lot more about who they were and what they’d become than we gave them credit for. I think they wanted our help, they just didn’t have any way of showing it.”

  43

  “What do you mean, you can’t find them?” Jas demanded. Ainsworth was standing in front of him, his face aching, his mouth dry with nerves, not knowing what else he was supposed to say.

  “We’ve checked everywhere … all the caravans, all the rooms. We’ve been twice around the ruins. They’ve disappeared.”

  “They can’t have. Look again.”

  “But Jas, it’s pitch black, mate. We’ve blocked the gates. Let’s wait until morning. They’re probably hiding around that well Jackson was working on, or somewhere near the toilets. If we wait until the sun’s up we’ll have a better chance of—”

  “Keep looking,” Jas ordered. Ainsworth just stared at him. What the fuck is wrong with you? He wanted to ask the question out loud but couldn’t. To his relief, Will Bayliss and Paul Field came running over. Hopefully they’d found something.

  “Mel found a climbing rope,” Bayliss said, breathless.

  “Where?”

  “Hanging over the wall, over by the shit-pit.”

  “So is that how they got out?”

  “I doubt it. It’s too high.”

  “Where the hell did they get a climbing rope from?”

  “There was other stuff as well,” field continued. “Harnesses, belts, stuff like that.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  Field shrugged his shoulders. It was starting to make sense to Ainsworth.

  “That’s not how they got out,” he said. “It’s how they got in. Someone must have come in over the wall, then tried to get them all together in one truck and get them out.”

  “Those fuckers from the island? I thought they’d have long gone.”

  “The helicopter was back earlier, don’t forget,” Bayliss said. “It must have been them.”

  “With a little help,” Ainsworth said.

  “Your girlfriend Lorna?” Jas sneered. Ainsworth didn’t bite.

  “I was thinking more about your friend Harte.”

  “Well, at least we know where they’ll be heading,” Jas continued. “They’ll be on their way to Chadwick. We can cut them off.”

  “What’s the point?” Bayliss said.

  “What?”

  “Why bother?”

  “Because they’ve got our supplies.”

  “Then we’ll get more.”

  “Are you fucking stupid? I thought he was the dumb one,” Jas said, pointing at Ainsworth, who stared back at him, doing all he could to stop his bottom lip from quivering. All he could think about was Lorna, and how empty and foolish he felt at having let her take advantage of him like that.

  But the worst part of all, he thought sadly, is that I’d let it happen again in a heartbeat. I’d give anything to be close to her like that again. All the pain and the grief I’ve had since from Jas was worth it for that one kiss …

  Melanie jogged over.

  “Can’t find any of them,” she said. “They’ve all cleared out. Looks like Kieran’s gone too.�
��

  “Bastard,” Jas yelled, kicking the ground with frustration. “That little shit has sold me out.”

  “But if they didn’t get out over the wall,” Bayliss said, “and we know they didn’t all get out in the truck, then they must still be here.”

  “Check the caravans again,” Jas ordered.

  “What for? We’ve checked them already.”

  “Just fucking do it!”

  They grudgingly headed over to the caravans and split up, happy to put some distance between themselves and Jas. Ainsworth checked the caravan he’d been guarding once more, staring at the bed where Lorna had been lying and wishing he could turn the clock back so that none of this had happened. And not just tonight, either. He wanted to go further back … back to when he’d first arrived here. Maybe he’d have chosen his friends differently if he had his time again.

  “Anything?” Jas said, standing in the doorway behind him.

  “Nothing,” he replied dejectedly, trying to get back out. Jas was blocking the door, and Ainsworth was relieved when he moved on to the next caravan. He sat down on the step, held his head in his hands, and listened as Jas yelled at the others when they also reported back that they’d found nothing.

  44

  Michael led the others deeper into the cavernous spaces underground. After several minutes of slow, shuffling movement, all of those corpses which still had a degree of mobility had been herded back in the direction from which the living had just come, back toward the gift shop and the interior of the castle, leaving just those which could no longer move.

  The progress of Michael and the rest of the small group was painfully slow, such was the level of decay which had suddenly begun to accumulate around them. The farther they traveled from the center of the castle, the fewer complete bodies they found. With each footstep Michael took, it seemed, so the condition of the dead around him was rapidly worsening. It was now like the mile or so of compacted decay he’d earlier had to walk through with Harry and Harte, although this was somehow worse because of the increasingly close confines and the complete absence of fresh air. Caron had vomited as a result of the inescapable stench. She’d seen more than her fair share of gore over the last few months, but this had proved too much for her. Howard and Kieran now helped her along between them, one on either arm, or one in front and one behind if the way forward became too restrictive. The air was filled with the fetid stink of the gases produced by the putrefaction of the dead. Just don’t anyone dare light a match, Michael thought. The whole fucking place could go up.

  “Dead end,” he announced as his outstretched hands made contact with another cold, rock-carved wall.

  “Maybe we should just turn back,” Howard suggested for about the hundredth time.

  “Bit late for that now,” Michael replied. “Besides, if Jackson got in this way, then we must be able to get out.”

  He looked around, his feet slipping in the decay. He felt disorientated. Problem was, everything looked the same down here, particularly with such limited light from so few torches remaining. Kieran, he noticed, had switched his off now, perhaps figuring he’d still have a chance if they hadn’t escaped by the time everyone else’s batteries died. Michael didn’t want to be stuck down here without any light. Actually, he didn’t want to be stuck down here at all. There had to be a way out.

  He shuffled back toward the others, scraping his feet along the floor to feel his way, moving inch by slow inch through the slurry. And then it occurred to him that he might be able to use the depth of the mire as a kind of primitive gauge.

  “What are you thinking?” Lorna asked, concerned that he’d stopped.

  “Just trying to work out how the dead would have moved through here.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Those bodies back there…”

  “… must have been some of the first to get through. They must have followed Jackson in. Presumably he would have had quite a crowd behind him.”

  “If they were in large enough numbers,” Harte said, “then there’s a chance some of them would have been trampled like we saw outside.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Michael agreed.

  “So the deeper the shite,” Lorna said, “the better?”

  “Exactly.”

  Caron was still green. Her stomach rolled at the thought of more dead flesh. “You want to go deeper?”

  Michael didn’t say anything. Instead he shone his torch down and began feeling around with his boots. He tried to picture Jackson’s arrival, how his bluster and noise would inevitably have caused a huge swell of the dead to try and follow him into the castle. He worked his way around the edge of the room, torch in one hand, feeling the wall with the other. The rest of the group remained still and watched him as he kept moving, prodding the ground, taking one tentative step at a time. He knew he was onto something, because the depth of the muck was increasing now. He’d barely been splashing in it initially, but it was already up over the toes of his boots. And now it had almost reached his ankles. He moved again, and now it was halfway up his shin.

  And then the hard wall Michael was holding onto for support disappeared. He stopped and felt his way around the edges of the entrance to another passageway, initially obscured by shadow. He shuffled closer, feeling the unimaginably foul gloop around his feet rising with virtually every step.

  “This is it,” he said. “It has to be.”

  “Can you see anything?” Lorna asked from close behind. He shone the torch deeper into the passage.

  “Not a damn thing, but we have to be close now.”

  “I can’t keep going,” Caron whined from the back.

  “Shut her up, would you?” Michael said wearily. “She’s doing my bloody head in.”

  “Give it a rest, Caron,” Lorna yelled at her before lowering her voice and adding. “You don’t have any choice.”

  “Everybody ready?” Michael asked. Absolute silence.

  “Just do it,” Kieran reluctantly said.

  “Single file. Hold onto the back of the person in front, okay?”

  Michael didn’t wait for anyone to reply. As soon as Harte grabbed his shoulder he began to move along the passageway he’d uncovered, his boots crunching and slipping through the rapidly deepening mess. He frequently lost his footing when he trod on submerged bones and he did his best to sweep them away to either side. He crunched through rib cages and pushed skulls away like footballs.

  “Shit,” Howard cursed when he tripped and almost dragged half the group over. His frightened voice was amplified by the narrowness of the corridor they now followed. “This is madness. We should turn back.”

  “You can if you like,” Michael said, finding it increasingly hard to concentrate, almost having to wade through the decay now, “but I’m getting out of here.”

  Lorna gagged at the ice-cold mire which was now close to reaching her waist. The stench was all-consuming. It felt like it was coating the insides of her nostrils and throat.

  “We don’t even know if this is the way Jackson came,” Howard said, continuing to complain. “There might have been another way. We might have missed a turning or something…”

  “He’s right,” Harte reluctantly admitted, almost losing his balance again. “Maybe we should think about going back? Those bodies will cause a distraction up there and we can—”

  “As long as I can keep moving forward,” Michael said through gritted teeth, “then there’s still a chance we’re going the right way.”

  Still feeling his way ahead with outstretched hands, Michael suddenly stopped. The rest of the group bunched up behind him.

  “What is it?” Lorna nervously asked. He didn’t answer. His legs felt weak. Was it a dead end?

  “Michael? What is it? What’s the problem?”

  “Wait a second,” he said. In front of him he could feel another huge mound of decay. He turned around and passed his torch to Harte. “Do me a favor, try and give me some light.”

  Harte and the othe
rs who still carried torches obliged, but by the time they’d all got their lights aimed toward him, Michael had disappeared. He ducked down, his chin almost scraping the surface of the mire, and stretched out his arms. Moments later he stood up again, dripping with decay.

  “Did you slip?” Lorna asked. She held out her hand to him. “Come on, let’s go back…”

  Michael was grinning. “I think this is it. I think I can feel a way through. Has anybody got anything I can dig with?”

  He realized as soon as he’d said it that that was a stupid question as none of them had anything with them other than torches and Howard’s screwdriver. He sunk both hands into the decay and pulled out a limb. At first he thought it was an arm, but he realized it was a leg and he stripped away what little muscles and nerves remained, then snapped off what was left of a flapping foot. Using the ankle end of the leg as a prod, he tried to feel and push his way through. He tried to dig frantically and, after a few seconds of concerted effort, he discarded the leg and shoved his arm into the gap he’d made in the offensive gloop. Working blind, he grabbed at whatever he could get hold of now and tried to drag it all back toward him. Sucking, squelching noises filled the narrow space as more and more of the mess came away in large congealed chunks. He pushed his weight forward against the blockage, and more of the decay toppled away. And then he felt cold, relatively fresh air on his face.

  “I don’t think there’s a door,” he said, “just a hole. Everyone ready?”

  No one answered but he didn’t care. He took a deep breath, dropped his shoulder, and charged forward, throwing himself at the clog of remains which was blocking their way out. It gave way with surprisingly little effort and then, suddenly, he was outside. A huge mass of death came spilling out after him, as if he’d burst an enormous spot on the side of the castle. The rest of the group staggered out, glistening with decay in the faint light of the moon. They stood together, soaked and stinking but not giving a damn, just relieved to be outside the castle walls again.