Autumn

by David Moody

  They might have paid my wages, but customers were the bane of my life. We got all sorts of passing trade at the restaurant, and I tended to get a couple of customers like this one each week. They were usually travelling sales reps stopping in the motel just up the bypass. As a rule they were all badly dressed, loud, rude and ignorant. Maybe that was why they did the job? Perhaps their wives (if anyone was stupid enough to marry them) had kicked them out? Maybe their relationships only survived because they spent so much time apart?

  I put down the plate, then waited next to his table, cringing. ‘That’s better,’ he said, taking me by surprise. I quickly walked away.

  ‘You’re welcome, wanker,’ I said under my breath.

  ‘Just a minute, girl,’ he shouted at me before I’d even reached the kitchen door. The other customers all looked up and watched me walk back to his table.

  ‘Yes?’ I answered through gritted teeth, doing my damnedest to stay calm and not empty his coffee into his lap.

  ‘This is virtually raw,’ he said, skewering his extra sausage. He sniffed it, then dropped it back onto his plate in disgust, sending little balls of dried-up scrambled egg shooting across the table.

  ‘Is it really?’ I said, and the sarcasm and mock concern in my voice was obvious.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he shouted. ‘Now you listen to me, dear. You scuttle back to your little kitchen right now and fetch me a fresh and properly cooked breakfast. And while you’re there, send the manager out to see me. This really isn’t good enough.’

  His complaint may well have been justified, but the way he spoke to me was completely out of order. I wasn’t paid enough to be patronised and belittled. It wasn’t my fault.

  ‘Are you going to stand there looking stupid all day,’ he sneered, ‘or are you going to go somewhere else and look stupid instead?’

  That was it. The customer is always right, they say, but there are limits. Here at the Monkton View Eater, it seemed, the customer was always an asshole.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry if the food isn’t up to the standard you were expecting,’ I began, somehow managing to still sound calm, even if I didn’t feel it, ‘I’ll get that sorted out. But there’s no need to be rude. I’ll go and get you the—’

  ‘Listen,’ he said, his tired tone making it clear it was a real effort to have to lower himself to speak to me, ‘I’m really not interested in anything more you have to say. Be a good girl and fetch me my food and the manager. You are a waitress. You are here to serve me. And if I want to be rude to you then I’ll be as rude as I fucking well please. You’re paid to take it.’

  ‘No, you listen,’ I pointlessly protested. ‘I’m not—’

  ‘Get the manager,’ he interrupted with a tone of infuriating superiority and a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘I don’t need to speak to you any longer.’

  It was another one of those moments which seemed to last forever. I was so full of anger that, again, I was too wound up to move. Compounding my awkwardness was the fact that all the other customers had also stopped eating and were waiting to see what I’d do next. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the Neanderthals in the kitchen peering out through the portholes, grinning like idiots.

  ‘Well?’ my shit of a customer sighed. I turned and walked, pushing through the swinging doors, knocking Jamie flying.

  ‘Where’s Trevor?’

  ‘Fag break,’ Keith replied.

  I stormed out through the back door. Trevor was leaning up the rubbish bins, smoking a cigarette and reading Keith’s newspaper.

  ‘What?’ he grunted, annoyed that he’d been interrupted.

  ‘I’ve got a problem with a customer. He says he wants to speak to the manager.’

  ‘Tell him you’re the manager.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Tell him I’ve gone to a meeting.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tell him I’ve got Health and Safety coming to check the place over.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he groaned, finally looking up from the paper, ‘just deal with it will you. What the hell do I pay you for? Dealing with customers is your responsibility.’

  ‘And looking after staff is yours.’

  ‘Oh give it a rest.’

  ‘He swore at me! I’m not prepared to speak to a customer who’s going to swear at me. Do you know how bloody insulting he was when—’

  ‘Now you’re swearing at me. You can’t have it both ways, love!’

  That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I ripped off the bloody stupid pinafore they made me wear and threw it at Trevor, along with my order pad and pen.

  ‘I’ve had enough! Stick your bloody job!’

  I couldn’t afford to do what I was doing, but I couldn’t take anymore abuse. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I grabbed my coat from the kitchen, then marched out through the restaurant.

  ‘Is the manager on his way?’ the odious customer shouted at the top of his voice as I stormed past. I couldn’t help myself. I turned back and walked towards him. His food couldn’t have been too bad because he’d managed to eat half of it.

  ‘No, he isn’t on his way,’ I told him. ‘The manager can’t be bothered to come and speak to you, and I can’t be bothered to waste my time dealing with pathetic little fuckers like you either. You can stick your meal and your attitude and your complaint up your arse, and I hope you fucking choke on your food!’

  And he did.

  Still chewing a mouthful of breakfast, the smug grin of superiority which had been plastered across his face slowly disappeared. He stopped eating. His eyes became wide and the veins in his neck began to bulge. He spat out his food.

  ‘Water,’ he croaked, clawing at his neck, ‘get me some water…’

  A noise from behind made me turn around. Two other customers in the far corner of the restaurant were choking too. A middle-aged couple were both in as bad a state as the little shit who’d caused me so much trouble. I turned back to look at him again. He looked like he was suffocating. As much as I’d wished all kinds of suffering on him a couple of minutes earlier, now I just wanted it to stop. I ran back to the kitchen to get his water.

  ‘Call an ambulance,’ I yelled to anyone listening. ‘There’s a customer who…’

  I stopped when I saw Jamie on his knees in the corner of the kitchen, coughing up blood. Keith was on his back in the storeroom, rolling around in agony like all the others. Outside, Trevor had already lost consciousness, his fat body wedged half-in and half-out of the back door.

  By the time I’d picked up the phone to call for an ambulance, everyone in the restaurant was dead.

  PHILIP EVANS

  Part i

  Mom’s not well.

  She’s suffered with her health for years and she’s been practically bed-ridden since last December, but she’s really taken a turn for the worst this morning. I’ll have to get the doctor out to see her if she doesn’t pick up soon.

  I don’t know what I’d do without my mom. I know I should think about it, mind, ’cause I know she’s not going to be around forever. We’re very close, Mom and me. Dad died when I was little and there’s just been the two of us since then. I don’t work ’cause I look after her, so we don’t get out much. We pretty much live out on our own here. There’s our cottage and one other on either side and that’s about all. The village is five minutes down the road by bike. We’ve never bothered with a car. Never seen the point. We can get a bus into town if we really need to, but there ain’t much we need that we can’t find in the village.

  She’s calling again. I’ll make some tea and take it up with her tablets. I don’t like this. This isn’t like her. She always says she doesn’t like making a fuss. She tells the doctor that, and the health visitor, and the District Nurse, and the priest.

  It’s just her way.

  #

  I need to go and get
help but I can’t leave the house. I can’t leave Mom on her own.

  Oh, God, I don’t know what to do. I was up there with her when it happened. I was trying to get her onto the toilet when it started. Usually when she has one of her turns she’ll let me know it’s coming, but she didn’t just now. This came out of the blue. It took her by surprise as much as me.

  She started to choke. Mom’s chest has been bad for a long time and it’s been getting worse, but nothing like this. It was like she’d got something stuck in her throat, but she turned her nose up at breakfast this morning and she hadn’t eaten anything else, so that was impossible. Anyway, before I knew what was happening she was coughing and retching and her whole body was shaking. I got her on the bed and tried to get her to calm down and breathe slow and not panic, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t talk. I didn’t even know if she could hear me. Her eyes were bulging wide and I knew she wasn’t getting any air but there wasn’t anything I could do. I tried to tip her head back to open up her windpipe like the nurse showed me once but she wouldn’t lie still. She kept fighting. She was thrashing her arms around and coughing and spluttering, making these horrible noises. She didn’t sound like Mom anymore. It was like something out of one of them horror films. She was making this croaking, gargling noise and I thought there was phlegm or something stuck or she was choking on her tongue (the nurse told me about that once too) so I put my fingers in her mouth to make sure it was clear. When I pulled them out again they were covered in blood. Then she stopped moving. As suddenly as the fit had started, it stopped.

  I knew there was nothing I could do. I sat down on the carpet next to her and held her hand until I was certain she’d gone.

  I could still hear that horrible choking sound she was making in my head, long after Mom stopped fighting. I could hear it ringing in my ears when everything else went quiet.

  It’s been quiet like this for hours now.

  #

  Mom’s dead.

  I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I know I can’t help her, but I can’t just leave her lying here either. The doctor will have to come around and check her, then someone else will come to take her away and then… and then I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve always had my mom.

  About half an hour ago I moved her. I couldn’t leave her lying on the floor in the middle of the landing like that, that just wouldn’t have been right. She was twice as heavy as when she was alive. I put my hands under her arms and dragged her into the bedroom, then lifted her onto the bed. I wiped the blood off her face and tried to close her eyes to make it look like she was just sleeping like they do in the films. I got one eye shut but the other one stayed open, staring at me. It was like she was still watching me, like one of those paintings of faces where the eyes follow you around the room. It was freaky, but in a way it made me feel a little better. Even though she’s gone it’s like she hasn’t stopped looking out for me.

  I tried phoning the doctor but I couldn’t get an answer. Someone should have been at the surgery (it’s open until late on Tuesdays) so I guessed it was our telephone that wasn’t working. The lines often go down in winter because we’re so isolated out here. But it isn’t winter. It’s early September and the weather’s been fine for weeks.

  I didn’t want to leave her but I didn’t have any choice. I shut the bedroom door, locked up the house and got my bike out of the shed. It didn’t take long to get into the village. Mom never liked me riding on the road (she said it was the other people she didn’t trust, not me) but it didn’t matter this morning because there wasn’t any traffic about. The village ain’t the busiest of places, but there’s usually always something happening. This morning it was so quiet that all I could hear was the sound of my bike. And as I went further into the village, it got much worse. So much worse that I nearly turned around and came back home, but thinking about Mom made me keep going forward.

  I was cycling down past Jack Halshaw’s house when I saw his front door was open. That was odd because Jack’s always been careful about things like that. He used to be a friend of my dad’s and I’ve known him all my life, so I stopped the bike because I thought I should tell him about Mom and I thought he might help me get things sorted out. I went down the path and leant into the house and shouted to him but he didn’t answer. I checked to see if he was in his back garden, and that was where I found him. He was lying flat on his back and I could tell just by looking at him he was dead. There was a pool of blood all round his mouth and it looked like he’d died the same way Mom had, even though that didn’t make no sense.

  I didn’t know what to do. I kept going until I got to the middle of the village. When I got there I just stopped the bike and stared. Whatever had happened to Mom and Jack Halshaw had happened to other people too. All the other people. The longer I stayed there, the more obvious it was that I was the only one it hadn’t got. Inside the doctor’s, Mrs Cribbins from the chip shop and Dr Grainger were both lying dead in the middle of the waiting room. Their faces were horrible – splattered with blood and all screwed up like they’d been in terrible pain when they’d died. The doctor looked like he’d been trying to scream when it had happened.

  I kept going, but I wished that I hadn’t. Even though it had happened early in the morning, there had been lots of people out and about. They’d all died wherever they’d been, whatever they’d been doing. And because our village is a small place I knew them all. Bill Linturn from the hardware shop was dead in his car outside the store. Vera Price, the lady who’s on the till at the grocer’s on Tuesday, Thursday and Fridays was lying dead on the pavement just outside the shop. She’d fallen into the middle of the fruit and veg displays they always have outside. There were potatoes, carrots and apples all over the place.

  I kept looking, but there was no one left to help me. It sounds silly, but I didn’t want to leave Mom alone for too long, so I got back on my bike and cycled home.

  #

  It’s been almost half a day now since it happened. I can’t get a picture on the telly and I still can’t get anyone on the phone. I’ve tried listening to the radio to find out what’s happening but all I can hear is silence or hissing and crackling like it’s out of tune. I’ve been into the cottages next door on either side but both Ed and Mrs Chester are dead as well. I found Ed in his bath (the water was all pink because of the blood he’d been dribbling) and Mrs Chester was at the bottom of her stairs with her neck all twisted. I tried to move her into her living room but her legs and arms had gone all stiff and hard. She was wedged behind the door and I couldn’t move her.

  I think I’m just going to sit here and wait for a bit longer. Someone will come sooner or later, I’m sure they will. And anyway, I can’t leave Mom here on her own. We did our weekly shop yesterday morning so I’ve got enough food in. Everything will be all right again in a couple of days time when the police and the government start sorting out what’s happened. I’ll have to phone around the rest of the family and let them know about Mom.

  DAY TWO

  BEGINNING TO DISINTEGRATE

  part i

  Lorna watched the whole thing unfold from the bedroom window of her small rented house. Her gut reaction had been to go down and help, but she’d straightaway known there wasn’t any point. One person she might have been able to save, but hundreds? Thousands? Instead she bolted the door and shut the curtains and focused on keeping herself safe. Living here had given her plenty of practice. The area itself was okay, the people definitely weren’t. The estate had been built on the edge of the city in the early eighties, just that little bit too far out of town. It had become a ghetto, cut off and forgotten. Trouble was never far from her front door, but what had happened this week surpassed anything she’d seen before.

  The street outside her house was quiet for once, and the silence was somehow more ominous than the usual noise. There were no kids loitering by the bus shelter today, no police officers cruising, no community support officers trying to str
addle the line between the two sides, taking abuse from both directions… There was no one.

  Yesterday morning, everything had just stopped, like someone had flicked a switch. The few people she could see had simply dropped where they’d been standing, and she hadn’t needed to check each one of them individually to know they were all dead. The fact the Internet and TV had also become silent was all the proof she needed.

  Lorna was smart. Switched on. She’d had to be. Her mom had rarely been around, and a string of waster boy and girlfriends had taught her not to rely on anyone else because the bastards always let her down. There was always an ulterior motive. They always wanted something from her, never the other way around. Fuck the lot of them. The only one who’d genuinely given a damn was her dad, but she’d hardly known him. He got sent off to fight in some dirty desert war when she was little and never came home.

  She sat in the corner of the room, knees drawn up to her chest, and revelled in the silence. Is there something wrong with me, she wondered? Am I sick in the head? The entire world dropped dead yesterday, and all I feel is relieved…

  She’d been putting it off, but she knew she was going to have to go out there, and the sooner the better. The end of the world had crept up silently and taken everyone by surprise. There hadn’t been time for panic-buying (or panic-anything, come to that). She didn’t have much in the way of food or alcohol and she needed both. She decided to go out and recce the situation this morning, to try and assess the risks. Weirdly, she hoped she didn’t find anyone else alive. She was enjoying the silence.

  #

  The morning after the night before, and she was still screaming. Anita had found Ellie by following the noise yesterday. The only other survivor she’d so far come across, she was beginning to wish she hadn’t. She understood why she was screaming, of course. She’d have probably been the same in the circumstances. Ellie lost her baby girl when everyone else had died yesterday, and since then she’d only stopped crying long enough to draw breath or snatch a few second’s sleep. No matter how bad she felt for her, though, the noise was doing Anita’s head in. She’d have got up and left if she hadn’t been so bloody terrified herself. And where would she have gone? As far as she could tell, this miserable, wailing bitch was the only other person left alive.