by David Moody
He finally reached the top of the ramp. Before standing up he closed his eyes and remembered the lush green countryside which had surrounded the base. It had been the last thing he’d seen before they’d disappeared underground four months ago. Since then he’d been haunted by a lost vision of the blue sky, bright sun and endless rolling hills. He’d thought he’d never get to see it again.
Carlton carefully got up and walked outside. Then he slowly lifted his head.
The sky was just as deep and blue and perfect as he remembered, but everything else… Christ, what had happened to the world? For as far as he could see in every direction the ground had been scarred by battle. Mud replaced grass, there were huge craters and dips where munitions had exploded, trees had been scorched and burned down to blackened stumps. And as for the bodies… God, the bodies… Carlton was completely still, transfixed by the horror all around him. Everywhere he looked he saw more and more of the dead. The withered skeletons of his former colleagues, still wrapped in what remained of their now useless protective suits, lay alongside the others, their corpses frequently entangled, entwined forever with those they’d died fighting. And even here there was still some movement. Subtle and indistinct, but occasionally some of the bodies were still moving: too decayed to get up, twitching where they’d fallen. Bloody hell, hadn’t these things suffered enough?
Disconsolate, Carlton began to slowly walk away from the underground base.
#
It was a cold, dry and bright winter morning. The precise time, day, date and season didn’t matter anymore, because Carlton knew this day would be his last. Or if not today then it would be tomorrow or, at the very latest, the day after that. He couldn’t imagine lasting any longer. If he was honest, he didn’t want to.
Months back, when the fighting began, he’d completely failed to appreciate the scale of the battle which raged on the surface. As time progressed he’d heard plenty of rumours and reports, but no one had accurately conveyed the full enormity of what had happened. This endless devastation was hard to comprehend. It seemed to go on forever. He’d walked for hours and yet he was still surrounded by craters, abandoned military machinery and bodies. Endless hordes of putrefying bodies… flickers of movement…
He guessed that he must have covered several miles by the time he reached the outermost edge of the battlefield. It had clouded over and the light had faded but he could see that the number of bodies and the scarring of the land had definitely reduced. A short distance further and the world around him began to appear deceptively normal and familiar. He saw lush green grass, undamaged trees, and even birds flitting about above him. For a few seconds he allowed himself a faint glimmer of hope. Might there yet be an escape from this nightmare? But then, as the first few drops of icy winter rain trickled down his visor, he was reminded of the need for his protective suit. He remembered the germ in the air which had caused all of the devastation, and all illusions of salvation and normality were immediately shattered.
Carlton stumbled through several more fields before reaching a narrow road which twisted through the countryside. For a while he walked along it, instinctively keeping close to the hedge at the side of the road should anything be coming the other way. The longer he walked, however, the louder the silence around him became. He quickly accepted there would be no car, van, bike or any other vehicle along this road today. Today – for one day only – he was completely alone in the world.
Further down the track, Carlton finally came across a car. It was a small saloon. He stopped and stared at it for a moment. There was nothing special about it, and perhaps that was its strange attraction. It looked so ordinary, so normal. In the bizarre world he was moving through, however, what he considered usual was now most certainly not. The car appeared completely at odds with its surroundings. Carlton looked further and saw that it had been parked on a patch of gravel next to a gap in the hedgerow. It was a drive. Curious, he took a few steps away from the road and saw that he was in front of a house. It took him a while to be able to properly distinguish the outline of the building. Once typical and ordinary, today the house looked subtly different. Its garden was unkempt and overgrown, and he imagined this was the first sign of the building being swallowed up by the countryside, reclaimed. Its windows were opaque with cobwebs and dust. Carlton stood and stared for a while longer before moving on.
Another house, then another and then another. Soon he found himself in the middle of an empty village. It was perfectly still – like a freeze-frame – and uncomfortably eerie. Several buildings on one side of the village had been destroyed by fire and were now little more than charred black outlines of their former selves. The rest of the silent shops and houses looked dirty and neglected like the first house he’d seen. He stopped in the middle of the road and thought about calling out, but what good would it do? What if he found someone? For a moment his heart leapt, because there had to be survivors, didn’t there? But then reality hit home. What could they do for him? More to the point, what would they expect him to do for them?
Carlton continued to walk until he could go no further. He followed the road as it trailed back out of the village and dragged himself along it as it wound up and around the side of a hill. The earlier rain had passed and the world was now drenched with bright winter sunlight again. The sun was well on its way down towards the horizon, a huge incandescent orange disc now. The lone soldier watched its descent with fascination and a fond sadness, knowing he probably wouldn’t be here to see it rise again tomorrow.
At the top of the hill, the exhausted man clambered over a wooden stile, then sat down at the top edge of a steep field. There were a few sheep at the bottom of the field, and from where he sat he could see cows and horses in the distance. His eyes were tired and his vision was beginning to blur but he scanned the horizon constantly. It occurred to him that from up here he couldn’t see a single trace of man. It would be there if he looked hard enough, but he didn’t want to. Buildings, roads and everything else seemed to have been absorbed back into the land. Carlton felt an overwhelming sense of alienation and isolation, like he no longer belonged here, but at the same time he was glad he’d been given this final opportunity to see the world once more.
It was getting dark. One last thing to do.
Carlton unclipped his pistol from its holster on his belt and checked it was loaded. He’d planned this. He’d spent all afternoon thinking about it. He wanted to remain in control to the very end, to deny the infection one last victim and at the same time ensure his death was as final as it should always have been.
Nervous, shaking with cold, he pulled off his face mask and slipped the end of the pistol into his mouth. He pressed it against the roof of his mouth, gagging as he shoved the oily metal to the back of his throat, then paused.
Should it have happened by now?
He sucked in cool, clean air through his nose, too afraid to take the gun out of his mouth just in case the infection caught him before he was able to fire. He’d heard his former colleagues in the bunker talking about a germ which struck and killed in seconds, so why hadn’t it got him? He’d heard about people spitting blood as they were asphyxiated, so why couldn’t he feel anything? Was it over already, or was the air here clear? He couldn’t believe that – the last soldiers in the base had been infected just a couple of days earlier.
But the seconds continued to tick by…
The only explanation, he finally decided after several minutes had passed, is that I must be immune. He almost laughed, choking on his pistol. All that time! All those unbearably long and painful days, weeks and months spent down there underground and I could have walked out at any time!
Another minute had passed. Still no reaction.
Carlton took the pistol out of his mouth, shook his head and laughed out loud. A perfect end to the day, he thought as he grinned and lay back on the grass. The air was sweet. It tasted good.
Just a few more minutes, he thought.
Carlton
looked up into the sky, the first few stars starting to appear, and he thought about his family and friends and all he had lost. He thought about the nightmare of being buried underground and how he’d had to battle through the reanimated bodies of his dead colleagues to get outside. He thought about Daniel Wright, the soldier he’d killed in cold blood just a few days earlier, and the others he’d subsequently fought. He thought about the fact that right now, he might well be the only man left alive.
Carlton thought about the aching in his bones. He thought about his appalling physical condition, the dehydration and malnourishment. He thought about how much effort it would take now to find food and clean water, and how much of a struggle it would be to try and make himself well. The village he’d walked through earlier would be the most sensible place to start. He thought about all those empty, dead buildings and the distance he’d have to cover to get back there. He thought about the cold and the oncoming winter and how hard it would be to survive. He thought about the effort everything would take now and whether any of it would be worth it. He thought about being alone, about doing all of this by himself. No one to talk to when things got tough. No one to share the highs and many lows with. No one to hold him at the end of each day and tell him he’d done good, and that they loved him and they were proud of him.
Carlton enjoyed the next hour. He lay on the grass and dozed and daydreamed until the light had all but disappeared and the clear sky above him was full of stars. Millions of stars, he thought, just one man.
Calm, composed and completely sure, he slipped the pistol back into his mouth and fired.
JOE AND ME
When I look around the school yard at the other kids’ parents, I can’t help wondering if their lives could be anymore different to ours. I see the same faces here day after day, all of them so absorbed in their individual problems and routines, never stopping to think about anything outside of their own little worlds. Sometimes I picture Joe in his class, talking with his friends about what jobs their parents do. One’s dad might be a cop, another a bus driver. Sally’s mom is a lawyer, and Kyle’s dad owns a store. I imagine the teacher going around the room, asking each kid in turn. And then it gets to Joe, and the class falls silent. My dad stays at home, he tells them, but my mom’s a brilliant scientist. She’s going to save the world. The teacher tells him to stop telling lies while the rest of the class piss themselves laughing.
Thing is, it’s true. Gillian Huxtable – my wife, Joe’s mom – is doing exactly that.
Joe appears in the doorway, almost the last one out as usual. He scans the yard then catches my eye and runs over, weaving through the mass of other kids trying to get away from school. He might only be seven, but my little man looks so grown up. He digs deep into his rucksack and finds a carton of juice, then throws the bag at me and races off after one of his friends.
He’s waiting for me when I get down to the gate. He always is.
‘You okay, Joe? Had a good day?’
‘Pretty good,’ he says, breathing hard from the run.
‘What did you do?’
‘Just stuff,’ he answers, shrugging his shoulders, and I know that’s all I’m going to get. Doesn’t matter. He’s happy. I know he’d tell me if anything was wrong. We talk a lot, Joe and me.
We stop at the store to pick up some food. I let him choose what we’re having for dinner, then grab something else for Gill and me when he’s not looking. Neither of us are big on processed chicken bites.
Joe disappears as soon as we get to the apartment. He does this every day after class. He calls it his ‘me time’, though Christ knows where he picked that phrase up from. I don’t mind. Gives me chance to cook before Gill gets back. She said she’d be home just after five.
#
I delay dinner because Gill’s usually late but, when it gets to half six, Joe and I eat. He’s hungry. It’s not fair to make him wait any longer.
‘Where’s Mom?’ he asks.
‘Gone to the circus.’
‘Really?’
‘No, just kidding. She’s still at work.’
He shoves more chicken into his mouth. ‘That’s okay though, isn’t it,’ he says, mouth too full, ‘she’s doing important stuff.’
‘She certainly is.’
‘And no one else can do it, can they?’
‘Not as far as I know. Your mom’s a clever lady. One of the cleverest people I’ve met. Far cleverer than me.’
‘But you’re clever too, right?’
‘Suppose. I passed all my exams. Mom took more exams than me though.’
‘So you got beaten by a girl?’
‘Not beaten. It’s not a competition. And anyway, it’s not a girl, it’s the girl. Your mom is truly gifted.’
‘And she’s going to save the world?’
‘That’s what she keeps telling me, and if that’s what she says, then that’s what she’ll do.’
‘Will we see more of her when she’s done?’
‘I expect so.’
#
It’s gone nine by the time Gill gets home. Joe tried to stay awake to see her, but he’s spark out. She carefully opens the door and creeps into the apartment like a kid back late from a party they weren’t supposed to go to. And the first thing she sees is me sitting there like a parent about to hit the roof. For a second she looks concerned.
‘Sorry, Simon,’ she says, kicking off her shoes and draping her coat over the back of a chair.
‘It’s all right,’ I tell her, and I mean it. She’s under a huge amount of pressure right now. As long as she’s okay I don’t care what time she comes home. There’s a weight of expectation on her shoulders and I can barely imagine how it must feel. ‘You hungry?’
‘Starving.’
I get up and stretch, feeling guilty because I fell asleep in front of the TV just now. I warm her dinner in the microwave, pour her a glass of wine, then take it all through. She’s waiting at the table, her head in her hands.
‘Thank you. You had a good day?’ she asks, yawning.
‘Fine.’
‘Joe okay?’
‘Yeah, he’s okay. He tried to stay up but didn’t make it.’
‘I didn’t know I was going to be this late.’
‘You say that most nights.’
She smiles with resignation, and reaches across and squeezes my hand. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘Tough day?’
‘You could say that. I can’t seem to get it through to those dumb fuckers that if they want results, I need to be left to get on with the work. Interrupting me every couple of days for progress reviews and demanding endless reports won’t help anyone, you know?’
‘I know, but this is the military we’re dealing with don’t forget.’
‘I don’t know which are worse, the morons in Defence or the politicians. I hate them all the same.’
‘You’re getting there though, right?’
She nods her head and drinks more wine. ‘I think so. They want everything delivered yesterday. They don’t seem to understand how long something like this takes. I can’t work any faster, and I’m not working more hours.’
‘There aren’t any hours left to work.’
‘You know what I mean, Si. It would help if I wasn’t surrounded by grunts all the time. If they thought more about the process and less about the end result we’d probably have fewer arguments and we’d get there much quicker.’
‘You think they’re getting annoyed because you’re moonlighting?’
‘I’m not moonlighting. You have to stop saying that.’
‘Okay, but you are using their funding and resources to develop something that’s not for the military.’
‘It’s a double-edged sword. Same overall process, two very different applications.’
‘Try explaining that to your grunts.’
‘I have, believe me.’
‘I can see why they might get pissed off, though. All that cash they’ve thrown your way, and you have
the audacity to actually want to help people, not kill them?’
I stop talking when she puts down her fork and glares at me. ‘Are you deliberately trying to wind me up?’
‘Yes. Is it working?’
‘Beautifully.’
‘Good. I love it when you’re angry. Have I ever told you how sexy I think you look in your lab coat? I wish you’d order me about the same way you do poor old Alfie.’
‘Don’t even get me started on Alfie. He drives me to distraction. He’s a stereotypical science nerd, you know? Great ability, fantastic qualifications, but no common sense. I don’t know how he functions in the real world. Do you know what he did today?’
‘No, and I don’t want to. Finish your dinner, drink too much wine, then come to bed with me.’
#
It’s hard to sleep when you haven’t done a lot all day. I used to feel incredibly guilty, but I’m slowly getting used to it. It’s just the way it has to be for now.
It’s late and I can’t sleep. I look across at Gill lying next to me. She was out the second her head hit the pillow. Things won’t always be this way, but I know it’s how it has to be for now. You’re a kept man, she teases me daily. Make the most of it. Enjoy it while it lasts.
#
Joe loves coming to the lab. Gill was gone by the time he woke up this morning. When she called at lunchtime and told me it was going to be another late night, I decided to pick up the kid from school and bring him straight over here so we can all spend a little time together. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammad, etcetera etcetera.
The lab always reminds me of something out of a David Cronenberg movie. This downtown area is ripe for investment and redevelopment, and it looks like something’s finally happening. There’s a lot of construction traffic and signage around that wasn’t here last week. It’s about time.
